#i do wish he was more intimidating in the series

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - DD - May 12

Well, dear readers, we’re back with Jonathan in his toils! And, as you may expect, it’s not going well.

He starts off by telling us he needs to separate “bare facts” from his experiences, further confirming that he doesn’t like to write down what he hasn’t confirmed to be true yet. And he’s a lawyer, so that makes sense.

He tells us a series of questions Dracula asked of him that he wants to record, in case it’s useful later. I can’t say enough that Jonathan is truly using all of his wits here!

We also get an insight into Dracula’s plan: he wants more lawyers in different parts of England to direct goods he would like to ship. What exactly these goods are and more precisely, why, is a mystery (I have my theories, but I’ll keep them to myself to remain spoiler-free — and I don’t remember all of the details tbh).

What we do know is that he obviously wants a decentralized network working for him. He doesn’t want one person knowing his business, but rather, wants a few people knowing little pieces of it. However, he gets rid of this idea once Jonathan describes the solicitors as a “system of agency”. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me like that’s saying that all of the solicitors work together *on some level* or, at least, know each other and it would simply be easier to just have one guy do it. To me, this says that they regularly chat with one another if Dracula were to do this, they would likely figure something is up.

Whatever it means, it does seem to intimidate Dracula, since the next question he asks is “can I just do it myself” to which Jonathan says “of course!” All of those law books Dracula has been studying seem to come in handy, for he knows the law almost as well as a solicitor. I’m sure it’s not to do anything wrong or illegal….

I also love that even though Jonathan is trying to escape from this man, he still wants to give him honest legal advice, like he makes him clarify his question to lead him in the best way possible. If only Dracula was worthy of that treatment!

However, he’s snapped back to the reality of being a prisoner when Dracula asks him if he has written letters to anyone and basically demands him to stay for a month!!

“What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkin’s interest; not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth, resistless way”

It’s a sober reminder, but one that bears repeating. Unfortunately, Jonathan has to stay at Castle Dracula. Even with all of the scary things that have happened to him so far, it’s not enough to warrant saying no. Since he went in his boss’s place, it’s even more imperative that he tends to this Count’s every need. If he doesn’t, he’s basically using his boss’s name in a negative way, which is so much worse. Dracula could use this to write a smear campaign against Jonathan AND Mr. Hawkins, and it would work.

There is also the matter that he’s being actively held captive, but I would wager Dracula knows exactly what’s at stake for Jonathan here, and it has nothing to do with locked doors. How would Jonathan be able to work his way up the ladder if he refused to stay and help a wealthy man — his first real client — for a month? Jonathan could tell anyone he wanted about thrown mirrors and locked doors, but he would likely just get told he made it up or be labeled as “indiscreet” because hey, the rich clients are eccentric and can do what they want, right? So what if you were almost attacked? It’s harrowing how relatable this kind of situation still is hundreds of years later. Dracula may be a vampire, but that’s not the only type of horror we get in this story.

After Jonathan agrees, Dracula then asks commands him to write three more letters but only about business stuff, please? Jonathan immediately knows he needs to write formally for Dracula’s sake and then write more in secret, especially to Mina in their shorthand code (hooray for the nerds!). He only uses *two* of the letters — I bet he stashed the third to use for Mina — and then observes Dracula writing a few of his own.

Jonathan does not miss his chance to read Dracula’s letters when he leaves and

“felt no compunction in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I could.”

I love that he doesn’t feel any qualms about doing this. He shouldn’t. He’s being held hostage and now told he has to stay for another month. Most protagonists of this era would likely balk at the very idea of snooping through mail and I’m sure Jonathan would too most of the time, but this isn’t any other time. Jonathan knows he has to do this for his own safety.

He’s only able to discover names and addresses before Drac comes back. Whether these are important or not, I won’t say, but they are likely a part of Dracula’s larger plan. Jonathan is meticulous in putting everything back as it was before, showing his attention to detail.

We then get an ominous warning from Dracula to Jonathan not to sleep outside of his room at night or else…thanks for that positivity! /s

Jonathan refers to keeping the crucifix at his headboard. He says he’s not worried about sleeping in a Dracula-free zone, but…I do think he’s worried Dracula or maybe someone else is going to attack him in his sleep, because why would he keep it so close otherwise? Also, he says he sleeps better with less dreams, so the queer paprika dreams are back y’all, but this time, no paprika. :(

We also learn he seems to take comfort in looking at nature, as that is what he does to calm his nerves. Bad news: this is already taking a toll on his fear levels and he’s less than a week in.

Worse news: Jonathan sees Dracula use Lizard ModeTM for the first time! He recognizes him by his hands (quite observant of him) and notices he’s barefoot (ew Dracula, put the grippers away!!!).

That causes Jonathan to call him a “creature” for the first time and worry there really is no escape for him. He ends his entry “encompassed with terrors that [he] dare not think of…”

Again, I feel for him here. How would you react to seeing your host crawl like a lizard around his castle? Personally speaking, I would not take it well. This is the most hopeless we’ve heard him so far, and I’m sad to say he doesn’t mention Mina to bring him out of it. I’m so sorry, good friend Jonathan. Looks like your business trip is not going too well, after all.

#dracula daily #dracula #jonathan harker #count dracula #may 12th #long post #novas notes

[randomsketchdump]

I’m never normally one to do these types of art things but I thought the comparison would be really fun!

If anyone is interested in the headcanons I have for Scarecrow there in the undercut!

1. I headcannon as a way to build up an immunity to fear toxin Jonathan began smoking small amounts (this had the added bonus of spreading the rising through the smoke alright this isn’t as potent as his usual methods)

2. As a side affect of his exposure to the toxin his hair and eyes changed colour, his hair turning orange and his pupils gaining a small glow. (This is either green or orange no reason other than it depends on my mood)

3. This is still more of an idea but this version of Scarecrow being a meta human, what he can do and the extents I’m still thinking about. I just think it’s a cool idea

#jonathan crane #dr jonathan crane #the scarecrow #scarecrow #btas scarecrow #btas jonathan crane #i love scarecrows design in btas #I just love it when his costume is messy #like it’s been sown together #and the straw #btas #i do wish he was more intimidating in the series #I do like him as a silly goofy guy #I just wish he had more scary moments #and better motivation tbh #his comic counterpart can be so much more complex #it’s s shame it didn’t follow though #that’s just my opinion #Batman #dc #dc comics #meta human #meta human scarecrow

[angelsforthenight]

MRS. AND MRS. SMITH — abby anderson x fem!reader

ways you can help gaza 🇵🇸

do not buy tlou2 remastered!

a/n: this is way more inspired by the mr and mrs smith series (2024) not the 2005 one!!! this explains why they’re wives :3

you’re an assassin along with your assigned partner/wife, abby anderson. fed up with her toxic behaviour, you’re pleased when the mission is centred around you seducing a man for murderous motives. why? well, because you know it’ll get under abby’s skin. little did you know, things would blow over way more than you thought it would.

cw: mdni, owen feature🤮🤮, long fic, kinda slow-burn ig?, femme fatale, arranged marriage couple, kinda toxic relationship, violence, mention of blades, car sex, mean!abby, bratty!reader, dom!abby, degrading, bdsm, ass-smacking, finger-fucking, cursing, jealous!abby, hair pulling, dry-humping, finger-sucking, choking, rough sex, teasing, squirting.

“short brown hair, rugged beard. got that?” abby’s murmuring voice comes in from the earpiece you’ve got attached. you groan and roll your eyes, wishing you could mute the goddamn thing.

see, any other day, you would’ve loved to hear your wife’s pretty little voice guiding you — her praises when you’d do something right or her degrades if you’d do something wrong both sending shivers down your spine, compelling you to do whatever she wanted.

but not today. today you’re over it. so what do you respond with?

“yeah, i know, anderson. we both got the fucking brief.” you hiss. you know how pissed abby gets whenever you curse at her; so that’s exactly what you do. you relish at the thought of her gritting her teeth, not being able to snap at you in front of all of these people.

that’s right, you two are at a charity gala event. it’s fancy. too fancy to the point where it’s intimidating: glistening chandeliers, artistic decorations and bustling people wearing glamorous attire. you and abby needed to blend in with the crowd so not only are you two dressed smartly for the occasion but are also split up. not that you’re complaining. you’re sick of her. sick of her petulance whenever you’d get glorified by the agency instead of her, sick of how sometimes she can be so simple-minded, sick of how, at points, she lacks at making you feel loved.

your job is to take out an owen moore, for unforeseen reasons. you never question what the agency tells you to do, neither does abby.

you’re planning to lure him in an concealed area with your enticing charisma, make him believe you’re going to sleep with him before slicing him dead with your blade. you prowl through the many people, scanning the area with a keen eye to find him. claude debussy plays as background music, taming your harrowing nerves. killing is never easy.

“found him yet?” abby sighs.

“please don’t distract me.” there’s way too many people and it’s beginning to stress you out. what if you never find him? failing the mission is the last thing you wanna do.

“i’m getting bored. plus, small talk with strangers pisses me off.” she complains.

“not my goddamn problem.” you retort, the ends of your tight-fitting dress flailing against your legs as you pick up the pace, worrying if there’s not enough time, worrying if he’s even here in the first place.

“literally what is your problem? acting extra fuckin’ snobby tonight...”

your eyebrows knit together. abby always finds a way to get under your skin.

“let’s not fucking start—“ you’re about to snap and make yourself look like a fool in front of all of these people until somebody accidentally bumps into you: spilling his drink all over your dress. great!

“oh shit. sorry, i didn’t mean that.” you hear a man’s voice as you stare down at your ruined dress in disbelief. you slowly glance up at the culprit; only to find the noted brown hair and rugged beard staring right back at you. owen moore.

despite your worked up embarrassment and your extreme annoyance, you manage to flash a smile.

“it’s okay, but... you do realise you owe me now right?” you bat your eyelashes, hoping you don’t look silly.

“and what’s that?” owen chuckles, rubbing the back of his head and making immense eye contact. he’s already flirting back, you think. this is about to be so fucking easy.

with a few drinks, owen’s already tipsy and you’re leading him to the vast room. you make him believe you’re just as woozy; stumbling and giggling away. you take advantage of his obliviousness: your hand brushing against the slit of your dress, fingers cupping the wooden handle of the blade in the garter wrapped around your thigh. whilst he laughs and babbles nonsense, you carefully trace the edge of the blade — feelings of excitement rushing to the surface. regardless of the fact that killing is never easy, it’s also never not exhilarating.

you’re about to fully whip out the blade until owen decides to be bold: setting his slobbery hands against the small of your back and trying to lean in for a kiss.

“woah.” you feign a grin, pulling his hands away. “we go at my pace.”

“aww… please?” he mumbles, trying to seem like an adorable puppy but instead making it look disgusting. this is sad, you think. you try to grab your knife again but he’s now grabbing your arms; desperate for a fruitless smooch.

“come on… don’t play hard to get.” he growls, his sudden aggression catching you a little off guard. no need for stress, you know what to do. your knee prepares itself to kick hard in between his legs until somebody’s arm suddenly emerges from behind, wrapping around his neck and squeezing hard.

“what—“ you breathe in bewilderment, eyes widening. despite owen choking and uselessly clawing at abby’s arm for escape, her gaze stays intently trained on yours; a death stare. it’s unnerving.

it doesn’t take long for owen to turn cold and slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head. abby lets him go, but not without cracking his neck first, and you watch as he flops onto the floor.

“what the fuck, abby…” you mutter, palming a frustrated hand across your face. “where the hell did you even come from?”

“there’s doors.” she tilts her head towards the backdoor behind her. you hadn’t even noticed it. your eyes travel back to her; irresistibly ogling at the black suit clinging to her body, complimenting her form. you almost forget you’re supposed to be mad at her.

the blonde chuckles wryly, a petty exhale. “you starin’? assumed pussy boys were more your type.”

“real fucking mature.” you snarl. “i had him. i was this close to killing him, abby.”

“you were taking too long.” abby shrugs, condescendingly pouting. you grit your teeth.

“jealousy? really? grow up.”

“at least i watch where i’m going. nice dress, the wet splotch is a nice touch, really.” she slanders, narrowing her eyes. you scoff, trying to pretend as if that dig didn’t offend you.

“you’re a fucking child. help me with the body.”

you two leave the building with ease, pretending as if owen is a friend that’s had too much to drink, wrapping his arms around the both of your shoulders and leading him to your car. abby opens the boot and you two push him inside. you two will decide on how deal with the body later.

for now, you’re sat on the passenger’s seat whilst abby drives, the two of you salty and quiet. abby’s driving way too fast; her hand gripping the steering wheel like her life depends on it. she’s obviously fuming.

“can you slow down?” you glare at her.

“you owe me… i mean, who even says that?” abby grumbles, ignoring your request.

“a lot of people do. now slow down, we don’t wanna attract attention from police knowing there’s a dead body back there.”

“not to mention that you’ve had an attitude since last night! the way you were flirting with that oliver guy? or whatever the fuck his name was, had to be on purpose. to spite me.”

abby starts driving even faster, increasing your stress. “owen.” you correct, “you’re so self absorbed!” you continue to beg for her to slow down.

“he’s, like, the embodiment of revolting too. don’t even get me started at the way he was trying to force himself on you. i should’ve put a bullet in his brain.” abby rattles on, pure jealousy oozing from her tone.

“you were definitely enjoying it too. i know you were.” she turns her head to look at you, not paying attention to the road.

“abby. abby!” you scream as abby almost runs through a poor family trying to cross the road.

“fuck.” abby murmurs as she swerves messily, just in the nick of time, steering into a deserted field. the two of you are out of breath from the fright, hearts racing from the adrenaline. abby rests her head on the wheel, letting out a long sigh.

“just what the hell is the matter with you?” you scold, “all this shit over a mission? are you serious?” abby’s lack of response leads you to continue yelling at her.

“of course we’re going to have to flirt with our targets now and then! the fuck happened to your professionalism? if i had known you’d be acting like this then i would’ve never—“

“why didn’t you kiss him?” abby raises her head to look up at you, her face blank. you blink, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.

“i…” you look away. you’re not exactly up for abby knowing that you couldn’t kiss him because of her. “where even are we anyway?”

“nice try. since you’re so professional, why didn’t you kiss him? he clearly wanted to. you could’ve easily killed him then.” the corner of abby’s lips arch up into a smirk — the familiar smug look of hers that never fails to get you weak.

“for someone who’s had so much to say just a second ago…” she leans in a little, arm resting against your headrest, “…you’re awfully quiet.” her voice is hushed down to a soft whisper, and you swear you’re beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“look, abby, you’re my wife… so…” you mumble in response to her pressing question, avoiding eye contact. abby chuckles, loosening her tie. here comes the floodgates.

“don’t play dumb and pretend as if the agency didn’t arrange that.” her finger presses against the dome light of the car; illuminating your embarrassed face. just what she wanted to see.

“you’ve been enjoying yourself, seeing me all jealous like this. you liked playing femme fatale, hmm?” her finger slowly twists itself around a strand of your hair, before she yanks a handful, forcing your head closer. you wince, eyes clenched shut. your cunt decides to flex too — reminding you that she’s got a mind of her own, and that she finds being in an empty field like this, in abby’s car, pretty fucking hot.

“let’s face it…” abby whispers, so close that you can feel her breath tickling your ear, shooting heavy tingles down your body.

“you want me so bad it hurts.” her eyes drift down to your thighs that are starting to shift uncomfortably in your seat. it’s beginning to ache down there and it seems like abby’s aware of that. you can’t help it. after all, abby sitting so close: loose strands of hair framing her face, unfastened tie and darkened eyes fixed on you, feels so good that it’s suffocating.

you squirm a little and abby grins, her fingers still laced in your hair. her grip slightly tightens as she licks her lips. she looks hungry.

“maybe what hurts is your fingers in my hair.” you quip, though your voice is a little shaky.

“maybe you need to fix your attitude.” abby retorts, “like, seriously, pipe down… you’re probably soaking down there.” she snickers, right on the money.

“fuck you.” you glare at her, gauging her reaction. you want to believe you’re saying this out of sheer anger for what went down tonight, but deep down, you know that’s not the case. in reality, you just want to get under abby’s skin. it’s what you’ve been craving since the beginning; to get her pissed.

you wipe the pleased look off of abby’s face, which is now replaced with a frown. your heart pounds with anticipation: so much so that your chest faintly heaves, lips parted.

abby’s eyes wander to your lips and in one swift movement, she pulls you in; pressing her lips against yours. you’re quick to kiss her back, the sweetness of her mouth sealing yours. fervent can’t even begin to explain the way you two are kissing. akin to wild animals, small muffled groans escape the both of you.

desperation is thick in the confined air of the car, as abby pulls away and shrugs her blazer off. you stare up at her.

“hurry… with your slow-ass.” you whine.

“watch your fucking mouth. c’mere.” abby commands. you naturally do as she says and she begins to unzip your dress — not without making sure to go deliberately slow.

“why do you have to be so mean?” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“oh, trust me… i’m only gonna be meaner.” she warns whilst planting gentle kisses on your neck. you’ve always admired abby for her ability to vary from being sour to tender in seconds. little did you know, the peppered kisses on your neck served as a prior apology to how cruel she’s going to treat you in a second.

once everything is off, abby marvels at your body. like a painting in an art gallery, she makes sure to pay attention to even the minuscule details of your body. it’s her favourite thing in the entire world.

“turn around.” abby mutters, her eyes hazy; voice bleeding with lust.

“what?”

“just do it.”

you hesitantly do as she says. abby beams: finding your weak resistance amusing yet is also excited to break you.

“now… bend over.” she coos, clearly poking fun.

you shoot her a glare, cheeks flushed. “what am i, your dog?”

“don’t piss me off.”

you glare at her for a few seconds longer before sighing, reluctantly bending over.

“arching that back and everything… wooow.” abby teases, “and to think i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“oh, just fuck off, abby…” you complain, the embarrassment beginning to overwhelm you.

“what was that?”

“i said fuck—“ but you’re cut off by a yelp when abby brings her palm down flat against your ass. you flinch violently; very, very taken off guard.

“mm? didn’t quite hear you. repeat yourself.” abby taunts, smacking you again. you grunt and flinch yet again, feeling the sting of her slap coarse through your body. abby’s humiliating you, milking every last drop of your embarrassment. the worst thing yet? you’re enjoying this way more than you should be.

“i’m not kidding. speak.” abby commands, showing no signs of mercy. your skin is already starting to gleam red, and your pussy? well, it’s a fucking party down there.

“abby…” you cry, completely under her control. the more she smacks, flesh recoiling under her palm, the more your head goes blank.

“go on babe… finish what you were saying before.” abby prods. this time, when she smacks you, her fingers grasp the flesh on your ass tightly; watching in delight as her fingertips leave little red marks. you’re trembling like a leaf, both from the pain and the arousal.

see, the thing with abby is that she never likes to let things go. she adores jabbing at you until she gets what she wants.

another smack, this one so hard that you need to press your palms against the window. abby then grips your waist and pulls you way closer; making your ass press against her hips.

“you wanna get fucked?” abby mutters, teasingly bringing your waist back and forth against her hips: hard, playful thrusts. your bare cunt pressing against her crotch is, without a doubt, driving you insane. you frantically nod in response to her question, in which abby replies with latching her hand around your neck; forcing you upright so that your back is now against her chest.

“use your words.”

“y-yes…” tears begin to stream down your face. you’re desperate, yearning for her touch as if it’s a life or death situation.

“so finish what you were saying.” her fingers slightly squeeze around the sides of your neck.

“i-i told you to f-fuck off but i d-didn’t… haa… mean it.” you splutter. the you a while ago would’ve had her mouth agape in horror at your behaviour right now.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” abby coos, her fingers tracing down your stomach, in between your thighs. long, drawn-out circles are traced on your swollen clit, her fingers pressing just the right amount of pressure. you groan, and abby taps her chin against your shoulder; smirking at how your legs are writhing, desperate for more.

“where’d all your attitude go?” the blonde ridicules. her other hand moves over to your breast, squeezing it, her thumb caressing your nipple. as to the hand working on you, her middle and ring finger brush against your folds; up and down. she’s touching you but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough: abby knows that.

“don’t do this to me, abby…” you exasperate. she lets out a breathy chuckle before flipping you over and setting you down onto the car seat. she reclines it back, eyes yet again fixed on you. you stare up at her with big glossy eyes, your head blank as if you’ve been dumbed down.

abby gloats at how helpless you look, grabbing your face with one hand and squishing your cheeks. “you look stupid.”

“shut up and fuck me.” you mutter in a muffled tone. abby laughs as if what you’ve said was the funniest joke in the entire world. you wonder if abby can feel your cheeks burning up against her palm.

before you know it, abby plows her thick fingers so far inside your cunt that you’d squeal, if it wasn’t for abby’s hand still clenched on your cheeks.

“this what you wanted?” abby purrs, fingers curling up against your g-spot already. you moan, back arching and squirming.

“oh! riiiiight, you can’t speak.” she gloats, playfully shaking your head with her hand. you whine in embarrassment, yet you secretly enjoy how she’s handling you like a doll.

abby’s finger-fucking you rough, wet squelch noises filling up the car. the sound of it is so erotic that it leaves you dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the blonde releases her grip on your face but not her thumb, that slips inside of your mouth.

“suck.” you mindlessly do as she says, as if you’re brainwashed. you can see abby’s cheeks tint red when you slowly suck her thumb, making sure to keep eye contact.

abby chuckles, looking away. seems like she didn’t think you’d actually do it.

“you’re shy.” you point out. you triumph over the fact that now it’s her turn to be embarrassed, but not for long.

“shut the fuck up.” abby says brusquely, her fingers operating way harder than before; relentlessly pounding against your g-spot. you cry, feeling overwhelmingly good.

that rigid attitude you had a moment ago? now dead and buried. you feel surreal, a series of mewls and sobs leaving your lips.

“nothing smart to say anymore? you look fucking pathetic.” and she’s right. you look like a hot mess. abby smothers your tears all over your face. you mindlessly move your hips, fucking yourself on her fingers. she smirks, loving what she’s seeing. you feel a knot beginning to untie in your stomach, sublime throbs coursing all over your body.

“i’m cumming…” you manage to choke out.

“i know.” abby buries her face in the crook of your neck, and you shiver at the feel of her breath against your skin.

“i’ll decide to be nice and let you finish.”

and that’s your cue. with an ending moan to seal it off, you feel your body tense up, eyes widening. abby leans in and presses her forehead against yours. you squeeze your eyes shut, before your body relaxes. you’re panting like a dog, staring up at abby with foggy and depleted eyes.

“so cute…” she murmurs before cupping your chin and kissing you — this time, soft and tender as opposed to the way she was kissing you before. you feel warm.

so absorbed in each other, you two forget about how you’re in the middle of nowhere and how the body in the car boot needs to be dealt with. for now, you two have something more important to worry about: how you’re gonna clean up the mess you’ve left all over the chair and dashboard.

a/n: you made it !!! thought it’d be funny if the target was owen😭😭 hope u enjoyed reading <3

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson fanfic #tlou2 smut #tlou2 #wlw #smut #the last of us #abby the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou fanfiction #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #lesbian

[shiny-jr]

Hi! I noticed that your requests were open and I love the way you write Malleus so I was hoping you would do yandere malleus x reader. where the reader knows twisted wonderland is a game (but not imposter au pls) and after they got isekia'd are trying to stop the overblots from happening and malleus is just terrified for them. Idk just an idea I've had for awhile but never found a fanfic like lol. Obviously it's totally fine if you don't want to do it or if I accidentally broke a rule. Anyway remember to drink some water and take a break if needed! Have a amazing rest of your day/night!!

Warning: Yandere (not really, not at all). Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Malleus Draconia.

Summary: MC sees affection meters and it's not good.

Note: These are mainly thoughts and random words my mind spewed out.  

How did one claim victory at a game? Well, it entirely depended on the game, the mechanics and the options. It should've been impossible to lose a mobile game that was primarily composed of the gacha mechanism and visual novels.

When you suddenly found yourself in the series of twisted villains in a prestigious school of magic, you found that it was much more complex than it appeared on screen. Especially when only you could see these small bars occasionally floating above people's heads. Bars which you recognized as affection meters, nearly all of them stagnant at a dull gray 0% when you first arrived. This was the hurdle blocking your way to an easy victory. Because how else were you to escape the game, other than complete it?

Situations became messier, when you didn't have a dialogue options between two mere choices. Add making good impressions and keeping a character's favor, to the list of quests alongside avoiding death by inky overblotted characters. By some miracle, you had increased the affection of the characters you met and interacted with to a healthy 5% or 10%, sometimes more. At any cost you wished to avoid getting in the negatives, because you did not want to find out what would happen then.

Sometimes, the numbers would drop dangerously close to zero, mainly when an overblot was occuring. Never had you realized how the visual novel failed spectacularly at portraying the utter horror of the overblotted in all their wicked glory. The black inky darkness leaking from them like tears or blood with those crazed unhinged looks in their eyes–– was the stuff of pure nightmares.

And yet the one whose overblot you had been dreading the most, the dorm leader of Diasomnia, was surprisingly docile as you dealt with others. However, you knew even when conversing with him, that you would one day witness him overblot and look like some ethereal but deadly fallen angel. So mentally you prepared yourself, while taking on the task of keeping up appearances.

Malleus' affection meter, was a good 20% and a friendly pink shade, quite the accomplishment you were proud of, considering the majority of the cast wasn't even at 15%. The Draconia heir was certainly someone you never wanted to see reach below zero, so you did your absolute best to appeal to him, even if he was quite intimidating at first with the way he stoically watched you complain about the least of your worries, homework and classes.

By the time you spoke to him about your troubles with the Ramshackle dorm and Azul, during what you knew was the Octavinelle arc, the prince's affection had sprouted to a 22%. When you went into more detail of the potential loss you could face, it went to 23%.

The next time you saw him, you were weary and antsy since witnessing Azul's break-down. If the blot of his tears had the magic to gather, it would've been enough to drown, you were sure of it. Even by that maniac look in his eyes, you're sure he would've purposely drowned you if he got close enough.

Throughout that charlatan's chapter, his affection meter had slowly been rising, dropping during the overblot like the tides only to rise once again by the end to a good 45%. This was good!

But no matter how much you may have pondered, strategized, or try to predict each next action, you could've never guessed that the next time you saw Malleus after Azul's overblot, his expression taut with concern, his affection meter had made a jump to 55% and turned red. This entire time you had been avoiding the negatives, but you never once worried of the dangers and implications a red affection meter above 50% would mean for you. Or heaven forbid, anything close to 100%.

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #yandere malleus draconia

[fluloa]

WET | jake sully x reader [mini series pt. 1]

“Again.”

You grunt, arms tired and soar, and you feel like crying. Sometimes— no, all the time, you wished that anyone else was your teacher instead of Jake. Who cares if he was once a human as well? He hasn't been one in years and if you were honest, he's more harsher than the actual natives. You've heard that when he was a younger na'vi, he was a bit of a troublemaker. Which is why you're so confused as to why he always has a stick up his fucking ass with you.

Some of your braids fall in front of your face as you look down, shoulders sinking, "But—"

"No buts," Jake sterns, gripping at your forearm and shoving it upwards to which you whine at, "arms up."

With a whimper, you stretch out the bow, back twinging in pain as the dips of your fingers sting. Jake moves, eyeing you from a different angle before gliding behind you. He surprises you when he wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you flush against him as you yelp out. His grip is hard.

"Your back needs to be straight like this." He teaches, demonstrating your now straightened back that is pushed up against his torso. "Not hunched over like this," he pushes your shoulder forward, setting your back into the position you were before.

The thing was, Jake had a very physical type of communication. Something that annoyed you and gave you a shameful amount of pleasure at the same time.

"Otherwise, the strength in your pullback is weakened." He steps back with a click of his tongue, "thought you already learned that, girl."

That nickname again. God, you didn't know why, but it did something to you. Made something swirl hot in the pit of your stomach. Just the deep husk of his voice brewing out the word—

You blink, a quick shake of your head and a flick of your tail and you can feel his gaze burn into your head.

"What is it?"

You turn to him, analysing the look on his face and it's something that you can't put your finger on. You hope it isn't disappointment. You clear your throat, "what is what?"

His eyebrows crease together into a frown before they raise against his forehead. "You're unfocused. Distracted. Like you've got something on your mind."

"I don't," you say, scratching an itchy place on your arm as you try your best to keep your face plain.

"You do. Spit it out," he demands, folding his arms and you can't help but let your eyes flicker to the thick bulge of them. He catches the motion. His eyebrows raise again, but this time it's for a different reason. He circles you again, but this time, it's for a different reason. "You look flustered," he comments, and you swear you see the slightest hint of a grin on his lips.

"I'm not," you rush, eyes widened and heart picking up a hundred times pace.

Jake stops behind you again, tilting his head as you eye him from the side. The warmth of his breath fans against your neck. "You are." He whispers, his tone low and it sends goosebumps through your body. "What? You need a release?"

He says it so casually that it makes you almost choke on your own spit.

"I don't understand, sir." You feel heat rise to your cheeks, head spinning as you try and contemplate what he had just said.

"Not that much to understand. A release is a release." He shrugs, "Not that hard to give it to you. Just gotta tell me if you want it."

Your body is hot. Like, really hot. You feel like you'll explode in any second, and you're not sure if it's in a good or a bad way. You finally meekly turn your head around to see him staring down at you, his eyes relaxed with his jaw set loose. It's intimidating. He really thinks this is normal. You let your eyes slip, flicking to the sweet curve of his lips and that's when he knows.

He pushes you to the closest tree with his hand gripped at your upper arm, and it’s like you’re entranced to just let him do it. Your back hits the tree, its rough bark spiking your skin. You feel the urge to sink your head down into its trunk when Jake leans over, scooping his fingers under your hair and cupping your neck. He pulls you up, sealing his lips to yours and you’re almost rising on your toes from his grip. His other hand glides to support the side of your thigh, fingers rough as they dig into the plush of your skin and never relax. His lips are smooth, melting against yours when he slips his tongue into your mouth. It’s the opposite of chaste as he molds you with the skilful flick of his tongue, holding the back of your head with a heavy hand and beginning to rub gentle circles with his fingers on your thigh.

It’s enough to have the hot swirl spend in your stomach, enough to have you panting and wanting more. Your hands finally pick up enough courage to place them on his shoulders, not without the jitter of your fingers and you can feel a quiet scoff come from him. Dickhead. He probably thinks this is some kind of game, that you’re just a little piece of entertainment for him to end the day. Your thoughts crumble when he suddenly pushes your thigh up, jutting you against him as he wraps your leg around his waist.

His hand finds your lower stomach, resting there for a moment as his fingers curl against your small pouch. Then, his hand slips down, catches onto the mangy material of your loincloth, and he finally breaks your mouth from his. A string of saliva thins and sticks to the bottom of your lip, your chest rising quickly and your breath uneven.

He wipes it for you with the flat of his thumb, then dips it into his own mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the heat between your thighs begin to moisture. With his eyes still on you, his fingers dive, picking up the front of your loincloth and flipping it to sit at your thigh. Your connected gaze breaks when his eyes flicker to your lower body, a glimpse of his eyes twitching wide for a second and you feel a wave of embarrassment creep over you.

“Fuck, isn’t that a pretty little sight.” He mutters, then looking at your loin cloth, then back up to you. “Take it off.”

You lay there for a second, heart racing and cheeks warm. He snaps you into action when his head tilts, an action you’ve come to learn as ‘did you not just hear what I said or do I have to make you hear it?’

Finally, the loincloth falls loose, sliding down your hips and onto the ground. Immediately, his thumb is on your clit, circling the bud teasingly and painfully slow. His other hand holds your hip, keeping you comfy in between the tree and himself. He watches you with curious eyes, catching the way your breath hitches and the way your lips fall split.

Two fingers lather down your split, feathering at your folds and experimentally teasing around your entrance. “You always get this wet?” He breathily asks, and you can’t tell if the question is out of proper impressment or just plain teasing. When he doesn’t see you answering, his fingers at your jaw, a lean in with his head. His lips are a centimetre away from yours as he frowns, “I asked you a question.”

You gulp, and a whine breaks from your throat when he presses down onto your clit. “I don’t know…”

He pinches your clit. You jump in his grasp. “Fi—Fine! No.”

He gives a slow kiss to the dip of your neck, flicking at your clit lazily and it makes your thighs fucking tremble. His middle and ring fingers ghost over your pulsing entrance, and you wonder why this man is such a tease. “Tell me you want it,” he mumbles.

His teeth sneak past his lips to nip at your skin, pulling on it gently with his tongue sponging out as well. You knew a hickey was on its way.

“Come on, I want to hear it.” Jake encourages, a hard roll to your clit that has your eyes rolling back with it. He bites down into your neck, a gasp flying from you when you feel his fangs dig into your skin. “Don’t make me force it outta ya,” he warns, the dark edge to his voice dampening his fingers with your running slick.

“Yes, I… I want it,” you whisper. The girth of his two middle fingers slip into your cunt smooth and you can’t help but groan. You stretch out and around him, and a small smile twitches across Jake’s face.

He whistles low and quiet, “Look at the way you suck me in,” he almost says to himself, eyeing the way his blue fingers dissolve into you. He starts moving them in and out gently, to which you gasp loud at. A quiet, taunting laugh is heard from above you. “That’s right.”

His fingers are long and thick, and you can feel the many callouses imprinted on them as they drag along your walls. The moment of gentle is gone when Jake picks up the pace, digging his thumb into your clit. Your back arches, hands digging into his shoulders before falling to the muscle of his arms.

The speed becomes into a ferocious one. It’s rough and unforgiving, like he’s trying to reach deep inside of you and pull something out. The hand on your hip shifts, to speed past your top and press down hard onto your right boob. He squeezes it, rolling the nipple in between the gap of his two fingers. Your breathing gets stuck inside your throat as you choke out a whimper. “Jake—“

“Quit whining.” Jake snaps, then a quick pinch to your nipple. “Take it.”

His fingers curl inside of you, make your body jolt and a hot lick of fire whip through your belly. His palm replaces his thumb on your clit, the length of his fingers jammed full into your cunt as the tough layer of skin of his palm rubs against it. Your hips jerk against him, the grip on his arms tight like if you let go, you'll die.

You let out a tiny moan, and Jake grips at your jaw again, his finger playing at the bottom of your lip before pulling it open, having your mouth in an O shape. "Don't hold back on those noises now, girl."

The band in your stomach tightens, a hard pull to your body and your head slumps against the tree. You can feel its tiny flecks of wood dig into your scalp, but you don't care because all you can focus on is Jake's fingers, moving in and out of you in such a pace, you could catch fire. Now you understand what he's trying to pull out of you, and it's not in a nice way. The release. Like once he gets his hands on it, he'll rip it out.

And he does. You feel your vision fall blurry when your orgasm, the release, crashes through you, rocking your body hard. You cry out, voice cracking into pieces. His fingers keep working up into you, helping you through your high as you regain sensibility. Everything is silent, except for your ragged breathing. You finally blink up at him. He blinks down at you. He pulls his fingers leisurely out of you, the cool of the night's air hitting your bare cunt. He looks down at his soaked fingers before dipping them into his mouth, tongue flatting against them and sucking them clean. You can't read his face.

He puts you back down onto the ground, your knees wobbly and you'd fall over if it weren't for the tree pressed up against your back at the moment. Jake's eyebrows raise slightly.

"Better?" He asks, and before you can respond he's walking away, the leaves underneath his feet making a crushing noise. You're left with only your timid breath, as your loincloth lays messy around your toes.

here’s part two bc yall were THIRSTY. ur welcome alien fuckers💙

#jake sully smut #jake sully #avatar the way of water #jake sully x reader #avatar 2 #love me some blue alien himbo thick dick #except it’s not really dick just fingers #jakes fingers are fucking magical #dilf jake sully #avatar 2 jake sully #he is so slept on in avatar 2 #smut #shameless smut #tbh

[neptuneiris]

detachment (03/03)

with detachment, we see our mistakes honestly, make amends and start afresh.

pairing: prince!aemond × niece!reader

summary: aemond not only breaks your heart after so many love promises, he also breaks his betrothal to you without any justification and announces his betrothal to a baratheon girl. now you will be married soon too.

word count: 8.5k

previous part • series masterlist

thank you so much for joining me and giving your support to this short story. there will be no epilogue, this is the end, so i hope you enjoy it very much, love you all. see you in the next stories🥺❤

"You look too happy, my Lady."

"I say the same of you, my Lord."

Lord Cregan smiles softly in your direction, without both stopping dancing and without ceasing to be the center of attention of some of the nobles still remaining in their seats and your family as well.

Even though there are more people around you both also dancing, the center of the huge Room gradually adding of more people to dance, still you feel many attentive looks on you and your betrothed.

"Well, we would draw a lot of attention if we weren't dancing and smiling, my princess. This is all in our honor."

You smile, lowering your gaze for a moment.

"Well… then I must say you are an excellent dancing partner."

"You too, my princess," he smiles at you, "Although, to be honest with each other, this is actually costing me a bit… feeling a lot of eyes on me," he confesses to you honestly, without wiping the small smile from his lips, "Especially when I feel like they're burning my skin at the moment."

At that moment you don't need explanations. You know Lord Stark means him.

"I apologize for that," you say apologetically.

"No, it's all right," he assures you, "It's a bit intimidating, too much actually, considering the prince's reputation in combat. But in a way… I understand what he must be going through."

This catches your attention, at once watching him intently and curious.

"You shouldn't," you make it clear to him, serious, "This is our wedding, you don't have to feel sorry for him. From what I told you when you went to Dragonstone, remember he has no right, he was the one who cancelled our betrothal."

"Honestly, my princess… I wouldn't be surprised if at some point in the night you disappeared and left me."

You lower your gaze, deep inside you a few moons ago you probably would have wished for that, for Aemond to arrive at any moment, take you away and wed you. But now… this is a duty.

It's not like that's really going to happen either, not now when everything is already happening. He is present, yes, but it's all in the past and he's getting wed soon too.

"I can say the same for you, my Lord," you say a little amused, "I too feel a certain… intimidating stare."

He smiles softly and denies with his head.

"No. I would never do anything like that to you, princess."

"But do you love her or not?"

"I shouldn't answer you something like that, princess. It would be disrespectful when you are my betrothed, not her."

"No," you gently shake your head, "It is all right, my Lord. It is my wish for you to be honest with me, believe me I do not mind," you assure him, "Besides, I think I know the answer from what you also told me on your visit to my home."

"Well," he looks a little apologetic, "Yes, of course I love her. But I realized it too late. Had I known sooner, I would have married her in an instant."

You can't smile, especially knowing that both you and Lord Stark have someone else in your hearts and yet the two of you are here about to be wed.

Unconsciously your gaze wanders to Lady Alysanne Blackwood who is seated at one of the tables with a glass of wine in her hand, staring into oblivion and quickly identifying her sad face which she is trying to hide.

And you know this because you were also doing the same thing and feeling the same way.

"Have you spoken to her, my Lord?"

You turn your gaze to Lord Stark, asking him softly.

"She said she is happy for me and wishes me a loving and pleasing marriage," he tells you also trying to hide his pain on his face and in his tone, avoiding looking to where Lady Blackwood is now sitting.

"I'm very sorry."

"No princess, you had nothing to do with it," he assures you instantly, "You don't have to apologize and feel responsible, just as I have nothing to do with what happened between you and your uncle."

"Then why do I feel that if my uncle or I finally do something about our union, you'd be all right with it?" you ask him curiously, "You wouldn't be upset and turn on my family if I leave and make a fool of you after so much?"

"Well…" he thinks about it for a moment, " I would feel a little humiliated? Yes. But to be honest, if I were him and I was seeing the woman I love marrying someone else… I would wish things in my favor and no matter what, I would take her away from here and marry her in a heartbeat."

"That is what you would do even for when we are already in these circumstances and everyone expects us to marry soon?"

Lord Cregan looks at you with a small amused smile and a somewhat questioning look.

"Are you trying to say that's what you would do, my princess?"

"I spoke in supposition, my Lord," you explain, "What if we were in other circumstances. As for instance that this wedding is happening against my will, with a person I do not wish to marry and where…. the person I love also loves me."

"Princess, it is improper what I will say and it is not gentlemanly of me, especially since I truly mean no disrespect—

"It's all right," you assure him again softly, "Speak freely, my Lord."

"Well… since you put it that way and apparently we're both on the same page… yes," he confesses with a soft look, "I would too."

You frown slightly.

"But I never said I—

"It doesn't need to be said and I know I don't know you too well, my princess. But I know you would too."

He smiles softly at you, as you watch him silently, saying absolutely nothing, thinking about his words.

"I have heard the stories of your mother and father. All of them have come to the North, very interesting stories and captivating to more than one, I must say. And knowing that same blood runs through your veins…I am already prepared for whatever you decide to do."

"I am already prepared for whatever you decide to do."

That repeats constantly in your mind, saying nothing for a few seconds as you continue to dance to the music and the specific choreography while Lord Stark follows your same step at all times, as do the other nobles around you.

But truly… what would you do?

Nothing. Just do your duty. And your duty is this.

Between you and Aemond there is nothing anymore. It's not as if at any moment you're going to run away with him, running away from your responsibilities, because you know he won't do anything and certainly you won't do anything either.

It's all said and done, he's getting married, you're getting married and what you once had, that love that existed is gone. And even though the stories of your mother and father still live on… you and Aemond are not like them.

Right?

"No need to worry about that, my Lord," you tell him as you both continue to dance, "You and I, that is what is happening now. He's betrothed too and there's nothing left of what we once was."

"I would not be so sure about that, princess."

You look at him confused.

"Why not?"

"I know the nature of the man. And knowing his father, Prince Daemon, a man who has my full admiration and respect, his nephew, Prince Aemond must be just like him. Besides, he would be a fool not to be acting now that the woman he loves is marrying someone else."

You deny with your head, understanding the point about your father, who also acted at one time with your mother at her wedding to your father Sr. Laenor, but he in the end did nothing about it.

And Aemond… is completely different.

Your father didn't break your mother's heart in the worst possible way, leaving her without explanation, much less just when both of them were already about to get married and have everything.

And about finally acting when the woman he loves is marrying someone else… it's something you don't fully understand.

"It's selfish, dont you think?"

"All men are selfish, I include myself. But the decision is always up to you, the woman I love and all women," he assures you with a soft smile, "Now…." he makes you both stop dancing, holding your hand delicately, " I will know your decision soon, princess. I'll be here waiting."

Confusion begins to overtake you, not understanding anything.

"What do you mean, my Lord?"

He does not answer you, on the contrary, he places his gaze over your shoulder, looking at something or someone specific, barely giving you time to react, because at that moment Aemond appears between the two of you, placing one of his hands on Lord Stark's shoulder.

"May I, Sr. Cregan?"

This immediately catches your attention, as Aemond keeps his attention on lord Stark, who watches you for a few seconds and then nods in his direction.

"Of course, my prince."

All the other people around you continue to dance, as lord Stark begins to walk away to disappear among all the people… and you watch Aemond without expression really, even more without understanding anything.

And when he looks at you, it's like reliving all those moments, all those moments where you both shared kisses, caresses and those promises of love, also all those moments when you were children.

However… he says nothing and simply places now his hand on your lower back to start guiding you towards the center of the Room, you walking too instantly, both of you making your way through all the people dancing.

Nerves invade you, especially because this is the first time you are in front of him after everything that happened, taking into account that you ignored his request about meeting on the island, although he has it more in mind than you.

But everything happens too fast.

You are completely oblivious to the looks that Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent are giving you both, while your mother and father don't seem annoyed like the previous ones mentioned, but rather curious and expectant.

While Aegon… he couldn't be having more fun with the moment, especially delighting in his little brother's audacity and his mother's and grandsire furious stares, especially his grandsire.

Aemond glances sideways towards the table, or towards his grandsire specifically, being very aware that he is being watched. But honestly he couldn't care less.

He's had enough. And he doesn't care that this isn't what they expected of him or that it will lead to serious consequences later, he doesn't care anymore… because he will finally make things right.

"This is what you want?"

Is the first thing he says to you once he has your attention in High Valyrian, both of you being surrounded by all the people dancing to the music, while he and you remain in the middle of it all, standing in front of each other, your attentions on each other.

And his question bothers you, because it is certainly not what you expected to hear from him after so many moons apart and in which he never once explained anything to you when you needed it most.

He simply questions you about your marriage, his serious look on you, while you answer him with the same attitude and manner.

"It's none of your concern what I want, uncle. It's not like you'll care either, just like I don't care what you have to say about my wedding either."

Uncle, not Aemond, just…uncle.

All your words anger him, instantly watching you with such intensity and with his jaw clenched, leaning more towards you with that defiant look.

Then you answer him in the same way, watching him with your chin up and your serious, determined look.

"The man from the North is a good and noble man who will drive you to boredom even before you both say your vows before the Seven, so tell me niece….. do you really think he deserves you?"

"Don't tell me, uncle. Now you're going to say you're the one who deserves me?"

Aemond clenches his jaw tighter.

"You didn't let me explain."

"It was too late for your explanations, don't you think?"

"I waited for you and you never came."

"Well, now you know what it feels like to be left without explanation," you tell him in a bitter, serious tone, "Not to mention that I had to hear the news of your new betrothal afterwards."

Aemond does not take his gaze away from you for a second, not even caring that you are in public and in the open view of other people, especially his family, because at that moment for him… it is only you.

And honestly… you don't care either.

You had been waiting for this moment, nothing feeling more than satisfying than paying back the man who supposedly loved you in the same way, making him feel what you felt.

"Perhaps you would understand why I did it if you would let me explain," he tells you serious.

"No," you tell him serious and annoyed, "Your explanations I needed to hear when you broke me and left me. Not now that you're finally acting when my wedding to another man who isn't you is happening."

He watches you completely serious and attentive, while you are being more than firm with your attitude and your words, even defiant.

"So if you will excuse me… I have to find my betrothed."

Putting the matter to an end, you turn around and start walking away from him, trying to make your way through all the people around dancing.

But it's barely three steps that you advance when Aemond stops you by the arm and makes you turn on your own axis to be face to face with him again.

And Gods… he is furious.

Again you watch him defiantly, more by the fact that he holds you by the waist and pulls you completely to him, bringing another of his hands to your cheek, preventing you from running away from him again, while you watch him seriously and in expectation of his next move.

But he's not mad at the fact that you won't let him explain himself, but at your words, your betrothed.

"First I'm going to burn everything to the ground before you have a chance to marry that fucking northern man," he warns you mumbling under his breath, their faces mere inches apart.

You try to pull away from him, but he only makes his grip on your waist tighter and his grip on your cheek tighter, watching your whole face, your precious face with possession and desire, watching your lips between parted as your gaze also watches his, reprimanding yourself.

"Let me go. People are watching us."

"Then let them see," he says without a care in the world, his gaze possessive and dominant, "Let them see who you truly belong to."

You press your lips together, upset.

"You are so selfish."

"When it comes to you…you don't have a fucking idea. And I'm not going to let you go."

At that moment, both of them are indeed getting attention, but not from the noble people, but from their families.

Otto Hightower clenches his hands into fists and squeezes them tightly with a deathly stare, while Queen Alicent watches the scene in disbelief, not having the slightest idea how to fix her son's behavior.

But Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon... are only anticipating what will come next.

"If you don't let go of me I'm going to scream," you warn him between your teeth.

But at this, Aemond can only smile with a certain self-centeredness and satisfaction, as well as looking amused.

"Oh I would like to see you try, my love."

And then the next thing he does is to take you firmly by the arm and start dragging you towards the exit of the Throne Room, unnoticed among all the people dancing, while you try to put up resistance in an instant but with Aemond's strength it's impossible.

You think about screaming, as you told him you would, but causing a scandal would only be worse, so you let him lead you, who with quick steps makes sure no one follows and takes you away from all that absurd and boring feast.

But once you both leave the Room, that's when you can finally stop him and confront him.

"What are you doing!?"

"I want to explain," he insists serious.

"No!" you exclaim in annoyance, "I don't want you to explain anything! Can't you see that I can't leave my own feast? What is my betrothed going to think? And your betrothed too!?"

"I don't give a shit about your feast, your betrothed and my betrothed, now come," he says as he again puts pressure on your arm to continue to lead you away.

But you put up a resistance again.

"No! Let go of me, Aemond!"

"Don't make me repeat myself again, Y/N."

"This isn't fair!"

"Nothing is. Now stop resisting and walk," he tells you disinterested.

"You're so fucking selfish! You don't even have any idea what you really put me through and now you want to ruin my wedding because since you don't care, you think I must not care too!"

Aemond, starting to lose his patience, sighs and has no choice but to, without waiting for you, grab you and place you on his shoulder like a sack to start walking quickly away from there without further inconvenience.

"Aemond!" you exclaim in surprise and in horror.

"Are you going to behave now?"

"Put me down! Put me down this instant!"

"I don't want to."

"I have to go back! We're going to get in trouble because of you!"

"Too bad."

So the only smart thing you can think of at that moment is to keep complaining and trying to hurt him with your not so convincing closed fist punches, neither is squirming and making his job of carrying you difficult and unbearable, because simply nothing worked.

With your protests being further and further away from the Throne Room, with no one coming to your rescue, though if so they wouldn't stand a chance against Prince Aemond, he finally puts you on the ground as you enter one of the many balconies of the Keep.

"Seven fucking Hells, will you stop yelling already?"

"And what did you expect? You're taking me away from my own wedding!" you exclaim in anger.

"It's not your wedding Y/N!" he exclaims to you again serious and annoyed, "Do you really think I'm going to let you marry that fucking Stark?"

"And what about your betrothed?" you inquire instantly, incredulous, "You don't know that you can get us in trouble for this? Spare us the embarrassment, Aemond. My father must be looking for me by now and he'll put your head on a spike if he finds us."

"I don't care if your father finds us, neither does my grandsire, my mother or your betrothed," he tells you with a certain mocking, serious tone. "I don't care about any of this, Y/N. And I certainly don't care about my fucking betrothed because I'm not marrying her."

A smile and a disbelieving, absurd laugh escapes your lips, shaking your head.

"Yes, of course."

But the look Aemond gives you at that moment is a terribly honest and serious one in which he shows he's not in jest.

"I'm serious."

"Well, tell that to your grandsire," you tell him in a bitter tone, "I'm sure he'll kill you first before my father if you don't do what he or your mother tells you."

He lets out a long sigh, tearing his gaze away from yours for a moment, running one of his hands across his chin.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this?" you interrupt him seriously, annoyed, your skin burning and all the discomfort coursing through your body, "Why now that I am about to marry Lord Cregan? Why not before when you left me with no explanation and crying for you with the thought of your soon to be wedding to Lady Baratheon?"

"Nothing I did to you was my intention, Y/N," he implores you, earnest and honest, "Nothing was my choice, I never meant to end our betrothal."

"Then why?" you spit at him, "Is it that you don't want to see me marry someone else but I'm not going to marry you either?"

"Because the war will soon be upon us," he tells you in an instant, serious and seriously needing at that moment to explain himself, not wanting you to hate him more by listening to his reasons, "We all know that my father may die at any moment. And when that happens… the war between our families will begin."

You frown, shaking your head slightly.

"Now what are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," he says taking a few more steps towards you, "Your mother is the Heir, we know that, but still… she is a woman and she will have a lot of people against her by the time comes."

"Many people or your mother and grandsire specifically?" you ask him expectantly.

Aemond lets out a long breath.

"Aegon is the first born son, everyone will expect him to be the next King."

"Aegon is a fucking drunk who doesn't even care about the Throne, Aemond!"

You exclaim absurdly to him, sick of this.

"He has said countless times that he is not interested in the crown and does not want to rule, but it is your grandsire who keeps insisting and wanting to take total control of everything on his own whim and for his own ambition, denigrating my mother knowing very well that my grandsire has named her Heir and has never, not even consciously, said that he wishes Aegon to succeed him! " you tell him incredulously, "And not only him, your mother is also against mine, letting herself be led by everything your grandsire tells her."

"And what is going to happen when your mother sits on the Throne, hmm?" he inquires you as well, "She can order to kill me and all my family because of the pressure of the people by having not only one, but three sons of the King, where none succeeded the crown."

All the confusion invades your face instantly, staring at him in disbelief and as if you can't believe it for even him, Aemond Targaryen, being the intelligent man he is, to think such a thing, about to retort but he continues to speak.

"Do you really think that even so if we had married, your family and I would begin to get along?"

He inquires you, incredulously and your breath catches.

"It's not that I don't want to Y/N, it's that I can't. What kind of sister cares more about some supposed lies to a maimed eye? If she had no sympathy for me at the time, less will she have for when the people reveal themselves against her and she wants to secure her Throne."

"Seven Hells," you mutter incredulously.

"I know Aegon isn't cut out to rule, but at least with him on the Throne he secures my life, Helaena's, Daeron's and my niece and nephew's."

"So is the idea of me and my entire family being killed better?" you ask him bitterly, "All this nonsense is what your grandsire and mother have been telling you all this time? Turning you, my uncles and my aunt against your own sister? Don't you realize how sick with ambition and power that is? Is this why you canceled our betrothal?"

You don't need to hear the answer to that, you already know it. But he only confirms it when he doesn't say anything to you and with a sorrowful look, looks away from you for a moment, to which you don't know whether to laugh or cry.

You honestly can't believe it.

You knew that Otto Hightower hates your entire family but not with such fervor to the point of interfering in his own grandson's life, not giving him the chance to truly marry for love.

And destroying his thoughts about you and your mother for his own ideologies and for his own lust for power to put Aegon on the Throne.

Otto is even capable of turning all the common people against your mother out of envy, not only being enough to marry his only daughter to the king, taking advantage of the pain of others and securing his position even more.

You truly hate that man and also Alicent Hightower for letting himself get led and turn his children against his own sister with lies, being that she once loved your mother and yet was led by her father to hate her simply because of her freedom to be princess and being named by the king the Heir to the Throne.

"My mother has never, not even when she was named Heir and Aegon was born, thought in such a way about you."

You make it clear to her in a serious and more than offended voice.

"All she has wanted has been, even since you and I were children, to keep the peace between our families, even proposing to marry Jace to Hel and give you a dragon egg to you, but your mother turned her down at every opportunity because of your grandsire disgusting ideas."

You tell him annoyed, serious.

"She couldn't even recently stand the thought of marrying you to me, blinded by hatred and feeding you too that same hatred to hate her. And I understand what happened years ago, I understand that my mother is not to your liking, but she truly regrets having acted as she did in understanding your mother's position, she being the first to support us with our betrothal," you remind him in a bitter tone.

Aemond watches you completely attentively, without saying anything, with his lips pressed together.

"So tell me Aemond…. if she really plans to kill you and your entire family, then why would she go to the effort of uniting our families and supporting our betrothal?" you inquire, "Do you think it's all a strategy? Because I assure you that my mother with all she has to deal with in Court, being judged at every turn for being a woman, especially by your grandsire, would not waste herself with all those attempts to ultimately become a kinslayer."

And then… Aemond feels as if a huge weight has fallen on his stomach, leaving him for a moment without air.

He continues to watch you with a expressionless gaze, when inside he is thinking completely about your words, while you watch him firmly for your words, knowing perfectly well that you are right.

And that's the truth, Aemond also thinks you are right.

Kinslayer.

A sin.

A word and an action that makes you a disgrace to the entire Targaryen dynasty. A curse to your name and in which you will be remembered forever, as Visenya Targaryen was once called, though this is only a supposition.

But this word Aemond knows really well, as do you from the stories. And considering your mother's position and the one who will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, you know that your mother could never be called that if she is truly committed to her reign.

And she is, you know your mother really is and Aemond knows it too, despite how much that makes him furious, but for his grandsire and his mother's ideas, reminding him that then Lucerys inherits all of Driftmark and he... inherits nothing.

Or at least, now he inherits nothing.

For had he married you, you being the second born daughter of the Heir, Dragonstone is your castle and that would have been home to both of you.

Aemond considers that Rhaenyra can probably have them killed… accidentally as well.

But you… seeing you now in front of him after so many moons apart and after all that happened, he still trusts you and really believes in what you have told him.

What purpose would Rhaenyra really have had in marrying her daughter to her half-brother and then killing him? It doesn't make any sense.

And just as every mother cares for the happiness of her children, Aemond knows he was your happiness and your mother would never do that to you. And you… seeing that he says absolutely nothing to you, you can only watch him with a somewhat satisfied look, nodding slightly in his direction.

"That's what I thought," you mutter to him without much emotion.

And the next thing you do, you turn away from him and start heading towards the balcony exit to return to your feast, leaving him behind, assuming you've already said everything you wanted to say to each other. But again Aemond doesn't let you go so easily and stops you.

"I want to wed you."

And to your bad luck, you really can't put up any resistance and turn to him again, with a bitter look on your face and feeling again what it might have been when you heard his words.

"You were already going to wed me, remember?"

"All right, you're right,' he tells you serious, letting out a long sigh, "I should not have done what I did to you, I should not have listened to my grandsire words, nor should I have accepted my betrothal to the daughter of Lord Borros."

"It is too late now, Aemond."

"I'm not marrying her, Y/N."

"Oh and you're seriously going to go against your grandsire?" you inquire not really believing it.

"I don't fucking care about my grandsire, Y/N!" he insists annoyed, quickly heading towards you, "He can fuck himself as well as his alliance with Lord Borros, I really don't care about him and neither do I care about my mother. All I want, all I've ever wanted… is you."

You snort, turning your gaze away from him for a moment, to again stare at him incredulously.

"And what is going to happen when the King dies?"

You ask, expectantly.

"Now you know that my mother has never thought nor will she ever harm you, your brothers, let alone Hel or her children, besides she is the true Heir… who assures me that the first thing you will do is support the right side and not support the idea of usurping my mother?" you question him, "Do you think I want you and I to live at war too? That we will eventually start hating each other by supporting two different sides?

"And what do you want me to do, Y/N?" he asks you in the same way, "I understand about my brothers and Helaena, but who assures me that your mother won't go for mine's head? She is my mother after all, I can't leave her alone."

"She won't do anything to your mother, Aemond!" you exclaim in exasperation, "The two of them loved each other as children, my mother hasn't forgotten how much she held her in high esteem in spite of everything and you think she would dare to hurt her? Think Aemond and forget everything your grandsire has told you!" you exclaim, "It is your grandsire who is doing all this, separating us, creating rivalry and hatred, it is for him that my mother will go if he does something against her, not for anyone else."

You make it more than clear to him while Aemond says nothing for a few seconds, watching and listening to you attentively, to which you continue to watch him without understanding, to then let out a long sigh and deny with your head.

"Still none of this matters, I have to go back," you tell him without much emotion to resume your way.

But again Aemond reacts and stops you by taking you firmly by the arm as he turns you towards him and holds you by the waist.

He pulls you completely towards him, while he places another of his hands on your cheek and brings his face dangerously close to yours, surprising you by such closeness and stealing your breath.

"Aemond," you say in a whisper.

You show him that this is wrong, but he doesn't mind at all, on the contrary, he brings his face closer to yours.

His breath hits your face, watching you again with that possession and that desire, completely attentive to your face, your beautiful face, while you don't understand anything but you know that if you try to pull away, he won't let you.

Although again you feel all that you used to feel before when he was courting you, realizing that you have never really stopped feeling this way for him, scaring you and making you feel disappointed because again… you must do your duty and so must he.

However, you can't help but feel really desired by him, just like before, all these thoughts invading you as you want to be his, just as you also want him to be yours, watching his face and lips intently unconsciously, unable to resist.

But this is wrong, completely wrong.

"What do I have to do, Issa jorrāelagon, to put all this behind so that you will agree to marry me?"

He murmurs more than willing on your lips, not letting go of you for a second, not willing to let go of you for a second, being terribly honest with you, this immediately catching your attention and again stealing your breath.

But it's not just his words, it's him, everything about him.

His face, his figure, his grip on you, so fucking alluring and attractive, which is what you hate but at the same time is also your weakness of him.

And despite that, despite the fact that even though you don't want to, you're slowly giving in to him, yet you still have some willpower and you don't just think about yourself, you can still think about the other people there at the feast.

"I-I can't," you look at him sadly, "Cregan Sta—

"Y/N."

He stops you making your grip on your waist tighter and his gaze more determined, really not wanting you to talk about him and wanting you to focus right now, on you,

"Just tell me what I have to do and so I will do it. Just tell me."

He insists and you… hesitate.

You haven't the slightest idea what to do.

"If I were him and I was watching the woman I love marrying someone else… I would wish things in my favor and no matter what, I would take her away from here and marry her in a heartbeat."

You remember Lord Cregan's words, as you continue to watch Aemond in front of you intently.

"I am already prepared for whatever you choose to do."

"All men are selfish, I include myself. But the decision is always up to you, the woman I love and all women."

"I will know your decision soon, princess. I will be here waiting."

Basically Lord Cregan Stark… was understanding with you and will already be prepared… if you choose this.

If you choose Aemond too, in the same way he has already chosen you over his family and his betrothed.

Then you think of your family, your mother and father, who will probably be very disappointed in you if you do not return and marry Lord Cregan, losing a great and important alliance with the man who owns the whole North.

But you remember what your mother was willing to do many years ago, when she was in the same position as you are now with Aemond, who completely forgot about the alliance and thought of her, her happiness, by asking the man she really loves to steal her away and take her to Dragonstone to marry her.

Now, knowing the history of your ancestors, how some of them chose love over duty, why shouldn't you do the same?

"Let my mother know what your grandsire is planning, avoid war," you tell him finally, "Kneel to her and swear your sword to her if you truly love me and if you wish me to marry you now."

In other circumstances, Aemond would have thought you are asking too much of him, but now that you both already know the truth, you his and he your mother's through you, he understands your point and thinks it is fair.

And if this is what he has to do so that you are finally his and he can finally call you his wife, which is all he has ever wanted, then so he will.

"Anything else?"

He gently caresses your cheek with his thumb and you, knowing with that his response, knowing that this is what he will do, finally stop feeling tense and let yourself be completely led by him, leaning into his body and his touch, feeling how slowly that weight on your shoulders disappears.

Just as you also Aemond feels that guilt stop invading him and finally now that he has you, he feels safe, loved and at peace.

"Promise me you won't break my heart again," you murmur against his lips.

Aemond gently shakes his head, leaning down to leave soft kisses on your cheek, starting a little trail, making you let out a sigh and place your arms around his torso, finally feeling you too at peace, having really missed this.

"Never again," he finally murmurs in your ear, sending shivers throughout your body and sounding like a promise.

Everyone in the Throne Room begins to look uneasy when one of your guards that your mother sent to look for you returns and whispers in his and your father's ears that you have disappeared.

Immediately Princess Rhaenyra glances at Queen Alicent, who is already watching her and instantly understands what is happening, turning quickly to her father with an alarmed and worried face as they and in fact everyone at the table also notice the absence of Prince Aemond.

The fact of this news does not really go unnoticed as your father immediately orders his entire guard to search for you throughout the Keep, at the same time Otto Hightower also orders them to find his grandson.

Your brothers and sisters, as well as your mother have an idea of who you are with, considering he too is nowhere to be found.

While Princess Helaena in the center of the Room begins to hear the murmurs of all the nobles, especially the ladys as they watch the entire royal family curiously, wondering if the bride has disappeared, also watching Cregan Stark out of the corner of their eyes.

Cregan Stark also watches everyone around him curiously, as the news begins to spread quickly throughout the Room, earning the sorrowful glances of all the lords.

And when Cregan finally understands what is going on, just as he had told Princess Y/N, he was already prepared and immediately turns to look at Lady Alysanne, who looks at him in surprise and disbelief.

Prince Aegon continues to drink wine completely amused by the whole situation, really feeling proud of his brother, delighting in his grandsire's behavior and reaction.

Princess Rhaenyra rises from her seat and looks with her bewildered gaze at her husband, who watches her seriously but at the same time with a certain resignation.

"I told you this would happen," he tells her as everything continues to be chaos in the Room.

"Shall we go to them?"

Prince Daemon lets out a long breath, clutching Dark Sister's pommel that hangs at his hip.

"She and especially he better have a good excuse."

Your mother and father get the idea and are sure that's what you and Aemond are doing now and Alicent and Otto Hightower as well, feeling horrified at the idea compared to your parents.

But before Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra set off, it is first the duty of both of them to bring order to the Throne Room and talk to Lord Stark, who doesn't really look bothered by anything, before going to find you and Aemond.

When the news that Otto didn't want to hear, reaches his ears, and that is that your dragon Silverwing has left DragonPit and they also saw Vhagar flying away in the skies some time ago.

Meanwhile in Dragonstone… considering Kings Landing is not far away and it's quick dragonback travel, you and Aemond are finally joining blood.

All the emotion comes over you, really everything being in favor of both of you calling a Septon who has been at your family's disposal all the time you have lived in Dragonstone, who agreed to perform the ceremony, while the maidservants brought you both the clothes your mother and father wore when they also had their Valyrian wedding.

And now being here with Aemond, it's really happening.

He holds Dragonglass in his hand as the Septon begins to recite the correct words in Valyrian, about to join his blood with yours, being just as excited as you are, but dissimulating a little more.

"Hen lantoti ānogar"

Blood of two

"Va sȳndroti vāedroma"

Joined as one

Aemond directs the blade to your lips to slightly cut your bottom lip, then you also do the same with him and so then both of you bring your thumb to the bleeding part and place blood on each other's foreheads.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti."

Ghostly flame

"Elēdroma iārza sīr."

And song of shadows

"Izulī ampā perzī."

Two hearts as embers

Then you both cut the palm of one of your hands with the blade, and then join the two cut hands so that the blood begins to drip and fall into the chalice in the middle of both of you.

All the while you watch with a small smile on your lips, really not believing that this is finally happening, while Aemond watches you with adoration in his eyes, with a barely visible small smile on his lips.

"Prūmī lanti sēteksi."

Forged in fourteen fires

"Hen jenȳ māzīlarion."

A future promised in glass

Once the chalice is considerably full, both drink from each other's blood, as is the tradition of Old Valyria.

"Qēnlossa ozūndessi."

The stars stand as witness

"Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo."

The vow spoken through time

"Rȳ kīva mazvestraksi."

Of darkness and light

And finally you both permanently seal your wedding and your love with a kiss, finally being husband and wife.

After that, you lead your now husband to your chamber, where as soon as Aemond closes the door behind him, you perfectly understand that look on his face, one of complete desire and in which you barely have time to react as he pulls you to him with force and kisses you with need.

If you didn't feel the same way he does, you would have asked him to slow down… but you are just as desperate and completely crave his touch, to feel him, to become one.

"I'm not going to let you rest, ābrazȳrys. Not now that I finally have you," he promises you in the midst of kissing, beginning to remove your clothes.

"Nyke jaelagon ao, valzȳrys," you murmur against his lips.

I want you, husband.

And Aemond completely delights in your word, husband… being everything he wanted to hear you say to him.

He again devours your lips like a man possessed, not having enough, needing more, not believing he will stop anytime soon, not caring that the whole castle hears your moans, wanting to hear you say his name, just his name, all the time.

Soon both of you are already in your bed, you completely naked, while Aemond just needs to take off his pants, the sight of his naked torso turning you completely delighted, his worked body being another of your weaknesses.

You begin to moan and sigh as Aemond begins to bite and suck on your nipples, completely kneading your breasts with both hands, his two large hands in firm, possessive motions.

You breathe fast, feeling the pleasure invade you, needing more, as well as your juices beginning to drip between your legs.

"Aemond," you gasp, pulling his face closer to your chest.

"Does it feel good?" he asks you in a whisper, licking your flesh, making you moan louder.

"Yes, yes, it feels so good."

Aemond smiles against your skin, then descends one of his hands, spreading your legs wider and touching your most sensitive part, your entire nerve core with his fingers. You arch and moan in complete arousal, as he strokes you up and down being easier for him because of your wet folds.

"Fuck," he murmurs, biting your breasts.

"Aemond!" you moan.

He pulls his face away from your breasts and focuses on your face never ceasing to skillfully move his fingers, delighting even more in your expressions and your lovely face, as he feels his entire manhood hard and in need of attention.

"What? You need me to prepare you properly, my wife?"

"Yes," you gasp, "Yes, please," you look at him pleadingly.

"What exactly do you need, princess?"

"Aemond," you sigh, your whole face contorted in pleasure.

"Do you need this?"

His middle finger enters you, making you sigh and gasp harder, pulling Aemond closer to you.

"Yes, yes, I need it so much," you say as best you can.

Aemond smirks again, kissing your lips, silencing your sounds for a moment, continuing to move his finger in the ideal way inside you, making you sigh, gasp and moan just as he needs.

"You look so pretty like this," he murmurs against your lips.

Without warning, he adds a second finger, which makes you squirm and begin to wiggle your hips against his hand, needing more, as Aemond kisses and marks the skin of your neck, bringing his other hand to one of your breasts, squeezing it and making you gasp more.

"You're going to feel so good around my cock, my beautiful wife," he murmurs in your ear.

Aemond in his fantasies has always wanted to taste you, just as he has always wanted to know how it would feel to have your lips around him, how pretty you would look, completely at his disposal, wanting to make him happy in just the same way he wants to make you happy.

But now… he really doesn't want to wait any longer. He needs to be inside you, now.

Considering you'll have more nights like this, everything he wants to do to you can wait, so without further ado he pulls away and stops touching you, instantly getting your attention, but you watch as he quickly gets rid of his shoes and pants, needing to free himself.

And when you see it, excitement and terror run through you at the same time.

You don't know if he will fully enter you, his size really scaring you, as Aemond watches your reaction completely proud of himself, leaning back into you as he makes his way between your legs.

"I need this, so much," he murmurs against your lips, kissing you, as with one of his hands he strokes himself.

"Take me, husband," you ask gasping, "Take me now."

Then Aemond's gaze turns dark and utterly possessive.

"You are mine, aren't you?"

"I am yours. Completely yours."

"You want me to fill you with my seed? Do you need it as much as I do?"

"Yes, yes, I need it, please," you ask, "Do it, Issa jorrāelagon."

Aemond doesn't need to listen anymore, he places his manhood at your entrance and slowly begins to thrust, while you press your lips together to avoid screaming too loudly and close your eyes tightly, feeling him open you completely as a pain and burning that is not at all pleasant washes over you.

"Shh, shh, my sweet wife," Aemond quickly comforts you, hugging and kissing you gently, stopping himself, "It's all right, all right. Tell me when I can move."

"It hurts," you murmur back, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

"I know, I know, it just happens at first, then it will feel good, I promise," he assures you softly to then kiss you again, taking all the time he needs with you, really not wanting to hurt you.

He distracts you by again caressing you, either touching your breasts, licking your nipples and also bringing one of his hands back to your nerve core, making you feel again the pleasure of before, without him moving inside you even an inch, waiting for you to get used to it.

When without realizing it, you again begin to moan and pleasure begins to run through your body, not even when Aemond cautiously begins to move inside you again, until all of him is inside.

That same pain and discomfort returns, but to a lesser extent. And when Aemond begins to gently move back and forth, you sigh and let your head fall back, finally feeling good.

At that, Aemond begins to take more confidence and moves his hips faster, each thrust being a wave of pleasure, causing you to cling completely to him and sigh between his face and neck.

"You like it just like that, my love?"

"Yes, Aemond, just like that," you murmur in his ear, delighted.

"Can I go faster?" he asks you in a growl.

"Yes, yes, it's all right."

Then Aemond adopts a new motion, faster and deeper this time, making you moan loudly again as he grunts and delights in each thrust, feeling you clench around him and your juices filling him completely making the penetration faster.

He holds you by the waist and penetrates you faster, bringing his mouth to your breasts again, marking all over your skin, never stopping moving, as you feel something start to grow inside you and need to be released.

Just like what he is feeling too.

That one night he doesn't just spill his seed inside you once, he does it more times, in different positions, as you both touch and caress each other, seeming like you can't get enough, Aemond telling you in your ear over and over again how much he loves you.

Until eventually you both finish and the next morning, you feel a satisfied tingle between your legs, as Aemond for the first time after a long time, feels good about himself, needing no more as he holds you in his arms, both of you still naked and resting from the intense and long night you shared.

You both wake up fully and prepare for the day, both knowing very well that you both have to go back to Kings Landing to face the consequences of your actions. But now that you're both married, neither you nor he really cares much, as long as you're together.

You finish breakfast, everything still feeling like a dream, a dream you really don't want to wake up from, when you hear the roar of dragons in the sky.

You immediately exchange a glance with Aemond, as the two of you watch through your windows and your mother's golden dragon along with your father's red dragon make themselves seen on the island.

You both knew this would happen, so you were already prepared, and truly not wanting to argue because everything is already done, they both leave the chamber and head out to greet your mother and father, the two of them mentioned ready to demand an explanation.

But before Prince Daemon explodes in anger at his nephew, the words and his action are completely forgotten when your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, watches as her half-brother takes his sword and kneels before her.

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#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

[biggameplayertrentaa]

I. Trippin', Fallin'

word count: 3.1k

warning: smut 18+

summary: fwb!jude wants more while the reader just wants to protect her heart.

author’s note: this is a three-part series that will contain angst, smut, and fluff. above is/are the song (s) that coincide with this part! let me know what you think!

“No one knows I’m a whore though.”

 Jude’s words were spoken into the clothed crevice of the pillow tucked between his forearm and chin, so his defensive whine came out muffled. The two of you had begun to bicker before he even had the chance to pull out of you. In an orgasmed-induced haze, Jude had finally confessed his desire to finally make you his girlfriend.  Your reaction to this was to scoff and call him a whore, given his (well-concealed yet still notorious) playboy persona. Not exactly what he was hoping for, but it was exactly what he was expecting given your typical abrasive demeanor—a demeanor that had never waivered in his six months of knowing and fucking you. It was also typically a turn-on, but given the fact that he had just confessed his feelings for you (sorta), your attitude made him wish that the bed he was currently lying on would swallow him whole.    

Jude was on his tummy, back bare, and showing off the red stripes that decorated its muscular surface—a testament to the steamy events that had just transpired between the two of you. What was not, was your current ice-cold attitude toward the twenty-year-old midfielder. Just a mere five minutes ago, you were moaning in his ear, telling him that your pussy was his as you pathetically begged him to let you cum around him. Now your back was to him as you hastily got ready, eyes trained on taming the mess that had formed at the top of your head. Jude’s eyes—practically heart-shaped and pulsating like that of an animated cartoon character—slithered over your frame admirably.

“I do, though." You state, fingers now moving to tackle the dark red marks that Jude had littered down the length of your neck. You hated that; you weren’t his to be marked, yet he did it every single time you found yourself entangled in his sheets. He swore it was just a habit, but you knew Jude better than that—he was claiming you. “Also, I would like to—once again—remind you that this was your idea, Jude.” You stated in a tone that made it difficult for him to form a quick rebuttal. 

You got him there.

It was Jude’s idea to keep your arrangement completely sexual. In all honesty, when he had made this decision, the thought of making it anything more was incredibly frightening to him; Jude simply did not feel as if he was good enough for you. With your brilliant mind and dazzling personality, you were just as welcoming as you were intimidating to him. Dating you meant stepping up to a plate that was far too daunting for a twenty-year-old boy. This coupled with the limitless supply of women at his convenience and disposal due to his profession, propelled Jude to establish the boundary with you early—right before you even slept with him, in fact— to deter a possible messy situation.

Having just gotten out of a terrible long-term relationship, you accepted this agreement. A friends-with-benefits arrangement was safe for you; there was distance in the agreement, a barrier that would make it impossible for anyone to bring you back to the state you were in your previous relationship. Jude knew this and for a while, he understood it…until a particularly intimate night that went beyond the typical sex. It had started with a silly conversation on the couch that had suddenly transformed into a deep heart-to-heart. A heart-to-heart that exposed aspects of Jude he had always tried desperately to conceal from everyone. It took practically no effort for you to pull this out of him; Jude felt safe with you, whole. You had opened up too and just like that, the imaginary line that you both had established was crossed. That night truly sealed Jude’s fate and he’s been harboring feelings for you—silently for two months—ever since.

You heard the bed creak and moan as Jude moved to get off it. With his eyes never leaving yours in the reflection of the mirror, he finally settles behind, pressing his bare chest flush to your, now, jumper-covered back. Jude’s mouth parts, but it remains motionless and without sound. The proximity had caused a warm sensation to form in the pit of his stomach which left him confused—having never experienced it before—and ultimately mute. Your arms were still limp by your side, eyes attempting to settle on anything and everything except the ones boring into you via the reflection of the mirror. Determined to keep the armor around your heart secured and unfaltering, you slip out of his grasp and continue your efforts to get dressed. You hear Jude groan behind you, but you ignore him.

“What are you scared of?” Jude’s words are harsh, laced heavy with genuine hurt and confusion.

“I am not scared of anything,” You lie.

The only thing you had left to put on were your shoes. Thankfully, you had left them by the front door making your desperation to get away from Jude seem less haste and more natural. Jude trails behind, resembling a clingy puppy that couldn’t bear going five minutes without its owner.

“You said this is just sex. I give you just sex and you complain.” You’re breathless as you attempt to quickly slip on your sneakers. “You know, most guys would kill for this.”

“Well, I am not most guys.” Jude cringes the second the words leave his lips; so cliche, but still very true in this instance. With a final kiss to his cheek, you open his front door and step out into the bitter Madrid air. It wasn’t quite winter yet, but the autumn had matured, leaving the temperature crisp and the skies cloudy. The oversized jumper you currently adorned (courtesy of Jude) did a fantastic job of making the weather bearable though. Of course, Jude follows you out the door.

“You’re not like most guys.” It’s almost mocking the way you say it, but Jude only allows himself to dwell on the beautiful smile that accompanies the words. “Are you going to that thing tonight?” Asks Jude, referring to Real Madrid’s annual Christmas dinner. It was a pointless question; you worked in the communications department of the club, of course, you would be there, but Jude wanted to prolong your time together.

“Considering I work at the club, yes, I will be there Jude.” You roll your eyes, biting your lips to conceal the small smile that was threatening to reveal itself; Jude wasn’t slick in his efforts to keep you hostage. It was adorable, flattering even but you would rather braid blades of dry grass than admit that to the (already cocky) man in front of you. “Cool, me too.” He responds lamely, leaning against his front doorframe as his brain turns itself over in a desperate search for another question to keep you there with him.

But he isn’t quick enough.

With an amused glint in your eye, you curtly nod and turn on your heel. “Cool,” You parrot over your shoulder, “I’ll see you there, then.”

***

Five times.

Jude was referred to as “Belligol” five times tonight and he hadn’t even been at the dining hall for 20 minutes. Given his picture-perfect start at the Spanish club, Jude was a hot commodity that everyone on the club’s executive board wanted to make conversation with. They thought kissing his ass would flatter him, and if his mind wasn’t already occupied with thoughts of you, it would have. You were seated at the table directly across from him, taking occasional sips of the red wine in your hands. By your side was Alejandro, your coworker, and Jude’s arch-nemesis. Jude was convinced the man was in love with you, and would constantly try to indoctrinate you into believing his little conspiracy, but you weren’t having it. Alejandro was friendly and even if he did like you, you were uninterested.

Since Jude had arrived, Alejandro hadn’t left your side which frustrated him beyond words. He had come with a plan of sitting by you, pleading his case, and ending the night with you in his bed possessing the title of his girlfriend. But the fucking leech seated to your right made this incredibly difficult to execute. Jude clenches his jaw when he sees Alejandro lean into you and whisper something in your ear. It is an unbearable, nauseating sight that makes him see red and fantasize about doing something violent to the—otherwise innocent— man occupying the space beside you.

He hates that he feels this way— possessive. Jude knows that it is not right, let alone fair but it is difficult to suppress the nasty feeling Ms.jealousy tends to leave sitting on his chest and resting uncomfortably in his stomach when it comes to you.

He isn’t aware he is staring until your eyes finally meet his, and suddenly the abhorrent feeling he has is replaced with one of weightless warmth. Your left eye drops subtly into a wink and Jude can’t help but to attempt mirror you. He, of course, fails; both of his eyelids drop to form a singular blink. The toothy grin that plasters across your face makes Jude forget to be embarrassed. With Alejandro still in your ear, you softly nod toward the direction of the dining hall’s corridor with a quirked brow and a daring smile. Jude furrows his brow in mock confusion and tilts his chin slightly in the direction of the unsuspecting man beside you in a move that says, and what about him? You answer him by creating distance between you and Alejandro. With a triumphant smile, Jude watches as you hastily utter some sort of excuse to the poor man and your tablemates before making your way into the corridor. He waits, anxiously, for about two minutes before offering a lame excuse to his own table. When Jude is finally in the corridor, you are nowhere to be found. His eyes immediately scan the area, finally landing on the cracked storage room closet door just a few feet away from where he stood. Just as he had suspected, you were waiting for him in the closest, perched teasingly along the walls of the small space. You were looking at your watch-less wrist in mock annoyance.

“Took you long enough.”

Jude says nothing as he moves to stand in front of you, closing the door with his foot right before he does so. Trapping you between his chest and the wall, he cups your chin, forcing you to loll your head back to look up at him. You look absolutely stunning in your white sweater dress; the fabric hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating every curve and dip he had become so keenly acquainted with in the last six months. Jude leans in, breath fanning lightly over your face, but his eyes remain trained intently on yours. You immediately sink into his embrace, not only accustomed to his presence but also incredibly comfortable and familiar with it. Your breathing is strained and your heartbeat erratic as he brushes his nose against yours. His eyes flutter shut. Subtly licking the chap from his lips, he hovers them over your puckered ones for a split second before closing the slither of distance between the two of you.

Instinctively, you wrap your arm around his neck, pressing yourself to him as you attempt to deepen the kiss. Jude wasn’t having it. He didn’t care that his teammates and your coworkers would grow suspicious of your absence and maybe even go looking for the two of you. He finally had you exactly where he wanted you; he would be foolish to waste this moment with hasty, sloppy touches. So he keeps the kiss slow and loving, only allowing for his tongue to thrust past the barrier of your lips after you had seized in your attempts to take control of the kiss. You moan when his tongue strokes yours, the knot in your stomach only tightening as you anticipate his next touches. Jude smiles at the sound, bending down slightly to signal you to jump. You immediately oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist, not once separating yourself from his lips.

“What do you want?” He asks teasingly and embarrassingly breathless. You attempt to kiss him again, but Jude dodges you. You roll your eyes; he was going to be difficult tonight. “I said,” He begins, one of his fingers moving to the area between your thighs that was already wet and ready with anticipation. Jude moves your panties to the side expertly. He gatherers your arousal with his index and middle finger and bites his lip. “What do you want?” The words are spoken lowly into your ear. His two fingers are hovering just above your clit; if you moved even a centimeter you could brush up against them. You were throbbing and completely over the little game Jude was attempting to play. He was achingly hard, you could feel the outline of his dick on your thigh. No doubt, if you reached between the two of you and dipped a hand in his briefs, his tip would be wet with precum. The thought only intensified both of your heartbeats.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, not seeing the point in prolonging the back-and-forth bantered tango the two of you always engaged in before he fucked you. “You want me to fuck you yet you were flirting with Alejandro?” Jude quips, but he still chooses to move his two digits against you in tight, pressured circles. You suck in a breath, immediately laying your forehead on his shoulder.

“I wasn’t-” the words are strangled, labored, and breathless, “I wasn’t flirting. He was flirting.” You moan. Jude lets out a breathless laugh. “He was flirting and you did nothing to stop it?” His pace increases making it difficult for you to come up with a response. But Jude didn’t care, “I asked you a question.”

Your eyes snapped to his and if looks could kill, Jude would’ve dropped to his knees. “Why should I stop it?” You retort, brows still furrowed heavily in pleasure; you don’t care how good he was making you feel, you weren’t going to reward his audacious and entitled behavior. Jude says nothing. He instead removes his fingers from you and places you back on the ground. You can’t help the whine that escapes your lips, and are already making moves to beg for him, deciding that your pride is not going to get in the way of a mindblowing orgasm. The toying of his belt is what silences you. In a few swift motions, Jude’s black trousers and briefs were pooled at his ankle on the floor. With your bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth, your eyes darted between his and his already hardened length. Just like you suspected, the very tip of it was dripping in a sticky clear substance. Your mouth watered, wanting nothing more than to revel in the way he tasted and sounded by getting on your knees for him.

As if he sensed this, Jude teasingly fists his shaft, slowly dragging up in a jerking motion. His eyes flutter shut at the contact, mouth parting to form a lazy O. You moan when he spreads his precum across his tip, knowing the lubrication only contributed to the pleasure he was surely already experiencing. Jude continues his game for only a minute more. You are completely conflicted, not sure if you were enjoying the show or jealous that you weren’t able to participate. Jude doesn’t allow you to dwell on the thought much longer before he has you trapped against the wall again, legs wrapped tightly around his hips. He pushes your underwear to the side again, lightly running his sensitive tip across your pulsating clit. You suck in a breath, bucking your hips in hopes of slipping him inside of you, but the grip he currently had on your waist made it nearly impossible. After what feels like an eternity, you finally feel him push into you. He’s practically still, only allowing a couple of inches of himself inside you at a time. He does this a couple of times—thrusts just his tip into you before pulling out—before he finally bottoms out, hips pressing flushed to yours. Jude swallows your moans, silencing you with a fiery kiss as he stroked into your heated, velvet walls. You wrapped around him in almost a glove-like manner, molding around him as if a higher power specifically made your pussy for him

Jude suddenly replaces his lips with his palm, “Why should you stop it?” Jude begins words spoken just inches away from your ear in a low tone. He was already close—the heated knot in the pit of his stomach and his wavering thrust was evidence of that–but he continued his relentless rhythm. He had a point to prove, “You should stop it because you know no one, especially not Alejandro–” his name is spoken between clenched teeth, “could fuck you the way I do.” He accompanies this statement with a particularly hard thrust that forces you to whimper against his hand. Jude moans at the sounds, completely obsessed and enamored with the way he and his dick could make you feel. You were clenching around him, walls contracting around him at a steady rhythm while you brought your hips to meet his.

“You should stop because you know that you are already mine, ” Jude moves from your ear so he can lock his eyes on yours, determined to make you feel them, “you’re just in denial.” Your legs are shaking now, pussy still quivering and Jude knew that it was only a matter of time before you came undone. “Right, baby?” He coos, still wanting to take full advantage of having you at his mercy, knowing that once you cum, the playing field will be immediately unleveled and favoring you.

“You’re mine, yea?” He continued to press, strokes now slowed so he could hit the deepest parts of you. Your eyes are brimming with euphoric laced tears as you attempt to ignore his questioning and focus on how he is currently making you feel. Your breathing had shallowed against his palm, fingers, and toes tingling as a wave of burning pleasure washed over you. Your ears were ringing but you could still faintly hear Jude’s possessive, yet sweet words of encouragement as he brought you to the edge.

You almost gave in.

With only a second away from finally tipping over, you wanted to scream out, “I’m yours!” as you came. But having trained your mind well, the only words that left your lips as your orgasm forcefully ripped through you was a very strangled, “If you want me, earn me!” These were the words that ultimately caused Jude to stumble into his own orgasm, for some reason. They resonated, echoing in his head as he rode out his high, eyes still heavily trained on yours.

Challenge accepted.

author’s final thots:

#Spotify #jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude:) #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagines

[persevereforahappyending]

This isn't Your Fault (Tara POV)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “Tara, Tara, Tara,” the voice cracked through the speaker. Tara would recognize that voice changer anywhere, Ghostface.

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 6k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tara stormed down the hall, slamming her door in her sisters’ face. All she wanted was to have a fun night at a party and Sam just had to show up and ruin it, as usual. She struggled swinging her purse off her shoulder before slamming it onto her dresser. She paced back and forth before flopping face down on her bed, letting out a loud groan.

Almost instantly she got up from her bed, making her way over to her dresser again. She started digging through her purse until she found her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, not able to stop the small smile from forming on her lips when she came across your name. She hit your name, pacing back and forth less agitated while she waited for you to answer.

Tara had asked you to go to the party even though she knew you’d say no. She tried to convince you that it was a costume party and that it would be more fun. You hadn’t bought it. Tara couldn’t blame you, with the way the night turned out she wished she hadn’t gone and had just gone over to your place, forcing you to binge all her favorite horror movies.

“Hey, babe,” your voice cracked through the phone in greeting. “How was the party?”

Tara smiled to herself, most of her initial anger melting away just from hearing your voice. She called you to rant and complain about her sister though, so she quickly groaned, telling you how her overprotective sister tased a guy. You questioned whether you heard her right and Tara happily explained the night’s events.

When she told you what happened your first question was to ask if she was okay. Tara loved that about you. She smiled into her phone, her voice softening as she confirmed that she was in fact okay. She probably should have worded what happened better, she should have known you would be instantly worried when she said some guy tried to force her upstairs.

You expressed your gratitude that Chad was there and fought the guy for her. You had never officially met Chad, only seeing him at parties but Tara told you all about him and the others. You admitted besides Sam you were most intimidated to meet Chad. Chad wasn’t overbearing like Sam, but he was still pretty overprotective. Anytime Tara told you about an incident and Chad stepping in you had nothing but nice things to say about him, you always told her whenever you got to officially meet him, you’d thank him.

“I just want a normal life,” Tara said after telling you when Sam decided to step in. Tara frowned, dropping down onto her bed. Tara didn’t want three horrible days to define the rest of her life, she just wanted to move on from it all.

“I know,” you said. Tara knew you understood. You’d never been in a Ghostface attack, thankfully, but Tara knew you understood. You always sat there listening to her rant and complain about Sam. You never dismissed her own feelings about wanting to move on, you just listened. “You know she just wants to keep you safe though, right?”

When Tara let out a groan you laughed, it almost made her laugh as well. “I know,” she mumbled begrudgingly, standing up again to kick at her carpet. She knew Sam just wanted to keep her safe. She wanted the same thing. She would do anything to protect Sam. She just wanted Sam to loosen the leash a little bit.

“This is just the exact reason why I won’t introduce you,” she continued, throwing her hands in the air. “She wants me to open up and share with her but when I try to have a life outside of the friend group, she tases someone!” Tara continued her rant.

“Whenever you decide to introduce me, I’m sure it will go fine,” you said sweetly.

Tara wanted you to meet her sister, her friends, her family. She wanted to be able to invite you over and hangout with everyone. She didn’t want to have to sneak around and only see you when Sam was working late or during classes she didn’t share with Mindy.

“I’m sure I won’t get tased, right?” you continued, chuckling as if you were making a joke but weren’t sure if it was actually a joke.

“Maybe,” Tara couldn’t help but mumble. She couldn’t help but smile to herself when you paused. Tara was certain Sam wouldn’t tase you, probably. “Just stand behind me when that eventual meeting happens,” she said, trying to calm your nerves.

“My fearless protector,” you joked softly.

“Shut up,” Tara rolled her eyes with a smile.

As much as Tara wanted you to meet Sam and the others, she also wanted to keep you all to herself. She wasn’t worried they’d steal you away or anything. No, she was worried they’d scare you away. Tara knew that was a stupid thought, you knew exactly what you were getting into, at least for the most part. You knew who Tara was when you met in your shared class, but you didn’t treat her any different, you treated her like a normal new person you were meeting. You didn’t ask about Woodsboro, or Ghostface, or even her scars. Your eyes glanced at the scar on her hand when you first introduced yourself, but you didn’t let them linger on her scars, your eyes quickly flicked to her eyes, a soft smile on your face as you told her your name.

You also knew all about her friends, how protective Chad was and how paranoid Mindy was. You actually got firsthand experience in Mindy’s paranoia when you worked with Anika on a project for the first time together. The girls had come over to the apartment, well Mindy stormed in, lovingly planting Anika in the chair and began interrogating her about you. Tara had been scrolling through her phone, her thumb freezing at the mention of your name. She talked to you a few times in class and had been developing a small crush on you but was nervous to make a move. When Anika had nothing but nice things to say about you, she decided to say fuck it and give it a shot.

You definitely knew how protective Sam was. Tara felt like she complained about her sister every day. When she saw you in class, she used the few minutes of getting there early to say hi, give you a kiss, then got right into telling you about what new thing Sam had done to disrupt her from trying to live her life. You always listened with a smile, admitting it was a bit overprotective but then asking if Tara could really blame her. Tara would always mumble how you were right, and she knew Sam meant well but she still wanted to complain about her.

Tara had been smiling, silently chuckling along as you laughed when it suddenly stopped. She strained her ears trying to hear anything on the other end of the line but couldn’t hear a thing. She knew you were still on the phone, but you had just all of a sudden stopped laughing and you weren’t saying anything. Tara’s smile fell, fear creeping up her spine.

“You, okay?” Tara asked. She swallowed, trying to calm herself down before she started panicking and would end up needing her inhaler. You were fine, you were at home. There was no reason for Tara to start panicking for no reason.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. Tara wasn’t convinced, you sounded distracted, your voice a little distant as if something else had your attention. “Yeah,” you repeated, sounding more like yourself. “So, what’s planned for the rest of the night?”

Tara paused, you sounded like yourself and as if everything were fine, but you were trying to change the subject. “Sleep,” Tara mumbled, still trying to figure out what could distract you so much. “I’m already starting to feel this hangover. Can I come over tomorrow?” She shook off her worried feelings, if something were seriously wrong, you’d tell her.

“Is that a good idea?” You asked. “I doubt Sam will want you out of her sight after tonight.”

“Fuck what she wants. I miss you,” Tara whined, flopping herself down on her bed.

She knew you were right, sneaking around after what happened would be a lot harder. The smart thing would be to wait for things to cool down and just see each other in class. Tara was tired of only seeing you in class though. She hadn’t gotten to truly spend alone time with you in over a week. She was already thinking of lies she could tell Sam, like that she had to study at the library or stay after for a project or something.

“Tara,” you said, incredibly calm but Tara could hear the seriousness in your voice, she furrowed her brow at it. “This isn’t your fault.”

“What?” she asked, confused, sitting up at the end of her bed.

Tara heard something slam, a lot of shuffling, and then the phone clatter down onto something hard. She shot to her feet, beginning to pace back and forth. She could feel her heart beating faster. She moved over to her purse, grabbing her inhaler.

“Y/N?” she asked, quietly, listening as hard as she could for anymore movement. “Y/N. Y/N!” no answer.

She heard what sounded like metal against metal. Her breath caught in her throat. She lifted her inhaler to her mouth, taking a huff. She mindlessly moved, opening her door, and stepping out into the hall. She walked into the living room as if she were in some sort of trance. Mindy and Anika were sitting closely on the couch, Chad next to them, flipping through channels. Sam was sitting in the chair across from them, head in her hands.

“You good T?” Mindy asked.

Tara didn’t answer, she didn’t even look towards her. Tara kept the phone to her ear, hearing what sounded like a struggle on the other end. It sounded like someone picked up the phone again, but no one was talking. There was the sound of wood cracking, Tara couldn’t help but flinch at the sound.

Sam stood up, moving around the chair, looking at her sister with concern. “Tara?” Sam asked slowly. “Who’s on the phone?” Everyone stopped breathing, their full focus moving to the two sisters.

Tara shifted her gaze from staring at the blank spot on the wall to her sister. Sam was becoming blurry as unshed tears began filling her eyes. She heard stomping up the steps then a door slam. Then nothing. No sound. Nothing.

Tara wanted to ask you if everything was okay. She wanted to know what was happening. Her mind was going crazy, it was going to the worst-case scenario. She needed to find her voice, she needed to make sure you were alright.

“Y/N?” Tara asked in a shaky voice. She swallowed again, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Y/N?” she asked louder.

Sam scrunched her eyebrows looking at the others. Anika stood up, recognizing your name. Mindy furrowed her brow, moving to stand up behind Anika, wrapping a protective arm around her. Chad set the remote down, leaning forward on the couch. He looked at Sam, shrugging.

“Baby, are you there?” Tara asked, her voice becoming desperate. She continued to ignore the shocked and confused faces of her friends. There was still no answer though.

There was a loud pounding coming from the other side of the phone. Tara jumped with each hit. She didn’t move though, she stood frozen in the living room. Her voice went away again, she couldn’t even call out your name. Tears quickly filled her eyes again, her breathing becoming erratic. Sam quickly made her way over to her sister, gripping her by the shoulders to look her in the eyes and get her to focus on something else but Tara looked right through her.

The pounding stopped, everything becoming silent again. Tara held her breath, hoping you’d answer her, that you’d pick up the phone and say you dropped something. Tara wasn’t ready to admit what was happening, but she knew, she knew.

There was a struggle again, a light grunt coming through the speaker as if someone had fallen. Tara sucked in a breath. Her mind was trying to rationalize everything, say that there was no way he could be back, but the grunt didn’t sound like it came from you, it sounded deeper, like from a guy. There was a louder thud as the phone seemed to hit something hard again.

There was some shuffling, then what sounded like someone picking up the phone again. Tears started to fall from her eyes. It wasn’t you on the other end of the line anymore. There was heavy breathing coming from the speaker. Breathing that sounded slightly distorted.

“Tara, Tara, Tara,” the voice cracked through the speaker. Tara would recognize that voice changer anywhere, Ghostface.

“Don’t hurt them, please,” Tara begged, letting out a small sob.

Tara was vaguely aware of movement in the room, but she wasn’t focused on that. Ghostface was back and he was at your house. Ghostface was with you and Tara wasn’t there. Tara was twenty minutes away in her apartment. Tara was completely useless. While you were getting attacked Tara was doing nothing.

“You really should have listened to your sister,” Ghostface sighed through the voice changer. “Not gotten close to anyone.”

“Please! She has nothing to do with this!” Tara sobbed into the phone

“Sure, she does, you care about her. Now she’s just as involved as you.”

Tara was full on sobbing. She was completely unaware of her sister and friends already on the move, standing up at the ready to rush off wherever they needed to go. “Please,” Tara begged.

“Don’t worry.” Tara could tell Ghostface was smirking. “I’ll keep the line open so you can hear the death of your lover, the way they gurgle as they choke on their own blood. It’s gonna be quite the sound,” he chuckled, the voice changer making it sound demonic.

“No!”

Sam tried to reach over and grab the phone out of Tara’s hand, but she swatted her away. She turned her back on her friends, moving more out of reach from Sam’s hands. She heard a thud, then another thud of someone hitting the ground. Ghostface must have lost the phone because Tara heard it skid across the wood floor.

Someone gripped Tara by the shoulder, turning her back around. She was ready to fight, a fist already forming, ready to deck whoever dared touch her in their face. She released her fist when she saw it was just Sam. She tried to turn away again but Sam held her firmly in place.

“We have to go,” Sam said.

Tara shook her head violently. “I can’t,” she said through sobs. “I-I-I-can’t. I-”

Sam placed something in her free hand. When Tara looked down, she saw her inhaler. Sam gently helped guide her hand up towards her mouth. Tara was able to finish the rest of the motion, bringing the inhaler to her lips and giving herself another huff. Her heart was still beating rapidly but her breathing had calmed down.

“Let’s go,” Sam said calmly, not losing the worry for Tara she still clearly felt. “We can’t help here. Let’s go.” Tara silently nodded, following Sam towards the front door. “Chad!”

“Already calling 911,” he responded, phone at his ear.

“Anika-”

“Already texted you her address,” she said softly. Tara finally looked at her, really looked at her, seeing tears in her eyes as well even if she only had a partial idea as to what was happening.

Sam gently pulled Tara out the door, making sure to lock it as they rushed down the steps, taking two steps at a time. Sam ran to the street corner, flagging down a taxi. Tara slid into the backseat right behind her. Sam already had her phone out, giving the driver the address.

Tara heard heavy boots walking across the floor, passing the phone wherever it had landed. There was a moment of silence before your scream echoed through the phone. Tara had to take it away from her ear slightly because your scream had been so loud. Tears were streaming down her face; she couldn’t get a grip on her breathing.

“No!” cut through the phone, followed by several muted thuds.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam said, tilting Tara’s head to face her. “Breath,” she said softly, taking a deep breath in then letting it out.

Tara tried but wasn’t able to do the same. Every time she tried to calm her breathing it just got worse. She brought the inhaler to her mouth again, taking another huff. She closed her eyes, her breathing once again becoming steady.

Tara heard you gasping for breath. It seemed like Ghostface was right, she was going to listen to you die, choking to death on your own blood, just as he promised. There was a loud crunch then the phone went dead.

Tara slowly took the phone away from her ear, she looked down to see the disconnected call. She looked to Sam, more tears spilling out of her eyes. “I can’t lose her,” Tara whispered between sobs, shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t,” she kept repeating.

Sam pulled Tara into a hug, holding her as Tara sobbed into her shoulder. The cab screeched to a halt. Tara let go of Sam, jumping out of the cab and running to the door before the car had fully stopped. Tara flung open your front door, the knife mark in the door being the first thing that caught her eye. She started to bring a hand to her mouth when she heard a strained cough, turning to see you lying on the floor.

“Y/N!” she shouted. She rushed over to you, sliding across the floor to be by your side. She hesitated, gently placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

Tara’s head snapped to the door when she heard a creak, it was just Sam running after her. Sam entered the house, taking in the damage. She did a quick glance around the place, making sure Ghostface wouldn’t pop out at them before making her way over to Tara.

Tara’s eyes filled with tears as she took in your form. Her eyes found your crushed hand that you were clutching against yourself. She heard the wheezing from not being able to properly breath. Her eyes scanned your face, seeing your eye lids try to remain open. Her eyes trailed down the rest of your body, stopping when she saw the bat lying motionlessly at your side.

“Baby,” she whispered. “I’m here, I’m right here.” Your eyelids started to drift close. “Hey, no, stay awake baby,” she whispered loudly. “Stay awake.” Your eyes closed. The only thing that let Tara know you were still alive was the shallow ragged breaths you let out.

The next thing Tara knew there were red and blue flashing lights outside the front window and paramedics storming through the door. Tara didn’t want to leave your side, but she wasn’t able to fight off Sam who easily pulled her away from you. Sam pulled her to her feet, if it wasn’t for Sam’s arms around her Tara was sure she’d crumble back to the floor.

The medics checked you out before lifting you onto a back board. They strapped you down and carried you off to the ambulance. Tara started to follow but Sam held her back until they were clear from the door. Once they were out the door with you Tara wiggled out of Sam’s grip and ran for you. She started to climb into the back of the ambulance with you but one of the paramedics held out his hand, shaking his head. She stepped back down from the ambulance, frowning as she lost sight of you when they closed the doors, instantly speeding off to the hospital.

“We can meet her there,” Sam said softly, gently touching Tara’s arm, as to not startle her.

Tara wordlessly followed her sister as she flagged down another cab, slumping back against the seat as the driver took them to the hospital. She was aware of her sister constantly glancing at her, but she stared straight ahead out the window.

This isn’t your fault. Those were the last words you had said to her. The last thing you told her was that it wasn’t her fault. You were about to be attacked by Ghostface, for all you knew you were about to die but you didn’t ask for help, you didn’t hang up and call 911, no, you told Tara it wasn’t her fault. Tara was confused when you said those words and now, she just didn’t believe you. You had been attacked by Ghostface. Your life was on the line. If you had never met her, if Tara had just followed Sam’s lead and had never let you in, you wouldn’t be where you are now. Tara couldn’t see how this possibly wasn’t her fault. It was her fault; it was all her fault, and she knew it.

When they got to the hospital Tara planted herself in the waiting room and didn’t intend to move until she was allowed in the same room as you, then she wasn’t leaving your side. They had rushed to the reception desk, asking about you and were told you were being wheeled into surgery to assess the damage done.

Tara had her feet on the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs, pulling them as close to her body as she rested her chin on her knees. She stared at the white wall in front of her, barely feeling Sam rub a comforting hand up and down her back. She glanced to the side when she heard shoes quickly squeaking against the tile and abruptly coming to a stop, it was her friends. Chad offered her a comforting smile, taking the vacant seat next to her. Anika came over, holding out her hand to give Tara’s a comforting squeeze before moving to the seats across from her, with Mindy quickly joining her.

After a few hours they were still in the same spot. Anika was asleep, her head resting on Mindy’s shoulder. Mindy had her eyes shut but Tara knew she wasn’t actually asleep yet. Chad had made a cafeteria run, bringing back everyone sandwiches and juice. He plopped back down in his seat, holding out a juice and sandwich to Tara but she shook her head.

“You have to eat,” Sam whispered softly, rubbing her hand up and down Tara’s back again. Tara shook her head, pushing the food away. Sam sighed, silently thanking Chad before taking the food from him.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the nurse said, coming out to the waiting room finally.

Everyone woke up, jumping to their feet. “Is she okay?” Tara asked, her voice cracking from the lack of being used the last few hours.

“Relation?”

“She’s, my girlfriend.”

The nurse nodded. “She’s out of surgery and is in a room recovering, you’re welcome to go see her.”

“How is she?” Tara whispered quietly, looking up at the nurse with wide eyes. She wanted to be hopeful, but she was so scared of allowing herself to think everything would be okay.

The nurse sighed, resting the chart she was holding at her side. “She’s alive.” Tara let out a relieved sob. “Her left hand was practically shattered, and she’s got seven broken or cracked ribs.” Tara let out another sob. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll be okay,” the nurse smiled down reassuringly at Tara.

Chad gave her a squeeze on the shoulder, Mindy gave her a comforting smile and a nod letting her know everything was okay, and Anika stepped forward, pulling Tara into a hug. They weren’t all allowed to go into your room, so the others were going to continue hanging out in the waiting room for a bit longer while Tara and Sam went into your room.

Tara sped walked through the hallways, pressing the button to the elevator until the doors finally opened. Once in the elevator Tara hit the floor you were on, her leg bouncing the entire ride up until the doors opened again. Tara was already stepping out of the elevator the second she could squeeze through the opening. Sam quickly trailed behind her sister, trying to get her to slow down but Tara was on a mission, and nothing would keep her from being at your bedside.

Tara stopped in the doorway of your hospital room. She was paralyzed at the sight of you unmoving in the hospital bed. You were pale and had your left arm in a cast as it rested across your stomach. Tara lifted her foot but hesitated to officially cross over the invisible threshold of the room. Sam poked her shoulder, when Tara turned to glare at her sister, she gave an encouraging nod. Tara took a deep breath before stepping down, officially entering the room.

Tara moved to the other side of your bed, pulling up one of the chairs, getting it as close to your bed as possible. She sat down, instantly reaching for your uninjured hand. Feeling your warm hand in her even if it couldn’t grip hers back yet, along with the consistent beeping of the heart monitor connected to you gave Tara a peace she didn’t know she was looking for. Despite the nurse saying you would be okay, seeing you alive for herself lifted an incredible wait off her shoulders. Sam slowly made her way over, sitting in the chair next to Tara’s.

“H-how long?” Sam whispered.

Tara didn’t take her eyes off your sleeping form; she was afraid if she looked away, you’d disappear. “Six months,” Tara answered with a sniffle.

“Six,” Sam let out a shaky breath. “Six months. You’ve been keeping this from us, from me?”

Tara’s eyes dropped from your face to your hand in hers, even if you couldn’t grip it back yet. She could hear the hurt in Sam’s voice. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her nose.

Sam sighed. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Have I really pushed you away that much?” Sam’s voice cracked. “Did you really feel like you couldn’t come to me, share this with me?”

Tara squeezed your hand, not letting go as she turned to look at her sister, tears filling her eyes again. She saw Sam had a few tears in her eyes as well. “No, no, no, it’s not that,” she tried to reassure her sister. “I just…” Tara tried gathering her words, she knew why she kept you her little secret but, in the moment, saying it out loud to Sam made it seem so stupid. “I just, I was afraid how you’d react,” she mumbled, dropping her eyes to the floor. “You tend to get a little… intense,” her eyes flicked up to Sam’s before going back to the floor, “when meeting new people. Not like the others are much better. I just didn’t want you guys to scare her off.”

“We wouldn’t-” she was cut off by Tara raising a brow, daring her to finish that sentence. “I mean if she was important to you, I would have given her a chance.” Tara tilted her head, giving her sister an ‘are you serious’ look. “Okay fine,” Sam sighed, slumping back in her chair. “I would have tried to give her a chance.” Tara raised both eyebrows, giving her another knowing look. “Eventually,” Sam mumbled. “Maybe.”

Tara felt a smile tug at her lips. It was hard to smile given the current situation, but she allowed herself the small smile at her sister’s behavior. Sam could be absolutely terrifying if she wanted to be but when she was pouting like she was now she wasn’t terrifying, she was just adorable. This was the Sam, she wanted you to get to know, not the one that had her guard up a hundred percent of the time and saw danger and betrayal around every corner.

“I know you mean well,” Tara said, smiling. “You know I love you.” Sam smiled at her sisters’ words. “I just liked having something for myself,” Tara whispered, her smile falling. “Someone who was all mine.” She glanced back at your broken body. “Someone not touched by all our darkness, until now,” she sniffled again, using her free hand to wipe her eyes.

“This isn’t your fault,” Sam said, leaning forward to rest a hand on Tara’s shoulder.

“If she never met me, he never would have gone after her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is!” Tara sobbed.

“You can’t live your life controlled by fear about what might happen.” Tara turned to look at Sam, scrunching her brow, she couldn’t believe Sam just said that. Sam chuckled awkwardly. “I know how that sounds coming from me, but I don’t want you sacrificing your chance at happiness just because I’m paranoid.”

Tara turned her attention back towards you. She reached up, gently brushing your hair down the side of your face. “I thought I lost her.”

“Good thing your girlfriend is one hell of a fighter,” Sam smirked, making Tara smile softly when she glanced back at her. “I know this isn’t exactly how you wanted it to go, so when you decide to officially introduce us, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“She can’t wait to meet you either, I’ve told her all about you,” Tara blushed. “When we were talking on the phone before-” Tara swallowed, trying to stop herself from crying again. “She-she was worried you might tase her when you met,” Tara chuckled at the memory even though it had only been a few hours, it felt like years.

Sam lightly chuckled at that, nodding as if that was a potential possibility. “Well, no need to worry about that anymore. At least we know she’s not Ghostface.”

Tara clenched her jaw at hearing that name, she gripped your hand just a little tighter. She glanced at Sam out of the side of her eye. “I want to make him pay,” she said through gritted teeth, anger taking over her worry for a split second.

“We will,” Sam said, nodding.

Tara gave nod back. She looked back at you. She was going to make Ghostface pay for what he had done to you and if there was more than one, she would make them all suffer. She would figure out which one of them had harmed you and she would deliver him the same honor.

It was the next day, and you still hadn’t woken up. Tara refused to leave your side, opting to sleep in the chair at your bedside. She tried telling Sam to go home but Sam refused. Tara knew it was pointless to argue, Ghostface was still out there and there was no way Sam would leave her side until he was dealt with. It took a lot of convincing, but the others finally went back to the apartment, agreeing to stick together, keep in touch, and even came back an hour later to drop off a change of clothes for the girls.

It was late into the next night, Tara was asleep in her chair, holding your hand just as tight as she had been since she first got into the room with you. Sam was in the corner of the room, having pulled two chairs together, to make her own little bed. Tara stirred from her slumber when she heard someone hiss in pain. Her eyes snapped open when she heard you suck in a breath. She instantly sat up, offering you all the comfort she could, needing you to know you weren’t in danger anymore, that she was here, and you were safe.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” you asked, your mouth dry from the lack of water in the last twenty-four hours.

“I needed to make sure you were okay,” Tara answered, confused as to where else she would be. You were attacked, injured, having almost died, of course she was going to be at your bedside. She was aware of Sam leaving the room, gently shutting the door as to not disturb your reunion.

“You-you need to get out of town.” Tara could tell you were fighting through the pain to talk to her.

“No, no, I’m not leaving you,” she shook her head, she couldn’t believe you suggested that. Actually, she could but you should have known that she’d never leave your side when you were hurt, just as you had kept quiet when you were getting attacked, to protect her. “I’m not leaving you.” She made sure to look you in the eye, so you knew she was serious.

“How are you feeling?” Tara asked. She knew it was a stupid question, she had been in your position before and she hated when people had asked her that, of course she was doing bad, she had been stabbed, how else should she have been doing?”

“If I sit completely still and don’t breathe then the pain is only agonizing, instead of excruciating,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m sorry,” Tara started to cry again. Your attempts at lighting the mood didn’t work. She loved you but she couldn’t stand hearing you joke about your own pain; she knew it wasn’t fully a joke. She couldn’t hear you try to make light of it when she was the reason you were in pain.

“This wasn’t your fault,” you tried to lean up but quickly laid back against the pillows. Tara sobbed at seeing you in so much pain from such a basic movement. “Please don’t cry,” you tried brushing away her tears, but they kept falling. “This isn’t your fault.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you never would have been targeted,” her voice cracked. Despite what Sam said she knew it was true, if it weren’t for her, you never would have been attacked. She couldn’t believe you were trying to comfort her. You were lying in a hospital bed, just breathing causing you pain, and yet you were the one comforting her. You were using what little energy you had to try and convince her it wasn’t her fault.

“No, no, it’s not your fault a psycho wants to hurt you. This isn’t on you. I love you.” Tara felt you reach down, gently lifting her chin to make her meet your eyes. “I love you,” you whispered again.

“I love you too,” Tara instantly said back, resting her forehead against yours. A few more tears silently fell and despite not believing your words you still had somehow managed to comfort her, she didn’t know how you did it.

Tara talked for a few more minutes with you, talking about officially meeting her sister now at some point. She had made a joke and watched as you winced in pain. She felt bad that she caused you pain even if it was unintentional, but she couldn’t help but smile down at you. She couldn’t believe you were here, that you were beside her, you were okay.

Tara started running her fingers through your hair. You had just woken up after being unconscious for a whole day, but you were already struggling to keep your eyes open. She watched you with a soft smile as your eyes slowly closed, this time peacefully going off to sleep. Tara kept gently stroking your hair as she laid her head next to yours. She couldn’t lay in bed next to you with your broken ribs, afraid she’d hurt you by simply cuddling you, so laying her head next to yours was the next best thing, being as close as she could get to you without having to worry about hurting you.

Taglist: @bigbadsofty07

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #this isn't your fault

[ryeriy]

slipping through my fingers | lewis hamilton

-> summary: Lewis is watching is daughter slip away through his fingers

-> pairings: dad!lewis hamilton x mom!reader

-> a/n: this was a really cute idea in my head but I hope it turns out okay 😭

mamma mia series

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15 years ago, January 29th

It was just a few hours ago that little Savanna was born into this world. She had already been adored by both of her parents that loved her so much in these first few hours.

"She's quite cute isn't she?" Lewis said while looking down at the baby girl in his arms. Savanna was swaddled in blankets and being held by her father. Y/n looked over at Lewis as he held their newborn daughter. Even though y/n was very tired, she couldn't help but to slightly smile.

"Probably gets that from me." Y/n let out a soft laugh. Lewis laughed too.

"I couldn't agree more with that one," Lewis smiled at the baby in his arms that's his.

He couldn't believe that something this perfect and tiny was his. He has a child now and if felt so unreal to him still. It felt like to him it was only yesterday she was showing him the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, now he was holding his baby girl in his hands.

"I wish I could just freeze this moment and treasure it, it's so peaceful."

"Me too..." y/n agreed.

Y/n looked over at Lewis holding their daughter smiling at the sigh of it. They're finally a family after nine whole months of waiting. Their lives couldn't have been any better.

10 years ago, September 1st

"Okay, do you have everything you need Savanna?" Y/n asks as she grabs her daughter's Hello Kitty backpack, putting it onto her back.

The five-year-old nods her head and looks up at her mom. "Yes, mommy, you asked me that before we left the house too!" Savanna giggled in response. "I know, I'm just making sure!" Y/n smiled at her daughter and pulled out her phone from her pocket.

Lewis was standing next to y/n looking at Savanna and smiling at her. He leaned down to kiss her head and ran a hand through her hair. Savanna clung to Lewis hugging him.

"Okay fine...just one more picture though!" Y/n let out a soft laugh opening her camera.

"Mommy! I've got to go!" Savanna giggled again putting a smile on her face. She pulled away from Lewis standing in front of both of her parents.

"Just one more hug?" Y/n asked looking at Savanna getting down to her level to hug. Savanna ran up into her mother's arms embracing her mom. Y/n kissed her forehead and smiled at her. "Okay, okay! Just have fun and we'll pick you up after school?"

"We can even go for ice cream later!" Lewis exclaimed as he kneeled in front of Savanna. Both of them were smiling ear to ear pulling her into a tight hug.

"Yay!" Savanna exclaimed wrapping her arms around Lewis' neck.

Savanna pulled away one last time and looked around seeing other kids laughing and playing. She looked eager to go meet new kids and looked back up at her parents. Lewis and Y/n were standing next to each other. Lewis had his arm wrapped around y/n as they both had their eyes on Savanna. "Go, go have fun!" Lewis said to her and y/n smiled.

Savanna smiled at them and ran off to the entrance of the school where the other kids were. She turned around looking back at her parents, waving to them. "Bye, mommy! Bye, daddy!" She smiled and ran up to a group of kids.

Lewis and Y/n waved back and softly smiled at Savanna. They couldn't believe that she was growing up so fast. It was their daughter's first day of school and she wasn't looking back and rethinking.

8 years ago, July 25th

"You'll do great, sweetheart," Lewis hugged Savanna.

Today was Savanna's first big gymnastics competition. She's had competition before but nothing this big. There were so many other girls her age competing. It was quite intimidating, especially for a seven-year-old girl. Lewis and y/n would be there though to support their daughter even if they had to watch her from afar, they were still supporting her.

"You promise?" Savanna looked up into her father's eyes.

"I promise you, me and mom are going to be in the stans cheering you on the entire time, okay?" Lewis comforted her. He gently brushed a strand of curly hair out of her face.

Savanna hugged Lewis and y/n with a wide smile on her face. She took her water bottle and her bag with her and ran off to go with her team. Lewis held onto her hand until she started to turn away from him. Both parents were proud of their daughter and how far she's come along.

Savanna placed fourth overall in her events. Even though she didn't get first place, she still got a medal and a proud smile on her face.

"Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Daddy!" The little girl came rushing up to her parents smiling at them. Savanna barely had her bag on her back and her water bottle hanging her tiny fingers. "Look! Look! I got a medal!"

"Oh, look at that!" Lewis looked at her and hugged her tightly. He placed a kiss on her forehead. "You did really good sweetheart."

"We're so proud of you, baby!" Y/n said as she looked at her daughter and smiled.

"Can we get some ice cream now?" Savanna looked up at Lewis and y/n with puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, we can go get ice cream now," y/n laughed softly and kissed her daughter's head.

Savanna smiled widely and let out a giggle. She was so excited to go get ice cream after a well-deserved day full of gymnastics. "Yay!"

Present Day, January 29th

"Happy birthday dear Savanna, Happy birthday to you! Blow out your candles, sweetheart."

Y/n smiled as she took a photo of Savanna, who was sitting in front of her cake with fifteen lighten candles on top of it. Lewis was next to y/n smiling at his daughter as blew out all fifteen of the candles on top.

"God, you're so old now!" Y/n joked as she smiled and looked at Lewis and Savanna.

"It's like yesterday you were in my arms for the first time and your mom was fawning all over you!" Lewis laughed and so did y/n while Savanna cringed.

"You guys are acting like it's a big deal, I'm only fifteen!" Savanna said as she looked at her parents.

Only fifteen.

That was the only thing Lewis could think of. He didn't realize it but his little girl was growing up right in front of him. He remembered thinking back on the day she was first born, when he said to y/n, "I wish I could just freeze this moment and treasure it, it's so peaceful." He wishes he still could.

#ryeriy #ryeriys blog #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #mamma mia #slipping through my fingers

[1d1195]

Ding - Round 1

I had this little idea. The meeting came to me in a dream, no word of lie. Classic little trope, I know. I'm hoping to work in some smuttier things down the line. Hope I do it justice and you like it 💕 Erring on the side of caution; probably not suitable for Ramadan

You'll be able to read the rest here eventually: Ding

~3.8k words

As she did the wind took her door not much, nor hard but enough to bump into the car beside her.

The man rolled the window down, his deep green eyes, still blank. “You’ll have t’pay for that,” his voice was low and gravelly.

It was cold and rainy all day long. It made her want to curl up in a ball with a good book on her sofa and not get up for hours and hours. The kind of day where she wished she wasn’t an adult, and she was back home. Back when her dad would make her hot chocolate, they would watch old movies, and he would give insider information into all the hubbub that happened behind the scenes. How the actors interacted and when the props failed or something of that nature.

Her father was a great film critic. But he always said “even ‘bad’ movies have good.” She had seen tons of movies. Summers during school were filled with at least one movie a night. Sick days were made for marathoning series. When they weren’t watching movies, he was taking her to baseball games, teaching her how to cook—“the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, honey”—and making sure that she knew how to be spoiled by any man that deigned to enter her life. She was handy around the house and fiercely independent.

As much as she enjoyed cooking with her dad, baking was her real passion. She loved the science of baking: how butter affected cookies, temperature changed the consistency of cakes, and nothing made her happier than playing with baking powder and baking soda to change the rise of her pastries.

It led her to this spot. This little bakery. School for business and plenty of classes on cooking and baking. At the age of twenty-seven she was extremely lucky; for the last three years her business had been so successful. It was in local and state magazines about a hot spot for tourists and one of those shops that everyone just loved.

She wished her dad could see it but knew he would be proud of her regardless.

A strong gust of wind pulled her from her thoughts. There was a late-night closing report she needed to go over—a favor to her regular closer who needed to get home to her little baby. But really, A Pinch of Sprinkles was her baby and she loved to be in the little shop that smelled like the cupcakes she loved making.

She zipped her coat up, pulling her hood over her hair. It was hardly any further than a 40-yard dash to her little bakery door but in a steady rain like this, she thought not even her rubber boots would be enough to keep her dry for the short little sprint she would have in just a moment. She thought of her dad again, who would have run around to her door and held an umbrella over her head before getting out in the rain. With a deep, sad sigh, she braced herself, opened her door and reached for her umbrella and purse on the passenger seat.

As she did the wind took her door. It wasn't much, nor hard to create real havoc, but enough to bump into the car beside her. “Fuck,” she hissed getting out quickly, her belongings be damned her hair getting wet and stringy almost immediately. She slammed her door shut, turned to the car beside her, and made eye contact with the person in the driver’s seat. Her lips parted slightly, heart hammering in her chest. There was hardly anything more than a bit of a ding on the the stranger's car but the unmoving gaze that returned from the front seat intimidated her immensely.

The man rolled the window down, his deep green eyes still blank. “You’ll have t’pay for that,” his voice was low and gravelly.

It felt like thunder was inside her chest, the way her heart was thudding against her ribs. An intimidating man, his hair not quite buzzed off but not quite much more than an inch or two long, deep, soulful eyes. His gaze didn’t drop from hers. It was like he was having a staring contest.

“I... am... so sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t afraid to admit she was terrified. It wasn’t that she was terrified of men. But in a dark parking lot and someone who looked so intimidating... well it was a modern-day-female nightmare.

The man smiled and suddenly he was no longer intimidating. Dare she say, he was even cute. The left half of his mouth quirked up and he glanced down at his hands on the steering wheel, tapped a quick rhythm on it, and turned back to her. “S’okay,” he shrugged, rolling the window back up. He stepped out into the rain in the same motion, rain not bothering him as it began to soak his hair and slid down his face. The man was gorgeous. A walking ad for raincoats and umbrellas. He meandered over to where she stood. Her heart still pounded now for an entirely new reason. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the other reached for the blemish on his car. “See, jus’ a ding,” he rubbed his fingers over the little indent a few times before turning back to meet her gaze again.

His grin was adorable.

The air came out of her in a whoosh loud enough to rival the one that took her door right into his car. “I’ll pay for it to be fixed,” she promised.

He chuckled. “S’fine, love,” he assured her. “S’jus’ a ding,” he repeated with a shrug.

By now she was drenched. It wasn’t a downpouring, but the steadiness of the raindrops won out. Without any regard to how she was stood still between the two cars—soaking the inside of her seat as well—he leaned in, grabbed her purse, umbrella and closed the door behind him. Honestly, it didn’t even cross her mind that he was going to rob her. That alone should have raised about ten alarm bells in her head. Instead, for whatever reason, she felt safe.

He handed her own bag to her. It felt so strange. Like she didn’t know what to do with it. He paid no mind to her uneasiness. Without any acknowledgment of their weird meeting and their even weirder interaction thus far, he opened the umbrella and held it over the pair of them to keep a little dryer—even though they were both already soaked.

“Let’s go,” he put a hand on her lower back to usher her out from between the cars.

Reality and her brain finally restarted in her head. “Excuse me? Go where?”

He shrugged. “Well... y’did ding m’car. Assumed y’could at least come with me.”

“Come with you where?” She repeated incredulously.

“Oh right, sorry. D’you have plans? A date?”

“Well...no...”

“Great,” he tiled his head in gesture toward their current path, the opposite direction of her bakery.

“Can you tell me where it is you want me to go?” But she was already following the gentle touch on her back to keep her moving in his current direction. She should have felt unsafe. This was unnatural. How could she not be scared?

He pointed at the municipal building—it was old and pretty. Pretty typical for a little tourist area. Lights caught the raindrops that fell to the ground that hung from ancient looking black iron sconces. Steps up to the main doors were cobblestone and probably brand new as they were replaced over the years. Back in the day it was probably home to many rousing mini-city debates. It was hard to imagine back then it would ever become the bustling little tourist center it was at present. “Y’ever been in?” He asked.

She shook her head. It was like he was a truth serum wrapped in a hot body. There was nothing to explain her reasoning to answering him. “Not since I was little. My dad took me to a magic show here.”

“Well, s’not quite as magical, but s’a fight tonight.”

“A fight?”

“Boxing.”

“Boxing?” She repeated.

“M’not trying t’be rude, are y’hard of hearing?”

“What? No,” she shook her head, confusion coloring her features. “Why?”

“Y’keep repeating everything I say,” his ever-present half-smile was mocking her.

She scowled at him, shook her head again, and halted them in the middle of the rainy sidewalk. “Please stop walking. I’m so confused,” she put her hands on her temples. Why was she even following him? She didn’t need to be with him right now. She could have walked the other direction just as easily and told him to take a hike.

“Mmm... I’d rather not, I’ve got t’get ready,” he explained inching further along the path with the umbrella in his hand still. “M’on the first card.”

“Let’s try this again,” she stood her ground. Deciding now that if he were a serial killer, it would be too late but at least she could have the satisfaction of trying. “I don’t know your name and contrary to my current actions I'm actually very wary of strangers. But I own the bakery right over there in the main square. I was going to run the closing report. I’ll wait there until your fight is over,” she suggested--where she at least had security cameras set up and would have proof of a stranger murdering her with a baking sheet. “You can come get my insurance info then,” she spun quickly away from him, and started back toward the direction of the bakery; he could keep the umbrella.

“Your bakery?��� He asked, following her a few paces back.

“Yes. A Pinch of Sprinkles. It’s right over there,” she gestured to the main bustling little square.

“You own the bakery: A Pinch of Sprinkles?”

“Are you hard of hearing?”

He snorted at her and smirked once more. “Alright,” he sighed holding his hands up in surrender. “M’Harry. M’in a boxing match tonight. M’normally in there by now getting ready. But this really pretty girl dinged m’car,” his smile was so boyish for someone who scared the lights out of her only minutes before. “And y’did kind of promise t’come with me as payment,” he looked at her knowingly.

“I did not promise that,” her tone was defensive. “I said I would pay for the dent to be fixed.”

“I know y’did. S’very nice of you. S’not what I want. This is how I want you t’pay me.”

“By coming to watch your fight?”

He nodded eagerly. But she saw his eyes scanning her. He was still holding her umbrella while she continued to get soaked. Her dad would have a conniption at the sight of a stranger holding her umbrella and not keeping her dry. But it didn’t bother her. If anything, she kind of liked it if only because it gave her a chance to look at how adorable he was holding her flowery umbrella when she knew the embodiment of intimidation was going to punch someone at three-minute intervals.

Harry stepped closer, bringing her back under the umbrella. “Look... If y’really need t’go to your bakery, then no, of course m’not going t’stop you. But if it can wait, then s’how y’can repay me,” he shrugged. They were huddled close together under the umbrella. Her hair was a wet stringy mess. She knew very little about boxing. Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, Rocky and The Eye of the Tiger. That was about the extent of her knowledge. Boxing wasn’t one of the major sports her dad imparted his wisdom about to her.

“You want me to go to your fight as payment for your car dent?”

“Are y’going t’jus’ keep saying the same thing as me but as a question all night?” She knew she was repeating herself again. She pursed her lips to refrain from asking another question. “C’mon, Cupcake... m’really starting t’run late here,” he pointed to his wrist with an imaginary watch.

Cupcake.

What was she getting herself into?

She took a deep breath trying to calm the bit of nerves. “I’m not really a go with the flow kind of girl. I have a lot of questions.”

He smiled sweetly. Nodded like he expected such an answer, like he knew her already. “M’sure you do,” he agreed. “But... I really need t’go in. Like right now. Louis is going t’kill me if I don’t appear in front of him four minutes ago. When the fight’s over, I’ll walk y’to A Pinch of Sprinkles. We’ll run y’closing report and I’ll answer every question y’have.”

It took every bit of her self-restraint to keep her mouth from repeating him again. We. “There’s also the whole... I don’t know you at all, thing,” she reminded him stepping out from the umbrella again. “Seems like a bad idea on my part.”

It was almost moot though. Even she heard the way her voice sounded like she was caving as she said it. He stepped closer again. “You’re right. S’good instincts that I admire y’have,” he held his phone out to her, the screen catching a few drops of rain. “S’my niece,” he told her of the baby on the lit screen. She was only a few months old based on the picture. “She’s got me wrapped around m’finger and she’s barely old enough t’even see me and know m’holding her. Least that’s what m’sister Gemma says,” he shrugged. The adoration, the love in his voice made her stomach flip. It was unbelievably adorable this scary man was in love with a little baby. His voice was so sweet, it made her feel at ease. “I grew up with Mum and Gemma,” he looked her squarely in the eye. “I know m’about t’go in there and punch another grown man, but m’not dangerous. Especially not towards a girl who parked in a dark parking lot who owns a bakery with a sprinkles pun," her heart softened. “I know y’have questions, Cupcake. But I really need t’go in there,” he was growing the slightest bit impatient. “Louis is gonna send Niall out looking for me and then m’screwed. I need y’decision either way.”

It was perhaps her dumbest idea ever. Even stupider than when she tried to make peanut butter cookies without peanut butter to make them allergy friendly. “Are you going to win?” She asked.

He chuckled. “Think so. Especially if you’re there as m’good luck charm," he winked.

When she thought about this in the future or when she ended up on a true crime TV episode, it would be this moment that thousands and millions of people would say "how could she be so stupid?"

But she started for the building ahead of him, anyway. He fell into step beside her holding the umbrella over her again. “Probably not a good idea to put stock into me when I just dented your car.”

“S’jus’ a ding, Cupcake,” he smiled. “Something t’remember y’by.”

She couldn’t believe how quick and flirtatious he was. He knew all the right things to say and wasn’t even the least bit nervous it seemed. When he went into the ring or something she would have to Google his name and see if she accidentally made a fool of herself talking to a professional boxer. “You’re something else.”

They entered the building from a back door guarded by a man who gave Harry a nod as he ushered the sweet girl inside. “You’re trying to kill him, aren’t you?” A blonde man with an Irish accent asked, running his hand through his hair right as the guard at the door pulled the door shut from the outside. “I was just about to go see what happened this time,” he started back down the hall, deeper into the building. “He’s losing his mind,” he warned.

Harry shrugged. “Met a girl,” he smiled back at her. “She owns the bakery. She’s gonna be my good luck charm”

“Oh, you’re the reason for my freshman fifteen,” the blond man wiggled his eyebrows at her as he turned to her as well.

“Cupcake, this is Niall, he’ll keep an eye on you,” he assured her.

“Cupcake, hmm?” Niall chuckled. “Louis’ gonna kill you,” he skipped ahead of Harry. “Found him!”

“Harold you better have been held at gunpoint!” The shout was nearly hysterical as they approached the open room.

“He was just talking to Cupcake,” Niall was nearly giggling. Louis, she presumed, wasn’t the least bit amused. His face was hard. His blue eyes cold, his jaw as sharp as his words.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snapped. “Get your fucking clothes on,” he ordered.

Harry rolled his eyes and winked in her direction. “Hold this for me?” He asked, handing her his phone. The picture of the little babe illuminated the screen and a message from Mum was previewed on the screen so she couldn’t help but read, “Good luck honey bunny!” With about ten four-leaf clover emojis and just as many hearts. It warmed her heart so much to see the message on this scary man’s phone. She had doubts now that he was going to murder her later. A murderer wouldn’t have a supportive mom like that, right? Or a picture of their niece as their phone background? “See y’in a bit, Cupcake,” he gave her arm a squeeze and leaned her umbrella beside the door leading into the next room.

Niall was sipping a beer from a clear cup. “Y’ready, Cupcake?”

She snorted, sticking his phone into her purse alongside hers and nodded. “Sure. M’gonna have a lot of questions.”

He laughed. “Well, I have a lot of questions for you,” he promised pushing a set of double doors and into a thrumming, crowded arena.

It was definitely not a magic show.

Blinking, Niall put a gentle hand on her back and leaned toward her ear so she could hear better. “How do you know Harry?”

“I don’t,” she shouted back to be heard over the crowd. There were people getting things set up, announcements being made, and the like. There were people cheering and she couldn’t believe how big the boxing ring looked. The only boxing ring she had ever seen was the one in Rocky. Moreover, the only thing she knew about that ring was that the audience in the movie was given a free chicken dinner for showing up to the arena and they dimmed the lights, so it looked like more people were there. “My car door hit his car.”

“You hit Clay?”

“Who’s Clay?”

“His car!”

“He named his car, Clay?”

“Like Cassius Clay?”

Again, she didn’t know much about boxing, but she realized immediately that Harry named his car after the greatest heavyweight boxer ever. Oh, Lord. What did you get yourself into? She thought to herself. “Er… yeah… I guess so.”

“And he didn’t...” Niall drifted off curiously. “Hmm,” it seemed he surmised something in his head but didn’t let her in on the secret. He gestured to a chair that was front and center of the corner of the ring for her to sit. He took the seat beside her and leaned close as she spoke to him again. “How do you know Harry?”

“We’ve been best friends since Uni,” he shrugged. “Been icing his bruises for years.”

She nodded. “I see. Are you recently graduated? You said freshmen fifteen?”

Niall laughed. It was contagious. Made her feel safe still. The whole last ten minutes were surreal. She really followed a stranger to a boxing match. She was sitting with his best friend asking questions about someone she hardly knew. “Just a joke, Cupcake. You are single handedly responsible for my recent weight gain since you moved into town. Well, you and that Irish soda bread you made last March. It tasted like home.”

“Really?” She asked excitedly. “I was so nervous about it!”

Talking about sweet treats and breads and cupcakes was more her speed. “Oh, it was perfect, Cupcake. Rivaled my nan’s.”

Well, maybe Harry wasn’t so scary.

At least his friends were nice. Although... “Louis hates me, doesn’t he?” The thought of someone hating her, even though she didn't even know him made her sad.

Niall rolled his eyes. “No, he’s just so sick of Harry being late. Thinks because he’s undefeated on this circuit he can do whatever he wants.”

“Undefeated?” She was grateful Harry wasn’t there to hear her question repeating the same thing Niall said again.

“Not much of a boxer are you, Cupcake?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

He chuckled. “Harry’s very good. You’ll see.” Clearly. What did he need a good luck charm if he was already undefeated. She really needed to research him.

As if he heard his own name, he dropped into the seat across from her. It would be inside the ring between rounds but for now it allowed him to gaze at the pretty girl he met moments before. “Hi Cupcake,” his smile was sugary—and she knew sugar.

“Hi,” she murmured, willing her eyes to stay focused on his face and not his bare torso. A litany of tattoos painted his skin and a pair of vines dipped into the band of the shorts he wore. Everything was black. His shorts, his tattoos, his shoes, and his gloves. She could see tape going up half the length of his forearm keeping the bottom of his gloves in place.

“That’s a record for you getting ready. Must be your good luck charm,” Niall nudged her with his elbow. “Didn’t I tell you those soda breads were delicious?”

Harry kept his eyes on her and nodded. “Y’did.”

“Told you,” Niall assured her.

“Wouldn’t shut up ‘bout them,” Harry was unmoving, his body, his gaze. His phone was in her purse. He was looking at her like she was pretty, and she knew her makeup and hair was ruined by the rain. “M’a bigger fan of those raspberry filled cupcakes of yours,” he told her. “S’like heaven in a cupcake.”

“Harry, I swear to God!” Louis shouted.

Harry smiled ruefully, winked at her again and finally moved, heading back toward the sound of Louis’ voice. “Niall, don’t let her leave, yeah?”

Niall saluted him and she watched him leave again. She cleared her throat, turning in her seat toward the door, she exited to get to her ring-side seat. “Good luck, Harry,” she called, unsure if he would hear her over the building crowd.

Harry turned back right as he got to the door and winked again. “Thanks Cupcake,” he called back loud enough for everyone to hear that he was talking to her. Niall chuckled, shook his head, and put a friendly arm across the back of her chair.

He was kind enough to lean to her ear so that others wouldn’t hear the next thing he said because it made her blush and nearly melt to the floor right in front of Harry’s best friend and the very ring, he would be punching another grown man in just a few minutes. “Hope you like your boyfriends like your frosting, Cupcake. Because that man is already whipped for you.”

--

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#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #ding #⭐️

[greywritesthings]

overwhelmed

Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

Warnings: description of overwhelm? sensory overload if there's any more let me know!

A/N: not sure what the inspo what behind this but here it is, i am working on another longer fic so this is a filler for the mean time, likes, reblogs and comments appreciated! Im autistic so i have a bunch of stuff I'd like to put in for a second (possible series?). For specific senarios ect ect please feel free to send them to my ask box!!

Requests are open for Spencer Reid! Disabled & multilingual characters encouraged

Read on AO3 instead!

Part 2

Masterlist!

The buzz of the air con unit, the incessant hum if the fluorescent lights, the constant chatter of the co workers you were unfamiliar with all came together to create an almost physically painful environment. You adored working in the BAU but these days where it was lengthy paperwork done on painfully bright computers with the general hubbub of the office made you want to scream. It often ended with Hotch sending you home with paper files to do with spencer but he was off today and you were still intimidated by Rossi so couldn't ask him. Spencer would normally ask for the both of you but he was out with Hotch, they were doing a local death row interview together. You were exhausted and it wasn't even eleven am. You decided to stop by Penelope's office who had made it as sensory friendly as possible once she found out about your autism, something you had appreciated immensely, especially for days like today. “Hey pen? Can i stay in here for a bit?” You ask, walking into the dim room. “Sure thing sugar, you can stay in here for the rest of the day, Rossi told me to come get you for a thing anyway so come over here my fine furry friend.” she beacons you over to the seat next to her. 

You couldn't have gotten out of the office faster. Penelope had helped as much as possible but the sensory overload was too much from nine am and you haven't been able to do anything about it aside from chew on some ice every so often. 

The idea of taking the subway home made your skin crawl, but you hadn't brought your car to the office this morning, driving was also being far too overwhelming. You would have called Spencer but you had no idea when he would be home given death row inmates either got really chatty or liked to drag on the interview. You decide to just sit on the curb for a while allowing the cooler night air to calm you down enough so you can try and get on the metro without crying. 

You weren't sure how long you were sitting there, legs curled tightly against you, head resting against your knees and back pressed against the wall but you flinched when someone walked up and tapped you on the shoulder and scrambled to stand up. “How long have you been out here?” the stranger asks in the darkness. As your eyes adjust you realise its Hotch, meaning Spencer is probably here too. You just shake your head with a pleading look hoping he wouldn't ask you any more questions tonight. “Spencer is in the SUV, I've told him to take that home to save you both taking the metro tonight. Go home, tomorrow's paperwork will be dropped off at your house.He didn't let you get a word in edgewise so you just nod, thank him and wish him and Jack a goodnight, setting off towards the remaining SUV with the lights on. 

“Hi honey, you okay?” Spencer asks as you hop into the car, throwing off your blazer before settling in and pulling on your belt. “Bad day?” he asks again trying to gauge how your day went without getting you to talk. You just nod as you reach across to put a hand on his thigh to try and signal that you were okay, just exhausted in every sense of the word. You tap his thigh three times then five, three to say I love you then five to encourage him to talk about his day and not worry about rambling even if you didn’t respond. 

Once you get home you drop your things and make a beeline for the couch, flopping face down and screaming into the pillows. “Bath, shower or later sweetheart?” He knew you wouldn’t go to bed without showering but also knew you were too overwhelmed to do anything that required mental effort right now given the whine you let out into the cushions at his question. “I'm going to order some Thai, then do you want to get changed and we can watch a movie? He suggests. “Nada en inglés, por favor” is all you mumble back. He was used to your disdain of English, despite it being your first language. You knew bits and pieces of French, Spanish and German prior to meeting Spencer but since meeting him you had come to learn some Korean and Russian. “Okay dear, i'll go order, you get changed.” he says as he leaves the room going to the phone. You drag yourself off the sofa across the apartment to the bedroom. Grabbing Spencer's caltech sweatshirt and joggers from the bed that you had left there this morning and throwing your suit in the hamper to be washed tomorrow.

You spent the rest of the night curled up under the weighted throw Penelope had knitted you for Christmas on your first anniversary at the BAU and watching old Russian movies. Spencer played with your hair until you fell asleep contemplating how he was going to get you to bed without waking you up.

#greyswritings #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Contract

Aaron Hotchner X F!Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Over All Warnings: 18 + Only, MDNI, SMUT. Language, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive(mentally) father figure, does not line up with a specific time line, flip flops between 3rd and 2nd POV, so use of Y/n. BDSM Dynamics, contract, Dom! Aaron Hotchner, Sub! Reader, emotional detachment, reader is not good at taking care of herself, Age gap (Reader 25 Arron 40), explicit Smut detailed in chapters. This is a series 😅

A/N: listen y’all, Aaron Hot Hotchner has had me in a choke hold, I wish, since the moment I laid eyes on him. It’s only fitting he gets some love.

15 Years Ago

Her hands sting with little paint splinters, their jagged edges imbedding deeper each time her fists connect with the door. She gasps around another harsh sob, her eyes squeezed shut against the blinding darkness surrounding her. “Please daddy! Let me out!” She begs desperately, her small voice cracking. The door violently rattles back with a deafening crack, making her stumble back. She falls into the sink, clutching at its porcelain surface to stop herself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Her father’s guttural voice fills the confined space of the restroom, “The longer you cry the longer you’ll stay in there!” His words are slurred from the deers he’d had with his dinner, combined with the six he’d consumed during the day.

“Please daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

The only reply is the vibration of his heavy boots as he storms down the hall, shaking the old house. She presses her hand to her mouth, muffling her cries as she dares a peek at her surroundings. A pitch black void greets her, no light to be seen, not even from the bottom of the door. Blindly she feels around, the sink to her right, the rusted toilet to her left. Sinking to her knees she wedges herself in the space between them, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping thin arms around them.

She rests her head against the column of the sink, every small noise making her jump and squirm, her young imagination running wild. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, getting caught in the hairs stuck to her face before sliding down her throat, finally drenching the neck of her night gown.

5 Years Ago

“Congratulations! You have worked extremely hard to get here, and I can see great potential in your future working here with the FBI.” The Superintendent, a short stocky man, who’s suit is a size too big, holds out his hand to the woman across from him. She’s schooled her features into a mask of calm and restraint. She shakes his hand firmly, quick and to the point.

“Thank you, sir. This is an opportunity of a life time for me, I do not wish to squander it.” Just barely, if he had blinked he would have missed it, does her lips twitch up at the corners. She’s dressed very plainly, black blouse with grey dress pants. The nicest clothing she owns in her sparse closet.

“You’ll be stationed close to home, for now. With high marks such as yours though, I can’t see you staying long should you request a transfer.” Turning the older man retrieves a small black badge book from his mahogany desk, her eyes trained on his movements with restrained elation. “Your credentials, Agent Smit.”

2 Years Ago

Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as she requested to be called, brings the young woman into the heart of the Quantico department. Her eyes are bright, turning slowly as she walks taking in every inch of the Bull Pen.

“It can be a little intimidating the first time, but you get use to it.” The blond smiles with a soft laugh, a stack of folders pressed to her chest as she tails behind. “It’s just this way to your desk.” She points towards an empty half cubical, the plain desk void of anything other than a computer and a gold name plate, displaying the name ‘Y/n Smith’.

“Thank you, JJ, for taking the time to show me around.” Y/n turns with a genuine smile, setting her purse and bag down on the small rolling chair.

JJ waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “It’s not a problem, I remember how it felt coming in here a bit green behind the ears. I’m glad to help, anytime.” Her blue eyes flicker over Y/n’s shoulder, her smile faltering. Y/n turns around, finding a stoic looking man staring down at them from the landing above. He’s wearing a fitted navy suit, raven black hair styled neatly yet a few strands still fall across his forehead. His brown eyes are hard and imposing.

“We have a case.” His voice is deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey, an air of superiority lacing those four simple words. His stance gives him away, hands resting on his hips and chin held high, let’s her know he must be the one in charge.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner this is Agent Y/n Smith.” JJ begins but he holds up his hand, his face hard and set with an unwavering determination.

“I’m aware of who this is, and what you are here to do. Gather the team and meet on the plane. We will debrief there.” And with that he’s gone.

Y/n turns to JJ, her mouth age slightly. “Is he… always like this?”

JJ forces a sympathetic smile, “Unfortunately, yes. But he means well. Come I’ll show you where we need to go.”

3 Months Ago

“How do you do it?” Garcia blurts the question out in the middle of the room, all eyes turning to look at her at once. Her cheeks grow a little darker under her blush as she realizes just how loud she had been.

“Do what?” Y/n asks back, spinning around in one of the chairs circling the table in the conference room. The team had just landed forty minutes ago, everyone decompressing with coffee and donuts, generously gifted to them by the bubbling blond herself. Y/n takes another sip of her black coffee as she waits.

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

The question startles Y/n momentarily, her mind going on the defense as she tries to come up with a suitable answer. Opening her mouth she closes it again as Reid begins, “Ya know she’s right. We work a lot of hard cases but you stay pretty stoic.”

Turning to the rest of the team she glances over their curious faces, her gaze snagging on Hotch. His eyebrow is cocked, but otherwise his expression is impassive, impossible to guess what he is thinking. He holds her stare, almost with a hint of a challenge and despite herself she drops her gaze first, clearing her throat.

“I-I don’t know. Just got a good emotional switch, is all.” Y/n shrugs her shoulder, tapping her fingers against the side of the mug resting between her palms. The heat is nice, seeing as the weather is turning and winter is right around the corner, the office is cold having been shut down for hours now, the clock on the wall reading 1 am.

“Some say that the reason others don’t cry as often or as much is because they are repressing their own emotions, or have a hard time connecting with them. Some just don’t have tear ducts.” She glares at Reid, that smart brain of his going to get him in trouble. Emily scoffs and turns on him in your defense, hand resting on her hip.

“Spencer.” She says his name drawn out and scolding, making him slouch slightly in his seat, appearing sheepish. Y/n holds up her hands, coming to Boy Wonders rescue.

“It’s fine, really though I’m just good at detaching myself, emotionally, from the situation. Emotions are frivolous things that can get in the way of an investigation.” She shrugs her shoulder, her demeanor convincing them she is uncaring of the topic.

“Titanic.” Derek suddenly pipes up. “I bet she cries at Titanic.”

The group laughs, Y/n forcing out one of her own as her heart starts to pound in her chest. Morgan and Emily turn on Spencer, lecturing him about what is appropriate to state facts about, while JJ and Garcia begin to clean up. Slowly chatter and shuffling turns to white noise, a ringing in Y/n’s ears filling their place.

She stares down at the table, shifting in her seat as she tries to squash the rising anxiety. Memories, harsh and bitter like her coffee, pelt her; her chest tightening uncomfortably. All the whole Aaron’s watchful gaze never leaves her face, her mask of indifference and solidarity cracking the longer she sits across from him.

Present Day

You stare out the window of your hotel room, the city is shrouded in darkness but there’s the eternal glow of the night life that makes the inky blackness not so suppressing. Chewing absently at your thumb nail you sway on your feel, comforting yourself with the gentle motion. Today had been hard, grueling and long, but in the end the good guys came out on top.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts, your body stilling and instinctively your eyes travel to your gun resting on the end table. 3am is a little late for a visitor. Another knock spurs you into actions and you cross the shaggy green carpet to the door. Peaking through the peep whole your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you step back, pulling the door open with you.

Aaron Hotchner stands in the threshold, still wearing his suit from earlier minute the blazer. The off white compliments his complexion and raven hair. “Hotch?”

“You’re awake.” He doesn’t sound surprised, more so relieved.

“So are you.” You keep the door pressed to your body, concealing the thin tank top and sweatpants you’ve dressed in for bed.

“Yes, I am.” He looks past you into the small room before gesturing to it. “May I come in?”

You bite your lip, eyeing around him down the deserted hallway before nodding. “Yes, of course.” He steps in full and you close the door, turning quickly to the chair across the room, grabbing your jacket. You pull it on, zipping it part of the way before turning back to your boss. He’s looking around, that part of his brain he can never turn off analyzing every inch.

“So… what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, going back to the spot you’d spent most of the night occupying.

“I wanted to let you know the hospital called. Jenny is going to be just fine.” He watches as your shoulders sink, a breath blowing through your nose as you visibly relax.

“That’s… That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

Jenny Campell, the 9 year old little girl abducted by her father, who was held hostage for two weeks in a remote part of Boston. She was severely dehydrated and would likely have lasting psychological problems from the abuse her father put her through; but she was alive, and the good guys had won.

“I wanted to talk to you… about the house.” Aaron’s head tilts slightly, as it always does when he’s approaching a subject he thinks may cause someone some uncomfort. You hold his gaze, crossing your arms over your chest, confused by where this could be going. Aaron clears his throat before he begins. “How did you know to look for a secret door?”

6 Hours Earlier

The house was dank smelling, clouds of dust swirled through the rays of light coming from the flash lights of the officers ahead of you. The house has been cleared, but something was missing, Charles Campell said his daughter was here, but where?

You circle back into the smallest bedroom, the voices of Hotch and Morgan floating through the open door as they try to discuss a new plan. The room was littered with trash, a twin sized bed sits in one corner, a large oak wardrobe opposite it. Children’s drawings adorn the peeling walls, and a dusty pink sign hangs above the bed frame, ‘Jenny Girl’.

You step closer to the armoire, newspapers and takeout boxes crunching under foot, as you shine your light over the furniture. It’s new, newer than anything else in the entire house making it stand out against the decay. It isn’t until you’re right beside it do you notice the scratches along the lime green paint.

The realization dawns on your like a bucket of ice water being thrown in your face and before you know it your yelling for your team mates. “Here! Hotch!” Your put your weight into the side of the wardrobe, pushing with everything you have as the two men rush into the room.

Morgan runs for the other side, pulling as Hotch takes up the space behind you, his arms caging you in as he pushes. The three of you move it easily, a small door, presumably to a crawl space, appears in the wall and you rush to pull it open. Morgan covers you with his gun drawn, giving you a nod to go before you yank the door open.

There, curled up in her side, is the little blond girl you all have been searching for. “Medic!” Hotch screams from above you, as you quickly moves towards the girl. She small and light, her hair matted and dirty like her blue night gown. You presses your fingers to the girls throat, a weak pulse answering.

~*~*~*~

“Y/n?” Hotch snaps you out do your thoughts, and you shake your head, clearing yourself of the memory.

“Sorry… I just… I knew there was something there, I won’t say I could sense it but my gut hasn’t lead me wrong, thus far.” Aaron nods, waiting to see if you will continue. “Charles isn’t a lier, his motivation for taking her were simple, revenge on her mother. Make her squirm and give him more parental rights. He never assumed she would get the police involved. Much less the FBI.”

“Jenny’s father is not only a drug user but a heavy drinker. Everything he had done was under the influence and when he was captured, and the substances in his system wore off he had gaps in his memories of what he did with Jenny. Explaining why he couldn’t tell us exactly where she was, just that she was at the house.” Hotch finishes for you.

“Exactly.” You pause, eyeing him over. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, in fact you did amazing in the field today. You worked out the clue no one else could’ve, and if it wasn’t for you there is no telling if we would have found Jenny in time. I’m extremely proud of you.” His praise makes something in your chest stir without your permission. Your clear your throat to speak, but he cuts you off. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know there would be a door behind the wardrobe?”

Your palms suddenly feel clammy, nervousness making your spine straighten. “I don’t know what you-.”

“You do realize I am the one that goes through ever personnel file before someone is permitted to work with my team, correct?” His voice doesn’t have that hard edge like it normally holds, in fact his entire demeanor is soft, calming. Almost like he’s trying to comfort a wounded animal.

You are the animal.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I know about your father, Y/n. I have seen the police reports, and I know you take cases with children very seriously and hold them close to your heart.” He takes a step forward and instinctively you move back, a look of hurt washing over his features. “I need you to tell me if you are alright, if this case was to much for you.”

~*~*~*~

The red lights of the ambulance quickly fade away through the woods, leaving the house illuminated only by the head lights of the surrounding cop cars. Aaron is removing his vest as he walks around watching as people file in and out of the house taping and marking things off.

He stops by the van, pulling the door open and throwing his vest inside, when he notices a figure standing off by themselves. He squints into the darkness along the side of the house, the person is hunched over, hands on their knees as their shoulder shake subtly. He scans the people around him, finding Morgan by the entrance to the house, on the phone with the rest of the team and the other 5 officers are accounted for. That leaves only you.

Slowly he moves closer just barely making out the sounds of you muffled crying over the noises of the others. Concern wipes through his body like lightning but before he can move any farther Morgan is yelling his name, startling you in the process.

You straighten up quickly, wiping your face with your jacket sleeves and Aaron retreats towards the others. Giving you your space without the fear of embarrassment of being caught.

~*~*~*~

Your face burns, cheeks bright pink. You open your mouth then close it again, a mixture of emotions tumbling around inside you.

Embarrassment, anger, hatred, regret, longing to finally let it all go. None of which are directly targeted at your boss but he’s the only thing in sight.

“How dare you.” You seethe, letting anger take over because it’s the easiest to roll with. “Don’t come to my room at all hours of the morning, trying to… to… get something out of me.” Your anger propels you forward and you find yourself inches in front of Hotch. He holds his ground, his hands moving to rest on his hips and you break eye contact long enough to glance at them.

“I’m asking you if you are alright.” Aaron’s voice has dropped, the timber low and you can’t help but like the sound of it. There’s no denying Aaron is a handsome man, but there’s always denying your feelings.

“I’m. Fine.” You ground out.

“Your lying to me.”

“Hotc-“

“Sweetheart.” The nickname catches you off guard, your eyes widening with surprise, breath trapped in your throat. Aaron takes the opportunity, his large hands cupping your face, giving you no other choice but to keep eye contact even as your body stiffens and a look of almost pain flashes across your face. “I know you’re lying to me because I am good at my job and so is everyone else here. You think we haven’t noticed your apprehension when it comes to a dark room? Or the way you always stand closer to the other females in the room, even if it’s just Spencer?”

Your hands find their way to his wrists, tugging but he stays firm, he isn’t hurting you but he’s going to make you listen. “Sto-.”

“Youre to comfortable placating than possibly rocking the boat for yourself. You never finish a cup of coffee because you hate it plain, you’d rather wonder around a new building than bother someone to ask where a room is, you dont open up to a single person because of your anxiety.” Hurt is written clearly on your features, hurt mixed with anger but before you can say anything Aaron steams ahead. “With that being said, you are one of my best profilers. I’ve seen you take on men twice your size and never bat a lash. Behavior like this doesn’t just come from nowhere. Something happened to you that made you this way.”

That unwelcoming pressure behind your eyes begins to overwhelm you, much like Aaron’s presence, his cologne infiltrating your nose with each ragged inhale. “What do you care? I’ve done just fine with how I am by myself, I don’t need you digging around for answers that will have no impact on you whatsoever.” Your voice comes out softer than you would have liked, making you hate yourself more.

“I care,” He emphasizes with a stroke of his thumb across your cheek, a foreign feeling on your skin. “Because I can not sit back and watch you hurt yourself like this.”

You scoff, trying again to pull away, managing to take a few steps back only for him to follow. A hand slips to the back of your neck, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place. “You’re being dramatic, Hotchner.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you open your mouth only to realize you aren’t sure. “I… I had a snack in the car. On the way here.” It’s a lame excuse, and he sees right through it.

“I want to make you an offer.” His brown eyes search your face, the anger turning into confusion.

“An offer?”

“Yes, I’d like for you to hear me out before you make a decision. Okay?”

“If it means you will let me go, then yes.” You give his wrists one last tug and he relents, but not before giving your neck a final squeeze. You move until your back is against the window, the cold night air seeping through the glass and into your jacket.

Aaron sits down in the only chair before gesturing to the bed, “Why don’t you sit.” It’s more of a command than it is a suggestion, making you root to your spot, giving him your best disgruntled look that rivals his on a good day. Sighing he leans his elbows against his knees, scrubbing a hand across his face. He looks tired, the wear and tear off the job showing more and more. Dark circles from a lack of sleep, a few new greeting hairs You could have sworn weren’t there when this case began.

“Well?” You snap, throwing your hand up before letting it drop against your thigh. Aarons eyes slowly lift to yours, a look you are unfamiliar with lurking under his features as he reaches behind himself, pulling a folded piece of paper you hadn’t noticed before from his back pocket. He tosses it onto the bed and a thousand possibilities run through your mind all at once. Leave of absence? Demotion? Pink slip? “Hotch…”

“Go on. It isn’t going to bite you, honey.” He let’s a little bit of humor color his words and you shoot him a glare. You close the distance, snatching it off of the bed and unfolding it to realize it’s a few sheets stapled together. Your eyes nearly double their size, mouth falling open as you read the header.

‘Consent of Submission.’

Paragraphs make up the first page, the words jumbling together as you try to make sense of where this is heading. The next page is filled with bullet points, titled ‘Rules’. Eat three full meals a day, go to bed at an appropriate time, check in with how you are feeling; to name a few.

As you continue to stare at the paper, confusion and distraught winning the war of emotions on your face, Aaron begins speaking. “It’s a contract, between you and I. It will help you properly take care of your self and I will help enforce it.

“‘Submission’? Aaron… This is… What?” You begin to tremble with a vengeance, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, it will help you learn to regain some control over your trauma and your everyday life. It will help with the anxiety, depression, and emotional detachment you are facing.” He speaks so surely, like he has done this before, and maybe he has.

“You mean it will help you control me.” Your accusation doesn’t phase him, in fact he looks to calm for the situation. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, leaning back in his seat with his head propped on his first. A complete opposite juxtaposition to yourself.

“In a sense, it’s power exchange. Nothing happens without your explicit consent, which gives you the power in what we do. Where I have the power is how we navigate those consents, what we do, where we do it, and how.” He takes a deep breath, giving you a gentle smile. “I’ve found people in your type of situation benefited greatly from being able to let their brains turn off, not have to over think every step of the day. Just exist and let someone else… Take care of them.”

“And if I say I don’t want to sign this?” You slam the papers back on the bed, more to hide your shaking hands than anything.

“Then I will have you go to therapy within the BAU system.” He shrugs his shoulder feigning indifference, even though his heart is thumping wildly. He thought the days of this life style were behind him, no longer needed, but the moment you turned up on the plane, he knew. Your lips were pressed into a tight smile, your body language screaming how uncomfortable you were seated between Derek and Rossi, though you desperately tried to mimic the calm demeanor surrounding you. Something stirred awake in his chest that morning, and he’s just been bidding his time every since.

Your stomach churns, weighing out your options. Somehow the latter seems worse. You run your hands into your hair, blowing out a breath. “I’m not submissive Aaron, you know this. This job requires to much for this to be a possibility. I don’t… I don’t see how it could work.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, but I think there are things you haven’t learned about yourself yet. As for our job this is not apart of that, this is separate. We will just be ourselves, nothing out of the ordinary.” He says all of this so sincerely, a part of you wants to trust him. But the part of you that says no one is to be trusted squares your shoulders.

“What do you want in exchange? How do I know you won’t use this as black mail, or some chip to hold over my head?

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sweetheart, There’s nothing I want in exchange, I’m trying to help you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” You answer before you can even give it thought. Deflect, shut it down, move on. How you handle any sort of situation that strikes a little to close to home, that tries to dig out your weaknesses like he is doing now.

Aaron prepared for this, knew you would meet him with head on resistance, but also knew with the choices given what you would pick. You’ve gone back to staring at the papers, the wheels in your head turning at full force. He can guess within reason what you might be thinking, he had that same look on his face when he was introduced to the lifestyle all those years ago.

“Y/n.” Your eyes dart up to his, large and uncertain. “Give me a month, just one. If it doesn’t help, if it’s too much, then we call it quits.”

“Just one?” You echo back, Aaron nodding. He stands from his seat, large hand stretched out, palm facing the sky. This is crazy, wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the amount of trouble you both could end up in if someone so happen to come across this. Every fiber of your being screams the sentiment. But it’s your heart, though it bruises your ribs, that makes you place your hand in his. Aaron gently pulls you to your feet, making sure you have your balance before letting go.

“Go wash your face, then I want you in bed. You need to sleep.” Instantly you want to rebel against the order, the phrase ‘you don’t control me’ coming to mind but instead you turn on your heel. “Good girl.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and your shoulders tense up, but you force yourself to walk into the restroom, closing the door a little to hard. You turn to the mirror, a woman with scarlet red cheeks stares back at you and you huff. What are you doing? Where has your brain gone? Groaning lowly you angrily grab for your face wash.

Coming back out into the room, dabbing at your face with a hand towel, you find the room is lit only by the bedside lamp. Aaron, with the contract in his hands, looks up when he hears you. Your hand tightens around the scratchy white towel as a small smile tugs his lips up. “You look beautiful even without the makeup.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the towel into the small tub behind you. “A very typical male complement, Hotch.” You quip, glancing towards your bed. The covers have been turned down, and there’s a glass of water on the night stand.

“Here.” Aaron holds out a pen, and the paper, suddenly your hands have never been so clammy.

“I thought you said we would just try this for a month. Why do I need to sign?” You skirt around him, fidgeting with your jackets zipper. You can feel your heart beat everywhere, from your fingertips to the bottom of your bare feet.

“To protect us both, either you sign or there’s no deal and you go to therapy.” Skin bristling you spin around, whatever you were about to snap suddenly dissolving on your tongue. His chest is mere inches from your face, forcing you to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. He never seemed this tall from across the room. “You’re wearing my patience thin, little one.” The heady rasp of his voice as he whispers to you makes your stomach clench, for an entirely new reason.

Begrudgingly you take the pen and paper, pressing it to his chest to bear down on as you scrawl out your name on the little line. You notice his signature is already on the other side.“There. Happy?”

He holds your stare for a moment longer, and you think he might say something more before he steps back, taking everything with him. “We will go over everything at breakfast, we have an appointment with Jenny and her mother Clair at noon.”

Your eyebrows come together as he reaches the door, pulling it open. “I thought the teams going home today?”

“They are. I have paper work that needs to be done and you are my only child psychologist. Goodnight, Y/n.” He smiles as he closes the door behind himself, relishing in the shock written on your face.

#smut #apollyonsdarksecrets #criminal minds #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction

[vamptizm]

happiness is a butterfly — rafe cameron

summary — a series of events that finally lead you to leave rafe behind and pursue happiness (inspired by the lana del rey song)

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

genre — angst

word count — 3.1k

warnings — angst. mild? cheating. toxic relationship. bad language. suggestive themes (just the mention of it). rafe intimidates reader. not proof read. lowercase intended.

note — this is absolute dog shit in my opinion but it has been sitting in my drafts for a while and this is me ATTEMPTING to somewhat save it and not just scrap it completely

do you want me, or do you not? i heard one thing, now i’m hearing another.

it has always been a back and forth with the cameron boy. one day he was undeniably in love with you, buying you your favorite flowers, taking you on the fanciest of dates and showing you off like a gold trophy. another day, he suddenly decides that he doesn’t care about you all too much. no calls, no texts, he get’s mad, lashes out on you, flirts with others and then finds himself crying in your arms as he apologizes for the things he’s done.

you were tired and confused, anyone around you could tell how worn out and exhausted you were, yet nothing seemed to make you leave. in your mind, he was perfect for you. rich, a year older, he has a future, a nice family and you got along with his sister. what more could you wish for? being a low class “kook” was rougher than one could imagine. too poor for the kooks and too rich and spoiled for the pogues, and therefore, you found yourself not having any friends… not having anyone to rely on, anyone to help you realize your worth and leave the cameron boy.

“look, don’t make this any harder than it has to be right now and just go home” rafe advised in a harsh tone, hands coming up to run over his hair in frustration.

you didn’t understand why he was being so cruel, you hadn’t really done anything to upset him, except trying to figure out what had gotten him in such a sour mood.

“no.” you stated, voice less firm and shakier than wanted. walking closer towards his large figure, you stood merely a few inches away while looking up at his face. “you can’t just push me away and pull me in whenever you deem as fitting. i’m trying to help you and i’m trying to be there for you. just let me.”

rafe simply stared down at you, his eyes stripping you of confidence and composure. you could never predict how he would react this time. would he accept your sincerity and take you in his arms? or would he reject it and leave you in tears while he pushes you away more and more. you had hoped that throughout all of the time that you’ve known him, it would eventually become a tad bit easier to read his body language but as always, you’d be dead wrong.

a hand of his came up to place itself on the back of your head, eyes locked with your own before he spoke up again. “have you ever stopped to consider that i don’t want anything from you?”, he questioned harshly, that familiar squinting of his eyes and the furrow of his eyebrows told you exactly what his next words will be. “if i want someone to talk to, i’ll talk to a fucking therapist, okay? stick to being the good fuck you are and leave me alone for now”.

there it was. he never failed to knock the air out of you and leave your lips trembling with his harsh words. a good fuck? that one was new, considering the fact that you rarely allowed him your body.

you couldn’t help but bitterly grin as tears stung your eyes. with eyes still locked with his, you nodded and took a step back before turning around and exiting his room. walking down those stairs felt like an eternity, to you, more and more kept appearing until you finally made it downstairs.

on your way out, a worried sarah approached you hastily, “did he do something? are you okay?” she questioned sincerely, both her arms raising to place her warm hands on your arms.

with a forced smile, you nodded gently in response, whispering a light “yeah” and explaining to her how you had to go home, before leaving tanny hill.

there you were once again, sat on his lap in his car as your lips collided repeatedly, softly and eagerly fighting for dominance. your hands were cupping his face and his were firmly placed on your hips, gripping onto the soft flesh. it was two in the morning on a hot summer night. were you expecting to find yourself in this position? not really. but all it took was a few texts from a worried rafe and a few missed calls, for you to send him your location. he found you sitting close to the shore of the beach with a half empty beer bottle in your hand and all it took was some sweet talk and a little bit of convincing from his side, until you ended up sitting in the passenger seat of his car and eventually on top of him.

his lips disconnected from yours as they trailed down your jaw and then to your neck, littering the soft skin with kisses and whispering sweet nothings into the crook of your neck. desperately wanting his lips back on yours, you gently took a hold on his jaw and lifted it up to press another kiss onto him.

“i love you”, he breathlessly whispered against your lips, eyes heavy and sparkling.

saying that he had caught you off guard was the understatement of the year, as your body stiffened against him and you straightened up. after a few moments of agonizing silence between the both of you, you shakily sighed, before your eyes found his. what did he just say? did he mean that? was he trying to mess with you?

“what?” you questioned quietly, it was as if the volume of your voice could only go so high at that moment.

rafe was the complete opposite of you, his eyes intensely staring into yours and his voice booming with confidence. his hand lifted towards your face as he tucked the two strands of hair behind your ears. he couldn’t stand it being in the way, it was like a curtain draped over your eye and he wanted to inspect every inch of your beautiful face.

“i said i love you”, he repeated earnestly. if it hadn’t been for the confidence in his voice and the serious look in his eyes, you would have called him a liar right then and there.

millions of thoughts crossed your mind until you feared that they might overflow. did you love him? did you want to say it back? would you truly mean it? were you sure that he wasn’t just playing with you?

it was as if rafe had read your mind, his hands cupping your face the same way you had done it to him a few minutes ago, “you don’t have to say it back now, but i mean it.”

if he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that can. happen to a girl who’s already hurt

“what did you do?!” you stormed towards the boy, pushing him back in anger, again and again.

a hysterical sarah had just told you about him shooting peterkin on the phone, killing the town’s sheriff and now he was outside your house. you should have been afraid, you should have called the police but you couldn’t. all you could do was stare at him in betrayal.

“listen, i-i had to save my dad, okay?” the stressed out boy stammered in a shaky tone, “i’m a proactive person, y/n, you know that! i couldn’t just let her hurt him!”

he had completely lost it, that you were sure of. the crazed look in his eyes that were stung by tears and trembling hands, you didn’t know whether to hit or hug him. your heart had been beating out of your chest, the realization that you were in the presence of someone who had taken a life suddenly hitting you like a truck and you unconsciously began to take a few steps backwards.

that didn’t go unnoticed. rafe’s demeanour had changed faster than you could blink as he stepped closer towards you, trapping you against the walls of your house and himself. your heart began to beat a thousand miles a minute and you were worried that he could hear it. you couldn’t let him know that you were afraid. he hovered over your smaller body, looking down at you like a hunter at it’s prey. no one spoke for what felt like hours, but was merely just short of a minute.

“you scared of me?” he interrogated bitterly. to him, it felt like you were betraying him, simply for being nervous and cautious around him. “are you going to try to get me in trouble?”, he took your jaw in between his thumb and pointer finger. “i’m the only one that can protect you, baby. i’ll be there for you. do you want that to change?”

glancing at him for a few more seconds, you eventually softly shook your head. it wasn’t just that you wanted to protect him, you also knew that if you went against him, the whole world would go against you until he’s proven guilty. precious rafe cameron. big house, good family, more money than he could ever dream of… he would never commit such cruel acts.

rafe tried to read your face, scanning it for any indication of a lie, before he grinned maliciously. he had you right where he wanted you. “that’s my good girl”, he pressed a kiss on your stiff lips.

“go back inside, it’s late” he advised after pulling back, making his way to his car and driving off.

finding yourself alone, you finally allowed yourself to breathe, sliding down the wall you had been pushed against. tears filled your eyes faster than you could comprehend and soon after that quiet sobs started to wreck your body. nothing would be the same anymore, nothing would be okay anymore, and you were painfully aware of that now.

i said don’t be a jerk, don’t call me a taxi. sitting in your sweatshirt crying in the backseat.

“i just don’t get what the big deal is”, rafe stated nonchalantly.

here you were, sitting in the passenger seat of his car with tears running down your face because of him and he didn’t get what the big deal was? you had just seen him with his arm draped over another girl’s shoulder not even 20 minutes ago, how could he be so dense? you would like to lie and say that it hadn’t been often that you got jealous or upset, but the truth is that those things affect you more than you’d ever like to admit.

with mascara stained cheeks, you slowly turned your head towards him, disbelief and annoyance sculpting your features now.

“you don’t get the big deal?” you repeated his audacious statement. you were seething but attempted to stay composed nonetheless as you picked at the nails of your fingers.

the boy’s face showed no empathy, let alone any indications of remorse. this caused you to scoff. you wanted to scream at him, to pour your heart out and make him understand how much it hurt, but instead you chose to leave. with a hand firmly on the door handle, you swiftly exited the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

rafe followed after you a few seconds after, “don’t be ridiculous and just get back in the car.” he scolded as he walked behind you, but you didn’t bother to listen, instead you continued to take fast steps in the opposite direction.

the boy sighed in annoyance and worry, not wanting you to roam the streets at that time of night all alone in this sweatshirt that barely covered your thighs.

“let me at least call a taxi to take you home!” he called after your retrieving figure.

you stopped in your tracks and for a moment it seemed like he had gotten through to you, but oh how wrong he was. “i don’t want you to call me a fucking taxi, you jerk! i don’t need anything from you.”

happiness is a butterfly. try to catch it, like every night.

it had finally been the last straw for you. you could not excuse his actions anymore and you couldn’t keep forgiving him. something had to change and that something was your relationship with rafe cameron. you wanted to be free, you wanted happiness and you wanted to feel butterflies that didn’t make you feel sick to your stomach. unfortunately, that meant you had to let go of what was holding you back. it’s in our human nature to chase things that hurt us, either for the thrill of it or to settle. we accept the love that we think we deserve and you knew that you deserved so much better than this.

you had been contemplating for days on whether to do it over the phone or in person, because you hated to admit that you were slightly scared of his reaction if you chose to break the news to him, face to face. eventually though, with the encouragement of sarah and your pogue friends, you had decided to not fear him anymore and thats how you found yourself standing in front of him as he sat on his bed.

“i think you know what i’m about to say” you began, attempting to hide that nervousness that was begging to shine through.

rafe simply shook his head and you weren’t sure if he was pretending to be clueless or if he was trying to stop the next few sentences that would escape your lips. “no, please enlighten me” he inquired a little too calmly.

it somehow felt like a trap to you, but you didn’t let that affect you. “i don’t think we’re good for each other… i want to end this”

rafe stared at you in silence for a couple of moments with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read, it was a mix of his furrowed brows and a look of disbelief. neither of you chose to speak up after that.

“you’re leaving me?” he finally broke the silence in a tone that had you wincing.

you didn’t want to hurt him and you surely did not want this to end on a bad note, but it was clear as day that rafe was anything but happy about your decision. not being able to find the words, you simply nodded your head in confirmation.

“after everything i did for you?” he stood up, his facial expression turning sour with the look of betrayal in his eyes.

rafe took a couple of steps towards your figure, causing you to take a couple of steps back in return. you knew he wasn’t trying to intimidate you on purpose, but even if he was, it wouldn’t work on you this time.

“what did you do for me?” you questioned bitterly. “the constant fighting? pushing me away and then pulling me back in? telling me how much you love me and then seeing you getting all touchy with another girl not even a week later?”

you were trying your best not the escalate the situation with your emotional state, but in the moment it was near to impossible.

“i deserve to be happy, you know?” you began, taking a step closer to him this time to show him just how fearless you were. “i deserve to be loved and cherished. i deserve someone who isn’t going to play me like a fiddle and use me to his advantage. i deserve something real and good and that’s just not something that you’ve been able to offer me, rafe. all you do is take and take and take some more and you never give anything in return. i’m fucking sick of being your little toy”.

rafe cameron had been speechless for the first time in a very long time. he had no idea what to say or do in that moment. should he drop on his knees and beg you for another chance? or should he accept that fact that everything you said was merely the cold hard truth that he did not want to hear. he knew you deserved better, he knew you could do better, yet he wanted to be that better for you. it can’t be too late, right?

“i’ll change.” rafe stated in a sincere tone, his eyes finally locking with yours. “i’ll be better for you, y/n. i promise”

you wanted to laugh. the fact that it had to come this far, was bitterly amusing to you. after all the pain he put you through, all the harsh words he shot at you, all the times he disappointed you, he really had the nerve to ask for another chance?. in all honesty, it had actually made you quite angry. why did he expect you to forgive him again? were you not clear enough? were you a joke to him?

“beg for it” you spoke, a dead serious look on your face while doing so.

to say that rafe had been caught off guard would be the understatement of the century, his breath hitched and he had to stop his eyes from widening in shock at your words. after a few moments of contemplating, the boy surprisingly lowered himself onto his knees and looking up at your shocked expression.

“please… please give me another chance. i know i don’t deserve you, i never have, but i truly love you despite being always failing to prove it to you. i cannot imagine my life without you in it, y/n… i promise to change. i’ll take better care of you, i’ll drop every other girl, i’ll be nicer and more understanding and i’ll do anything to make you happy if you just give me one more chance” he begged, his voice cracking a couple times and tears stinging his beautiful blue eyes as a few of them ran down his cheeks.

you had not expected this. in fact, you had expected him to scoff at you and show you just how cruel he could be. his words and tears had you almost dropping to your knees and embracing him into a bone crushing hug. key word being almost. once you had made a decision, it was impossible to talk you out of it or convince you otherwise, so instead of listening to your heart the way you always had, you chose to let your brain take control for once.

“not good enough”. with that, you turned on your heels and left through his door, while also exiting his life for what you hoped, would be forever.

#⋆𐙚 ₊ ♡ 🌷 yuko #⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks one shot #angst #rafe cameron angst

[harlowcomehome]

The Best One:

Series link!

Jack had consciously woken up before you, quickly turning off his alarm before he snuck out of the shared hotel room. He wore a new balance sweatsuit, the hood covering his messy curls as best as possible.

He ordered food delivery to the hotel, making sure to leave a generous tip noting that the sun was also still emerging from its slumber. He used a fake name but he could always tell when someone recognized him, flashing a gentle smile as he made his way back to the elevator with the bag of food.

He balanced your warm drink carefully as he opened the hotel door, met with your sleepy gaze as you sat up in bed waiting for him.

“I was wondering where you went” Your voice was raspy, your face still wearing the exhaustion from the night before.

“Was I too loud?”

“No, I just knew you weren’t next to me anymore” you yawned as you stretched your arms toward him.

“I wanted to make sure we ate together before your long day” he smiled, setting your warm chai tea beside the bed.

“You didn’t have to do this” you hummed, knowing he rarely ate breakfast these days.

“I wanted to” he handed you a breakfast sandwich, as he grabbed his and sat with you, the bed dipping as he crawled beside you.

“I already miss you. Can’t you just come home with me now?” you sighed, leaning your head against his.

“Pretty soon you won’t have to miss me that much. Just a few more weeks and things will be how they should be” he smiled, playing with the ring on your hand. You rarely took off the ring he had bought you, sleeping in it most nights.

“How is Urban going to take it?” You had been thinking about his reaction along with Laylas.

“He already knows, we’ve talked about it over the last few months” he continued to mindlessly spin your ring around your finger, taking another bite of his breakfast.

“I think Layla will be sad, but maybe her and Urban will end up living together too” you giggled, met with silence on Jack's end.

You turned to look at him, and he immediately pretended to be intrigued by the hotel art on the walls. “They did a good job painting that.”

“Jack, babe don’t deflect” you warned, turning to him completely to get his full attention.

He continued to look away from you, holding a smirk to keep from laughing. Until you poked at his extremely ticklish sides, making him jump.

“Okay! Okay! I don’t know what happened. Urb told me that she’s not speaking to him as of last night and that’s all I know” he held his arms up in defense.

“Swear?”

“Promise!” He instinctively covered his hips knowing that’s where you’d poke at next.

You narrowed your eyes at him, making him laugh at your fake intimidation tactics.

“Want to save water and shower with me before my flight?” You cheekily teased as you stood up from the hotel bed.

“Obviously” he rolled his eyes, practically jumping out of his clothes.

••••••

Layla picked you up from the airport, she wasn’t her usual peppy and over-the-top self, but you weren’t sure if you should bring it up or not knowing the news you were inevitably going to break to her.

When you got to the parking garage and put your luggage in the trunk of her car she burst into tears, grabbing hold of you and hugging you tightly.

She wasn’t usually an affectionate person, so you knew something was terribly wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You mumbled into her chest.

“Not really” she sniffled, her nose whistling in your ear. She pulled back to look at you, her mascara staining her cheeks.

“Are you moving in with Jack?”

You were frozen still, not expecting her to know that piece of information just yet.

“That's not what this is about” she laughed, a snot bubble escaping her nostril as she gestured to her face.

“I assumed it was Urban” You gave her a sympathetic look, tucking a stray piece of her hair behind her ear.

“I just wish we were progressing the way you and Jack are” she shrugged, realizing the two of you were still standing in the half-empty parking structure. “Let’s get in the car where it’s warm.”

You sat in the driver's seat of her car, giving her the passenger seat to vent to you. You turned the heater on before backing out and starting your drive home.

“Did something happen?” You kept your eyes on the road, glancing at her every so often.

“I told him I love him” Layla sighed, feeling a sense of embarrassment wave over her. For as long as you had known Layla you had never known her to love anyone, at least not romantically.

“And what did he say?” You felt a sense of regret asking that, but you had to know.

“He-“ her voice cracked, she looked out the window watching as the cars beside you zoomed by.

“Do you want me to drive? You’re driving like a grandma” she laughed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What did he say?” You repeated yourself knowing you were going to be upset at the answer if Layla was this emotional.

“He told me he appreciated hearing that” She forced a laugh, feeling idiotic. Her eyes filled with tears, that she struggled to fight off.

The silence was defeating for a moment, as you tried to wrap your head around what you had just heard. Urban was Jack's best friend, which meant you were going to have to be around him, but knowing that he had hurt your best friend didn’t sit right with you.

“Don’t” Layla warned.

“Don’t? Don’t what?”

“Don’t self-destruct. I’m fine. Things will be okay” she reassured you, noticing your breathing pattern had changed. “Don’t make this a thing. I just have to distance myself, that’s all.”

“If I move in with Jack. Where are you going to live?”

“When you move in with Jack” she gave you a teasing look, “I’m going to renew the lease at our place” she smirked, knowing what your follow-up question would be.

“Lay-How are you going to afford that?”

“There is this guy I know, he’s working on his next album and he said he has a few tracks that need backup vocals. His name is Jack Harlow, do you know him?” she giggled at your wide-eyed reaction.

“What the hell?” You giggled as you pulled into your apartment complex, putting the car in park immediately.

“LAYLA!” You lightly pushed her arm making her sway in her seat a little.

“He called me this morning when you were on your flight home and told me about you moving out, and assured me that he had planned on asking me this months ago but he figured the timing was better late than never” she shrugged, holding back more tears but this time happy ones.

You reached for her, hugging her over the middle console of the car.

“You got yourself a good one y/n” she nodded.

“I do, don’t I?” You agreed, before the two of you got your luggage and went inside of your apartment.

The door unlocked but with a bit of a struggle.

“I need to get that lock changed when you leave me” Layla teased.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad? You’re with a great guy, who loves you. There’s nothing for me to be mad about” Layla reassured you.

“What about Urban?”

“I’ll get over it eventually” she shrugged, but you knew that likely wasn’t true. Layla was just being a good friend, and putting her feelings aside, which was something she’d be honored to do as long as you were happy with Jack.

“Since Jack told you just about everything….” you playfully rolled your eyes, slightly bothered that you didn’t get to break the news of moving out.

Layla followed you to your bedroom, “Here she goes” she laughed as she started to help you get unpacked.

“Did he also tell you that Urban caught us trying to leak our relationship to the public?”

Layla paused before throwing an article of clothing she had just taken out of your suitcase at you.

“Are you two crazy?”

“Crazy, in love” you giggled, beginning to fold the shirt she had previously thrown at you.

••••••

Your night had only begun to wind down when your phone rang, Neelam's name coming across it. You usually didn’t talk to her unless it was important so your heart started to beat intensely as you quickly answered the phone.

“Is Jack okay?” Your panicked nature caught Neelam off guard, making her laugh a bit.

Neelam in hindsight wasn’t that much older than you, but she still looked at you with maternal instincts, it was somewhat in her nature with her job title.

“Well hello to you too” she hummed.

“Sorry Hi! Is Jack okay?”

“He’s fine, do you have a moment to talk privately?” She specified that knowing Layla was likely beside you.

You stood up from the couch, excusing yourself to the bedroom and closing the door. Neelam sounded serious, a tone she had never used with you before.

“I’m alone.”

“I want to make myself abundantly clear when I say everything I’m about to say, okay?”

“Yeah?” You could feel the panic setting in, wondering where this conversation was going. Your mind was racing, and the lump in your throat was growing more prominent by the second.

“Jack called a meeting today, did you know about that?”

“No?” He hadn’t told you about any of this and you had been in constant communication since you got home.

“In the meeting, he sat me down and conferenced in Chris and the executives at Atlanta Records.“

Your heart sank, unable to tell by her tone what was going on. You had wondered why Jack hadn’t told you any of this, his last text to you being just thirty minutes ago.

You were worried she was going to tell you to leave him alone, that you were standing in the way of his success and to step aside. You felt heavy and immediately achy.

“He wants your relationship to go public, but that’s not only up to him. This changes a lot for you too, do you realize that?”

You were silent for only a second before responding, “I do. I’m willing to quit my job, we already discussed that.”

“It’s more than that. It’s not just a new job and a new place to live. It’s magazine spreads, radio interviews, it’s an overabundance of security and your family's address getting leaked. It’s a big deal, Jack is a big deal.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, Neelam wasn’t intentionally trying to intimidate or deter you, but she wanted you to have all of the facts. Your chest tightened as you sat down on your bed, the urge to scream was almost instinct.

Neelam had put you on speaker for the first time during this call, something you weren’t aware of in the moment.

“I’m not going to change my mind about this and neither will Jack” you managed to speak somehow. “I’m one hundred percent sure, I’m all in.”

Jack wasn’t able to hear most of your side of the conversation, but unbeknown to you, he was in the room with Neelam the entire time. His knees were up to his chest as he sat in the chair across from her. He didn’t want to admit that he was nervous about your reaction to everything, but deep down he was.

Once the phone call with Neelam ended and technicalities were explained along with timelines you set your phone beside you on the bed, and a wave of numbness came over you.

Things were going to change and you had to be mentally prepared.

“She's not only in, she’s one hundred percent in!” Neelam playfully mocked your voice as she threw her arms up to celebrate as Jack's entire face turned bright red.

“You’ve got a good one, I’ll admit that” Neelam smiled.

“I do, the best one” Jack replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

#Jack Harlow #Jack Harlow x reader #Jack Harlow fanfic #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagines

[themotherofblood]

Prologue . 1 | RIVER OF FIRE | THE LADY | D.T x R.T x READER

series masterlist | main masterlist

~ where ever you stray, I’d follow. Begging for you to take my hand ~

“Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra… she is the gust of spring air after a bitter winter. She is a child’s first laughter. She is my knight. Our days spent climbing trees and visiting Aemma. Rhaenyra insisted that Syrax is finally large enough to saddle two but I refused her, what if I fell? I am a little too young and too pretty to die just yet. But too Rhaenyra, she is my happiness and I her lady.”

The summer of one hundred and ten years after Aegon's Conquest, you'd remembered the days to be so vibrant. That was your fifth year at Kings Landing, and the second year since the fourteenth day of the fifth moon since you had realized you held passions for Rhaenyra Targaryen.

There was a true sense of sisterhood between Laena, Alicent, Rhaenyra and you. The little ladies that ran the Red Keep a muck, the hordes of giggles and dozens of fabrics that followed everywhere you went. Alicent and Rhaenyra, the older girls of four and ten, Laena and you were two and ten finding yourself in a closer bind of sisterhood, that and your shared love for exotic fauna.

Your fingers had been deep in dirt, planting away yet another exotic seed that Lord Corlys procured for you and Laena, they never understood how you managed to grow them but you did. They thrived in the summer months, while your hands mindlessly packed soil, and your eyes remained on Rhaenyra as she rested her head in Alicent's lap. You couldn't quite decipher the stinging burn in your chest as you watched Alicent twirl Rhae's silver locks in her fingers.

Laena was a silently observant person, she looked between your eye line before dragging you to lay in between the blossomed flower beds. "I wrote for my brother yesterday, demands of sweets and sieges of poetry were demanded of," you told Laena, truly trying to distract yourself. Laena giggled as she shook her head. The softness of her voice echoed with chirps of hummingbirds, the sun crisp against her skin just as it shimmered against yours.

"Silk and gold threads from Lys, and more shells. Father promised me more." Laena continued as she toyed with her sea blue sleeves. "And thanked him on your behalf for the seeds."

Even as you remained deep in conversation with your companion, your eyes held an envious gaze toward Alicent; you hated feeling this way. She was your friend too, you were all friends with each other and yet this unfamiliar feeling gnawed at your insides for over a year. You giggled and chuckled along at all the court gossip of the older ladies being wed and betrothed to the knights of their dreams.

"Lady Laena," Daemon called out from behind you as you shot up to look at him. This man intimidated you to your core and yet provided you with the wisest of wisdom. "Your mother calls for you," he gestured at Laena. She wished you farewell before running off, you shuffled up awkwardly, unaware of what to do, so you turned your eyes to Rhaenyra and she was still too engrossed with Alicent. Your envious gaze bore holes into the brunette girl; you were meant to be friends but you simply couldn't help yourself.

"You ought to look harder, you might envision an arrow in her head." Daemon mused at your glare, you scowled at him and got up. Shrugging your skirts free of dirt and grass.

"You may jest at court all you like, leave me out of it my prince," you looked up at him with a scowl, lip jutted out as your returned to watching Rhaenyra enviously.

"Ah- I humbly apologise princess," he bit his lip from chuckling further at your frustrations, he held your upper arm to stop you from running away.

"How about you join me for a walk? The day is far too beautiful to be wasted," he offered, extending his arm out of you to take. You looked once more to Rhaenyra lounging with Alicent and then you agreed. You didn't want to be alone at that moment. You walked with him in the royal gardens, nobody questioned anything. He was a frequent visitor to his brother's daughter and you. You had found a quiet corner to lay flat on the grass again as Daemon nursed on a flask of...wine.

He offered you some, which you immediately spit out over the bitter taste making him laugh even louder. "Blegh...," you shivered the taste away "what is that?"

The corners of Daemon's eyes crinkled, "moonshine," he shrugged taking two swigs before putting the flash away.

"It's disgusting, death," you coughed getting the burn away from your throat.

"How is your, city watching going," you began an awkward conversation, fully aware that he was about to question you about your sour behaviour today.

"The heathens of King's Landing ought to fear the colour gold from now on," he stated, looking to the skies. There was an odd moment of silence before he spoke up again. "Perhaps Viserys would send out less of an army every time you princesses visited."

"What were the daggers for? Alicent stole your pretty doll or something," he quirked his brow at you, in truth he was concerned that you might have pounced onto Otto Hightower's spawn, having a history of brawling with young lasses at court who dared to test your patience; he hoped you'd fess up. You shook your head to disagree.

"She would never steal my dolls, she has plenty of her own," you stated, ripping at the grass next to you. Pulling them through one by one as a frown pulled over your forehead once more. The image unwavering within your mind, Alicent asking- no, demanding Nyra's attention from dawn to dusk. Yet today they wore matching coloured gown, Nyra wore matching gowns with you, not Alicent. The portrait a bitter taste in your mouth, how do you explain that to a prince notorious for being wild, unchained.

"So you admit, scary little Dornish princess does play with dolls," he teased, referring to the rude remarks that never seemed to stop at court about you.

"What did you expect? That I play with human skulls?" you scoffed, pouting and looking even more upset. The balls of grad that filled your small fists, you lurched at Daemon and then finally caved. "Rhaenyra seems to enjoy Alicent's company more than mine."

"Well," Daemon began, the thoughts swirling in his head projecting across his face "they are friends, and so are you...?" He pushed along, clearly another motive lingering at his tongue.

"Yes we are- we are just friends," you hesitated to elaborate further, afraid you wouldn't find the weight words to profess what you felt.

"Not very ladylike to lie is it, princess?" He cock his brow up, accusing you to weasel your confession out of you.

"We are more than friends I think, more than sisters." You confessed, tethering yourself to the edge of the truth.

"Ah," Daemon let out a knowing sigh "Young love."

"It's wrong," you hissed "It is love, however." you tutted, shaking your head for having these thought, your mind yet agains filling with the image of curt Septa Marlow with a cane in her hand. Death, that's what such thought entail by the Seven.

"Would you be happier if you told her, having a partner is a blessing," he smiled, honestly happy about what you felt for his niece, there wasn't a moment where Daemon wished not to thrive within the mess that was his family, but something so pure and confused sat by his feet. Finding remorse in his heart for both girl, perhaps they would taste the choice he never got should Daemon be King someday as his brother's heir.

"You have a partner, are you happy?" clearly toying with his disdained marriage, he scowled at you. "You spend the better part of the year with us and the rest with your paramour."

"Where have you heard of my paramour?" Daemon let out a questioning scoff, pondering on where might the little princesses had managed to hear of his whore mongering habits.

"Lord Hand may have mentioned something at supper," you shrugged, "The Mother better not provide me with a husband like you, I might lose my mind."

"You are two and ten, what do you know of love." He japed throwing the grass you threw at him back.

"More than you, the writers are better at professing love than you my prince. Perhaps I could lend you a book." You teased back.

"Perhaps you could," He chortled, leaning back against the tea bark.

"You should bring Lady Rhea a cat, perhaps a white one." You offered, genuine advice, everyone loved cats; apart from Queen Aemma, they made her sneeze like a mad woman. "She'd be more agreeable."

Damon laughed, "She may actually poison the poor thing."

You never understood why Daemon was so open to half the things you and Rhaenyra hurled at him. Young ladies often confessed to their septas but you were sure she would have painted your palms red with a cane if you confessed that you loved a girl. The more your head toiled with those immoral questions, you grew silent once more.

"Apart from your lady wife; had you ever found love?" You asked him out of sheer curiosity.

"You are far too young to worry about such things little princess." He said while shaking his head, his eyes soft as he tried to find a solution to your juvenile problems. "Perhaps if you do want to confess your love, you ought to kiss her."

You shot up straight, looking at him confused "What if do and then I'm with a babe- I don't want a babe; I'd be ruined!" You hissed

Daemon slapped his palm on his forehead "Who has told you of such falsehoods?"

"Septa Marlow did." Your mind began wondering, what would Rhaenyra's babes look like...

"Demented hag," He muttered under his breath "I can assure you, princess, one does not come with a child from a kiss; if that were so. King's Landing would be swarming with my bastards."

"Oh- so I can kiss her?" You blushed, and a new hope flared in your chest.

"Yes, as much as you like." He smiled at your excitement.

"Your grace," A servant girl bowed as she entered the gardens "Dinner has been served in his grace's solar."

Daemon escorted you to his brother's solar, Viserys was already in his seat with Aemma. Just as their family poured into his solar, Aemma's face lit up. You moved around the table, bowing to Viserys before pressing a kiss on Aemma's cheek before sitting down next to her. Her mothering began the second she saw you, tutting at stray pieces of grass tangled in your hair.

"How are feeling today, your grace." You questioned about her condition, yet another pregnancy that she announced four moons before and since then her face began paling, she couldn't join you in the Godswood to help you garden your plants.

"Better, the babe should begin kicking soon enough." She said as she rubbed her belly.

"The boy shall add another to your army I reckon," Viserys japed, letting out a fatherly chuckle along with Daemon.

The doors creaked open when Rhaenyra finally arrived, she too pressed a kiss to her mother and then her father's cheek before sitting herself across from you. "Forgive me, I was carried away with Alicent."

You wanted to scream at the back of your mouth, you didn't want to feel this way. Alicent was your friend, you were a good girl and not a bully. You were being cruel to her in your head but you couldn't stand how much time Alicent was taking away from Rhaenyra. Taking her to the fool's shows and bird watching, she even took Rhaenyra to the Sept. Rhaenyra does not pray, let alone believe in the seven!

You toyed with your food for a while, pushing peas back and forth with your fork, to which Viserys took note "You ought to eat child." He voiced his concerns about making your fork stop its scraping.

"Forgive me, your grace, I'm not very hungry." You shrugged "May I please be excused?"

Viserys looked around the table and sighed, nodding. You said your farewells and sprinted to your room. You breathed out deep stress-infused sighs, grumbling under your breath as you cuddled a pillow on your window bed.

Stupid...stupid girl for thinking she would feel the same way for you, other than a sister.

What if she felt that way for Alicent? Mayhaps that's the reason she began to pull away from you...

It was sinful in so many ways, pillow biters. That's what the older ladies sniggered about in the halls. Were you a pillow bitter? Could girls even be pillow bitters? You tried to concentrate on the book you decided to finish and yet your mind just wouldn't seize its endless blathering.

Your door opened after a series of knocks, in walked Queen Aemma with two servant girls, hauling along a tray of fruits and a glass of milk. "It isn't wise to go to bed on an empty stomach, it will ache tomorrow." She patted your hair, choosing to sit opposite you. "Finish the whole thing."

You whined at the cup of milk, you didn't exactly hate the beverage but gods did it taste absurd some days. She gave you a comforting push, smiling as you tried to consume the cup in one go; perhaps that way your tongue wouldn't linger in its flavour afterwards. You sighed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Good girl," She said, looking out the glaring moon that graced your window "Now tell me what disturbs you? Is it your home again?"

If only it were that simple, you stopped crying about your home more than three years ago, your father abandoned you and your brother was the sole reason your blood still stained its Dornish colours. You meekly shook your head, hoping she would leave the subject at that.

"If it's people at court sweetling, if they malign you in any way. You must tell me." She gently held your jaw, lowering her face to make you meet her glistening eyes.

"Yes, your grace."

"Alright then," She leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before letting you reciprocate with one on her cheek "Do not stay awake for too long."

You remembered your conversation with Daemon, more so how he always seemed to acquire what he wanted by the sheer strength of his will. The sheer strength of your will, that's what you need. Just a little bit of bravery, for what is the worst that could happen. They have your gelded for making an impasse at the only crown princess of the Targaryen dynasty.

You padded your feet over next door, greeting Ser Westerling who was stationed outside your and Rhaenyra's apartments for tonight. Her room was empty, though prepared for her slumber as fresh incense burned off her receiving table, linens just moved around to sleep in. You shuffled yourself onto her bed. Sitting on your knees at the centre.

"Rhaenyra I love you, in a not sisterly way..."

"I speak from the depth of my heart, I profess my devotion to you sweet princess... no...no that is far too melodramatic."

You began speaking to yourself in your head, insanity, pure insanity. You were sure if you thought too hard; you'd lose yourself in your own mind full of cats, dragons and knights and ten versions of Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra's chamber doors finally opened, she shuffled in; pulling at her earrings as she kicked her slippers away before pulling a sack from her pockets to place on her dresser. Humming a little song under her breath before her eyes fell on you sitting in her bed, she squealed. Placing a palm on her chest, clearly shuddered in shock.

"Seven- what are you doing here?" She questioned, eyes wide as she pushed the little sack away further.

"You didn't come to hug me before bed- so I thought I would visit you." You shrugged awkwardly

"I- I was with Alicent, lost track of time." She said as she stretched the back of her neck.

"Oh-"

Don't say it

Don't say it- you fought your tongue with all your might

"Princess, do you not wish to be my friend anymore?" You said sounding insecure and solemn.

Rhaenyra looked taken aback "What makes you say that."

"You spend all your time with Alicent, going to the markets, the Sept and spend your evenings in her solar... it's just she is your friend too but I rarely see you anymore." You mumbled your words out in one giant sentence.

"I- you silly duck." She curled her lips in her mouth to stifle a growing smile. "We were making preparations for your name day." She confessed, looking amused at your pouted face.

"So...you do want to be my friend." You questioned again to be clear.

"Why would I not." she exclaimed throwing herself onto her bed "You shall always be my dearest companion." She pulled you down into a hug.

Tell her

Tell her

Daemon's voice taunted you.

"Can I kiss you?" You blurted out, your palms began to sweat

Please do not me have gelded

Or beheaded

Rhaenyra looked at you quizzically before turning her head to offer you her cheek. That too in definition was a kiss but that wasn't what you meant. You fumbled with your fingers as your brain racked up ways to confess your passions for your dearest princess

"I meant- have you ever noticed how Viserys always goes straight to Aemma whenever she visits him, the first he does is kisses her." You said trying not to fumble over your words "Well, whenever you visit my stomach flutters in butterflies and all I want to do is kiss you."

Rhaenyra tilts her head, looking confused yet almost grasping at what you meant.

"I love you," You confessed

"So do I." She replied innocent words shared many times over between the two of you.

"No- I love you like a knight would his lady." You elaborate, again fear flaring in your chest.

Please do not have me exiled

"Like a knight loves his lady...?" She repeated, thoughts flooding behind her purple eyes "So are you the knight or the lady."

"I- what?" Her reply confused you, was she happy; was she mad? You couldn't quite place an emotion on her face "Uh- the lady."

"Then I love you like a knight too," She replied smiling ear to ear.

"Wait you do?" You were sure the smile that spread on your face made you look like a drunken fool but you had not a care in the known.

She nodded eagerly "Do we kiss now?"

"I believe so," You agreed, heat rushing to your cheek as your pursed your lips towards her, her soft lips pressed against yours as she graced you with a chaste kiss.

The two of you broke apart in a fit of giggles, Rhaenyra blushed red as you fanned at your warm face.

"That was very nice," she said awestruck, before pulling you closer for another.

"My knight," you whispered against her lips.

next chapter

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #desiblr #houseofthedragon #house martell #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #daemon fic #rhaenyra targaryen #young rhaenyra #daemon x rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen x harwin strong #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #queen rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen fanfic #rhaenyra x fem!reader #daemon x you #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #river of fire series

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter X : Geryon

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Angst; Lemme say it again for those in the back, ANGST; Hurt/Comfort; Din's kinda being an asshole but he's hot and his dick is 10 inches long and he's also sorry; Dark themes from previous chapters continue

A/N: Hello and surprise and I'm sorry. I promise one day *ONE DAY* they will be happy again!!!

Geryon is my favorite figure in Greek mythology :) He is a very special monster to me :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER X : GERYON

Who can a monster blame for being red?

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

He’s been pacing back and forth across the hull of the Razor Crest, the metallic jilting song of his heavy gait, the clank, clank, clank, threatening to lull you back into unconsciousness. There should be no comfort to be found in this moment, and yet, just the sound of him is enough for a measure of peace. You can’t believe you’re here right now, lying in your pile of blankets as if no time had passed at all. His anxious pacing stirring you back into wakefulness, your head all muddied and muffled, your ears seeming to pop into a pressurized silence and then ebb back into clarity. 

You feel, suddenly, that you’re more tired than you’ve ever been in your entire life. A bone deep tiredness after a life that’s been too long and too heavy for someone who is, for all intents and purposes, so young. 

He whips around at the sound of your voice, snapping forward to loom over you, voice deep with the intent to intimidate, maybe even hurt. “How did you know about him?” He demands without preamble, picking up right where the two of you had left off before you’d stupidly fainted from pain and exhaustion. You shiver and shrink back into the blankets, pressing the tips of your fingers against your mouth to stifle the too loud hiccup of your breathing. You’re not going to be afraid of him, he doesn’t deserve that. 

You try to gather yourself, swallowing the bitter nausea that sits heavy on your tongue and push yourself up into a sitting position on shaky, weak arms as he falls with a heavy thud to kneel before you, spits your name, sharp and angry, quickly losing patience. “Who told you about him? What have you heard?” You hold out a warning palm as he leans forward, trying to bully you into compliance with the urgency of his tone. 

“Don’t touch–” you warn, and then all soft, helpless hurt and accusation, “You have a son?” And you wish your voice didn’t sound as it does, like a child begging for the truth to not be what it already is, and you won’t cry, you’ve already promised yourself you wouldn’t, but your mind is so weary, your heart so vacant, it’s hard to remember the things you have and have not promised, the things you should and should not do.

“Who told you? You promised you wouldn’t ever rifle through my head, and I swear to the Maker–”

“I can sense him in you,” you snap. “I haven’t been rifling through anything! You’re so annoying. And get back–” you bare your teeth at him in a tiny snarl, nose scrunched with the exertion it takes to push a weak tendril of the Force against his chest and shove him back just barely. If there were a well within you, measured by the will of your strength and power, the Force, it would be bone barren dry right now. 

He’d gone and had a child, a son, without you. He’d left you, or let you leave him, what did the details matter anymore – and he’d had a child with someone. 

He snatches you up by the elbow, dragging you towards him, weak and shapeless as you are, barely any strength to hold yourself up, much less defend yourself, and his grip is tight enough, punishing enough, that you know it’s meant to cause pain. Harsher than he’d ever handled you before, on the verge of hurting you in a very real way. And after everything that’d been done to you… you’re like a raw, scalded nerve, nowhere left to touch that isn’t covered in hurt. Every inch of your skin screams in pain, and you swallow your moan of agony, trying to suppress your animal sounds. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, stopping you from twisting away and squeezing the frame of your face so tight in his strong fingers, you feel your bones creak. “Explain. Now.”

“Please, Din,” Please, don’t touch me. “I can– I can sense him– inside you,” you gasp. “He’s strong. He – he has the Force?” You shake your head in his grip, brow folding in on itself, trying to make sense of what it is you’re feeling, the confusing amalgamation of Din and the Force and memories of something, someone young and innocent and pure beyond imagination. Like a well of the Force, of greater depth and strength than you’ve ever encountered before, but viewed, or felt through the veil of his memory, from afar. “You– you still carry him with you.” A child, his child. A little boy, the picture gains clarity in your mind, and then more confusion, as if there were a block in his mind, some protective encasement that keeps the truth of his precious secret safely guarded. 

His hands tighten around the curve of your jaw, jerking your face up to force your eyes to look right at him, and he holds you trapped there for one breathless moment, his gaze like this is worse than any torture you’ve endured thus far, burning but hidden, and then the miniscule shift of the helmet, and you feel the light brush of a single finger against the gem of your earring, and you think: It’s so scary out there. Do you recognize me? We used to know each other. 

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Look how strong you’ve become,” you say by way of an answer through your smooshed cheeks and clenched teeth Like an insult more than anything else. “Whatever it was that was done to me… something far worse has happened to you. The great Mandalorian, come to save the poor little Sith, huh?”

His fingers dig into the tender skin of your cheeks, your upper throat, harder, hard enough to squeeze a moan out of you before he’s shoving you back with a revolted scoff, pressing up to his feet to pace away from you again. You’d told him once you didn’t like it when he treated you like this, roughly, all that time ago, and he’d always remembered before now, had always measured himself, but it seemed that two years was long enough for him to forget this. 

“You are not a Sith,” he reminds you without turning back, that reminder that he knows what you truly are, perhaps, even better than you yourself know, and you panic for one second that you’ll vomit. But then he gentles: “There’s blood on your earring,” and you sag forward, trying to breathe slowly through your mouth, stretching your eyes as wide open as they’ll go, forcing yourself not to blink so that the tears brimming there won’t fall. I hate you, you mouth the words silently down into the blankets, unsure who it is you’re directing them at. 

“You’re going to tell me where the fuck you’ve been,” he says, turning back to pace towards you, hands on his hips, the snap of his cloak as he whips away again, as if he can only stand to look at you for so long. “And what in the Maker’s wrong with you?” He continues. “Did you get into a fight or something?”

You shake your head slowly down at the weave of the blankets. They’re the same ones from before, he’d kept them, and you are so sad and scared and terrible, and when you lift your head back up to look at him, standing just there looking so defeated and suddenly so singularly powerless… You can’t remember what the point of all this was supposed to have been. 

“I’ve been here,” you say, for the truth is the only thing left to you now.

“On Corellia?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you can sense him on me?” And his voice has gone suddenly soft, suddenly quiet. A father speaking of his child with care, even in the tone used to address him. All the fight’s gone now, and that tiredness sets in deep where the spirit meets the bone. 

You nod, full of so much grief, unbelief that the two of you are here again together, swallowing the gasp that wants to force its way out of you, but you surely can’t help the seeping of it, for there is so much held within your heart when you say up at him with those infernal tears so close to falling: “You had a son with someone?”

He whips back around, pacing finally come to a pause. “With someone? What? N– no. No.” He shakes his head furiously, rushing back towards you, falling back to his knees so that you’re pressing yourself back and away from him. “No, cyar’ika. No. He was a foundling. I– He was a bounty, but along the way he– he became…” He shakes his head again, and you watch the tightening of his fingers around the cap of his knee, the creak of the leather of his gloves as he wrangles his restraint into control, trying not to reach for you. Please, don’t touch. Please, don’t touch. If he takes you in hand, if he puts his hands on you in gentleness or care, you’ll lose. You don’t know how, but you know you’ll be lost. But perhaps the battle is already lost, for when he says, “I would never do that to you. Never with anyone else but you,” it doesn’t matter if he’s touched you or not, the hole in the ground, the two years, the endless, endless darkness and the pleas for something worse, for end or a quiet that doesn’t stop, none of that matters anymore because the battle is lost here and now in this moment. 

Your breath comes in painful, sharp pants. The icy air gusting out of the ship's vents turns your breath to hurt in your lungs. You shake your head at him, trying to swallow the barren dryness in your throat away. “You should have.” And you don’t mean to hurt him worse than you already have when you say it. You don’t mean to hurt either one of you. These are words only of sincerity. “That’s what I left you for, so that you could have that.” But you miss the way they’d pulled your bones from your skin as you say it anyways. A terrible lie wrapped in the hopeful intention of truth. 

“I would never.” You can imagine he’d used this same tone of voice when he’d sworn his Creed as a child. All staunch honor and unwavering conviction. 

You whip your head away at that, unable to bear the sight of him, the sound of him. Even if you want to smell him more than anything. To bury your nose in the crevice between helmet and cowl and inhale deeply right there where the scent of his warmth and sweat and skin is the most concentrated. “Well that’s what I wanted. What couldn’t you understand about me leaving you? You should’ve made your own life. Forgotten me.” Snakelike and spitting and full of venom.

“Is that what you did? Forget? How? Tell me. Tell me so that I might remember for next time.” He stands to pace away again, slow measured steps now. Chewing on a thought, thinking, thinking, and then a death dealing sort of blow when he says, “I could have. I could’ve had all that, you know… There was a woman,” and his voice wavers.

So many terrible things in a terrible, terrible life. You close your eyes to it, accept, even now already, that this is how it should be. You think of your time in your beloved hole, all of your choices that lead you there to such a terrible fate, your time with him, so lovely and so full of light. To have been granted the opportunity to love and be loved, even if you’d never said it, it was the greatest gift the Maker had ever granted you. Such a recompense after everything you’d suffered. The death of your parents, a childhood alone and enslaved and abused, that moment when you’d finally put blade against the only terrible father you’d ever known, the creature who’d put you in chains and ensnared you to this dark fate, master and father and monster all in one, even that had been painful, the taking of your so fiercely desired freedom. And so this now… worse than all the rest, but you’ll accept it too. This is what he deserves. This is why you had let yourself be put away. 

“There was a woman,” he says again, voice unsure, uncomfortable. Almost like he doesn't want to, but feels he must. “A time back– we were on Sorgan, and she wanted me… she wanted me.” And he says your name again, softly this time like an apology. “To be with her, to stay with her and her daughter. She wanted us to be a family and I– I considered it… for a moment. What that would be like, to have someone want me to stay with them. To want to make an end with me.” He shakes his head down at you again, from his great height and you break. Fuck acceptance. A condescending sigh and, “You ruined that for me too. You wouldn’t let me, your memory, you wouldn’t let me be with her.”

“I hate you,” you spit through clenched teeth. You wish you had the strength right now to get up and fight him. 

“That’s fine. That’s your right. It doesn’t change the fact that she wanted me to be with her, and that I thought about it for one brief, delusional moment,” He sounds like he’s laughing through the modulator, “And then just… couldn’t. I couldn’t, cannot even fathom staying for anyone else that isn’t you.” And the laugh fizzles out into a crack. “How does that make you feel? Powerful?... Over me. Does it make you feel like you have power over me? Like you own me? Like I belong to you?” Now tears, perhaps, like he’d cry if you gave him the chance. Like you’ve hurt him enough to drive him to that. The nausea is back. The need for violence is back. The fucking fire in your back and your skin and all over… why, why did you let them do so much to you? You’d been so stupid. It’d all been such a terrible mistake. You should have never let him go. 

“No.” You won’t cry. You won’t cry. “It doesn’t make me feel powerful.”

He suddenly seems to lose all strength. Falling back into a crouch, his knees folding in under him, the clash of the armor against the durasteel floor sharp as a cracking bone. 

“Because you do– own me, that is. You do.” And he says it so simply. Like it’s the basest thing in the galaxy, as simple a thing as the birth of new life, the birth of a star, a black hole sucking an entire planet and all life into nothingness, death. Things that are really not simple or base at all. 

So you shake your head, refute his truth. “I don’t. I don’t want to – I let you go.”

“But you didn’t. Don’t you fucking see that?” And his voice is gentle, but he slams his fist against the steel floor all incongruous rage, and it echoes and rings between the two of you, his violence. “You didn’t let me go, you only took yourself away from me– left me chained.”

“What was she like?” You cut him off, an envious, ravenous thing all tinged the hue of bile – something poisoned, churning within you. “Was she beautiful? Was she kind? Was she good? All the things you could ever want a woman to be? Would she have promised to stay forever?”

“She wasn’t you.” And oh, how you hate him in this moment. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. This is guilt, this is punishment, this is retribution of the cosmic sort. Something from the Maker sent to remind you that she who sins shall be made to atone. But haven’t I atoned enough? Haven’t I paid my pound of flesh? This man and that soft heart is your punishment for all you’ve done. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him because there is nothing else to tell. Because it’s the truth, and you are, you’re so sorry that he couldn’t find someone else, someone better, kinder, more alive. And then, because if a thing’s going to hurt, it should hurt all the way, a glutton for punishment but a coward for consequences you ask: “Did you fuck her?”

“I didn’t kiss her.” Consequences. You bare your teeth at him, an approximation of a hiss and a snarl and a howl of grief so ragged it rips through your throat. Folding in on yourself like a dying star you turn your face away, trying to gather yourself and get away from the sight of him.

“I hate you,” you spit the lie again, again and again as many times as necessary until it becomes truth. “I fucking hate you. You should’ve stayed lost, you should’ve gotten sucked into a blackhole for all I care, you fucking asshole. You stupid metal beast! You should have died out there, left me to rot anything, anything but this,” you heave. 

“I could’ve had a family.” And you want to ask him why he’s doing this to you. To tell him you don’t deserve such cruelty. But you know that isn’t true. 

“Then you should’ve fucking stayed with her.”

“I wish I could have. Instead, I waited for you… I looked for you.”

Blow after blow, and perhaps, you think, this is not cruelty after all, but necessity. There had always been so much left unsaid between the two of you before. Perhaps, it’s finally time only for honesty. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” eyes cast down at your hand twisted in the blanket, voice small and pitiful. You have new scars there now, faint and glimmering like cobwebs beneath your skin. They’d wanted to see how much it’d take to leave a mark for good. They’d found their answer. 

“You didn’t–” He scoffs, hands braced against his knees he shoves up again and turns in a directionless circle, all coiled tension and so much rage with nowhere to go but the pitiful sac of girl shaped tragedy littering the floor of his ship. He brings both hands up to clutch the curve of his helmet. “You didn’t ask me to? I didn’t fucking ask for this either.” He turns back to shout at you, a real shout this time. One so full of anger it makes you flinch. “You think this is what I wanted? To wait for someone who abandoned me out of pure selfish fear? No. No, it’s not what I wanted either. But how was I supposed to forget?” He asks. “Hm? Tell me. How was I supposed to let it all go? Tell me how you did it, and I’ll go and do the same since you’ve been so successful. Tell me how you did it and I’ll–”

You surge forward on your palms, teeth bared. “I trapped myself in a hole in the ground until I forgot my own name and still I wasn’t able to forget you.”

“What?”

“Oh?” You coo at him, eyes going all wide, you bat your lashes at him mockingly. Your shoulder suddenly feels like it’s about to pop out of its own socket with the way you’re bracing yourself on your arms. “What? You weren’t expecting that?” You sit back slowly, bones creaking. “To know while you were off fucking someone else, wishing for a family, I was trapped in a grave having my skin pulled from my body over and over and–”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving.” You try and push yourself up, clawing at the walls to pull yourself to rights by your fingernails. “I hate you,” you say again, and again you don’t know which of the two of you it is you’re talking to. 

He sneaks up behind you, taking you in hand by the elbow again, Maker, your shoulder, and whipping you around to face him, clutching your other bicep to pull you up onto your tip toes and to his level. “What are you talking about?”

You let your weight go heavy and sagging in his grip, head falling back on your neck to look up at him, and he plants his feet firmly apart, locking his arms so that he’s bearing your weight entirely. He gives you a tiny jostle. “You’re exactly as I am, you know? We’ve always been the same. A creature in a mask.”

He’s quiet for a second, confused. His chin tipping to one side and then the other. You know he’s reading you for what you’re worth in this moment, which you must admit is very little. “Is that what this was all about? The whole time? My face?” Your heart goes colder than ice, and you’re glad he’s bearing your weight for you. You think, suddenly, that you’d not have been able to remain upright on your own. 

“N– no. No. I don’t care about that. I let it go years ago.”

“Let it go?”

“No. I mean–” Stupid. “Nothing.” Tongue muddled, caught. Terrible. 

“But it was something? Then? Answer me.” He jerks you again, harder this time so that your teeth click together. 

You shake your head no, but say, “Would you have been okay with it? If it had been you, the one kept in the dark.” Always the dark, again and again. “Would you have been okay never really knowing who I was?”

“You know me, cyar’ika.”

“Don't call me that.”

“You’re the only person in the entire galaxy who ever has.” And his touch is gentle and cradling now, supportive in a different way. 

“Would you have been okay with it?” You ask again stubbornly. 

“Do you think–”

“You say I’m the one that can’t ever give a straight answer, but you’re just as bad!”

“Do you think,” he repeats more forcefully, talking over you, “That your very first night on the Crest, when I gave you my name, when you told me you could see inside my mind, that I would have stayed had I not understood the reality of what it was we were getting into? What I was getting into? That there was that possibility. You told me, don’t you remember? That you could’ve looked any time. You’ve always had me in the palm of your hand, and I’ve always wanted to be just there.” His thumb starts to move gently up and down the inner slope of your bicep, it’s the first soft touch you’ve felt in two years. 

And it was something you’d always known. Of course. The most obvious thing between the two of you, besides the love. You bring your hand up slowly, pinching the lip of the helmet between your thumb and forefinger, tremulous and terrified, you pull him down slowly so that the hard curve meets your forehead in a soft press. The two of you are so still for a moment, shivering, but still. Soaking up the proximity of something so necessary for survival after going so long without. “I should have never left, but a thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts. And I am more sorry than you will ever be able to know. For all of it.”

“Tell me what happened,” he whispers, voice smooth and deep, fathomless through the modulator. You close your eyes and think of the warm cave, the pool of water, the feel of this man that you love moving inside of you, using his body to translate all he’d felt for you with his touch. You think of the amazing ability people have to hurt those they love in ways no one else possesses. It is a cruel realization the business of loving someone brings about, the reality that to truly hurt someone, you must truly know them, and that to know is to love. 

“I was taken. Put in a very dark place. Hurt. They tried to make me forget, and I could not help but remember. It was all such a terrible mistake, Din. I made a terrible mistake.”

“Taken? Taken where? By who?” Voice full of panic and urgency. Everything you never wanted him to know. He brings one hand to his mouth, pulling the glove away by the edge of his teeth, and you follow it with your eyes as he lets it fall away, slowly, the dull thud of leather hitting steel, and then his skin, his skin on your face.  He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand, and it’s two years of heartache and a terrible noise coming from either one of you, an animal dying or coming to life, something painful and raw. He holds you so gently, and you let so many terrible things happen and now what will the two of you do? How will he ever look at you after he knows everything you’ve done? 

Everything you’ve ever done. Your eyes shift upwards again, the black transparisteel T-visor. That last, eternal barrier. That haunting flash of beskar in your mind, buried deep, come to the surface.

“A grave. Zealots. Servants of the Dark side.” You bring your hand up, run a slow, gentle finger along the edge of dark protecting his eyes from you. 

“Tell me,” he says gently.

But you shake your head, mouth pursed. Not that. Something else though… “I never looked, you know?” 

He knows you mean his face. “Why not?”

“It wasn’t mine to take. Not mine to have. It wasn’t the right time.”

“If there was ever going to be anyone, it would’ve been you.”

“There is one more thing.” Your voice sounds very far away. One of those terrible moments when your life suddenly branches out before you again, and you always know how a thing will end and there was never any other recourse but for the two of you to end up exactly here in this moment from the very first time. 

“I killed a Mandalorian once,” you finally, finally tell him. “Many, but there was one worse than all the rest.” 

I’ve never met a Mandalorian before, a lie and a truth. You’d never met one you hadn’t killed in the end. 

He goes shocked into stiffness, hands rigoring into cold shackles around your arms. They drop from where he grips you. He steps back, and in a way, it is such a relief. The truth you’ve held on the tip of your tongue, the thorn beneath your nail bed for so long, finally come into the light. 

“What?”

“Have you– have you ever done something so– so terrible that you regretted instantly? Something you felt in the moment you had no other choice but, and then– and then suddenly clarity sets in, and you realize you could have done everything else but what you’d just done? Wished you could turn back time in that very instant, and go back and change everything?” You press forward to clutch at his cloak, fingers twisting in the coarse fabric to force him to stay with you, but he pulls you away with fingers wrapped around your wrists, steps back again and again. 

“I’ve done terrible things–” you whisper, your eyes so wide, terrified of the thing you’re about to confess, of yourself, always, more than anything. “Things that you’d hate me for, if you knew the truth of them. To myself, to others.” You bring your hands up to your throat, wrapping your fingers around yourself there, feeling the patter of your thundering pulse against your palm. 

“Tell me,” he says again, and this is the last moment, the last stretch. The end is so near. You will look for relief in this feeling of horror, you decide. Like all other times when you’d been so entrenched in the pain of it all, in fear or loneliness or violence, you’ll look for the relief this confession will grant. Perhaps, absolution will finally be possible by way of confession. Exile, too, surely, afterwards, for you know there’s no way he’ll ever stay with you, look at you, after you tell him of your killing of his people. And you think again, that you have always been a monster, red, but if you’d been given a chance, a choice, then perhaps, you could have served as mantle and protector for a family that had never been afforded to you. You know that he could have been that, that you’ve lost the chance now for good. 

“After the fall of the Empire, the Dark and Vader, my master was weak, his acolytes dispersed and felled, their power waning. And for the first time in my life, I saw hope.” Your voice fluttering up with an airy note of that childlike wonder you’d felt in that moment of realization, when you’d recognized what it was you could become in that moment of freedom. “I took it, seized it. I killed him.” You walk backwards, blindly, needing the support of the wall to tell of this. “You know, my first memory is of my master. I can’t even remember my parents anymore. And he was never kind, surely. Never gentle, and caring only in a way that served him. But I belonged to him as any tool, weapon, belongs to a man, and there was something about that, that was meaningful. A child, alone, belonging to someone who would keep them no matter what. Sometimes, I try and remind myself of this, when I think too much on the things he had me do, the things I did for him, sometimes even gladly… I remind myself of this as a way of consolation. What else did I know? What other choice did I have? Death? Perhaps… But strangely, before… or,” You shake your head, your eyes falling closed as you search for the words or answers within yourself, “Strangely, I– I can’t remember when that changed, but it did because I didn’t always want to die. I– I wanted to live, even if it was for him. To please him or serve him or be useful in any way. They hoped to fill me with fear. But fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. And hate… leads to power. I was only ever the thing he wanted me to be in the moment I was powerful enough to defeat him. And you can’t know what that means, to live such a fruitless existence, to have no purpose… it’s terrible. But he finally gave me that in the most terrible and glorious of ways.” You open your eyes again to take him in, Din with the heart of a sun. 

“I don’t mean it as an excuse, but– but I think it’s important to remember. That he was ever the only one… it feels that, before I met you, he was the only other person I ever really knew. Only ever him, but then I met you, and then I knew you. And can a girl ever be more animal than girl? I don’t know… but surely if it was possible, then that’s what I was. So when I escaped, when I killed the only father I’d ever known, who was also a monster, yes, but also all I’d ever known, I was more animal than girl in that moment. You understand, Din?” You ask, but he gives no hint that he does, more droid than man now, and so you continue on anyways. “I killed the remainder of his following. I was stronger than them, stronger than him sometimes, and I know he feared that. I escaped to Corellia. The chaos of the planet was easy to hide within, but you must remember, again, I was more animal than anything else at that moment.” You give a short laugh, “I don’t know why all of my tragedy always seems to start and end on that planet. Perhaps, it’s why I keep going back there. And he–” You want to turn away, but force yourself to remain facing him. “He ended up joining me in that tragedy. He tried to help me, the Mandalorian, found me broken and discarded, waiting to die in the gutter like a street rat, entirely unaware of what it was to survive without the guiding hand of someone else.” You’d been so terrified, delirious and confused and reborn again – like an infant, come straight from a hostile and poisoned womb, newly birthed unto the galaxy and left to fend for yourself. Mind and body, savaged, yes, but with a soul that sang and howled with victorious growing pains at your newfound freedom. It had been so long, trapped, so long you’d forgotten the sound of your mother’s voice, the feel of your father’s strong hand on your child softened cheek, but you’d been free then, and you’d thought that even if you were to die like that, in the slums of Corellia, on the street like a pauper, at least you’d die clutching freedom in your hand. And then he’d found you. 

“But I had never known help, Din. Never. I couldn’t recognize such a thing. He led me to safety within the city, saw me for what I was, a broken, haggardly thing, perhaps, and he helped me. And once he was done showing me his kindness, I killed him. For no other reason except mistrust and habit. I– I didn’t know there was another recourse, that that wasn't what I had to do. I didn’t know I had other choices besides violence. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I killed him, Din. I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry I am the thing they made me. I’ve tried to be better, I’ve failed bitterly, and I’m sorry.”

You hope he understands that you hadn’t thought before you’d acted, more animal than girl, you’d performed on base instinct. And worse than anything else, he’d had a son, that Mandalorian, like Din does now, and you can still bring forth the memory of the child’s face in your mind even after all this time. You’d seen him as you’d ripped through his father’s mind, pilfered and savaged his memories and left him for dead in a filth strewn, back alleyway. An entire life torn apart in a single moment, and in the very millisecond before his soul had left him, the last thought you’d laid eyes on within his mind had been the image of his own face reflected back at him as he’d seen it earlier that day just before he’d hidden behind the protective helm of his Creed. You’d stolen his future, stolen a child’s father, and desecrated a life’s worth of dedication all in one single foul, unthinking instant. You’d not even given him the dignity of dying with his Creed intact. 

After all this time, you still felt that was what made the sin all the worse. That unintentional theft, to openly spit in the face of his benevolence and generosity, an unforgivable thing. 

And it would be easy to say that you hadn’t recognized that which he’d been offering – the sight of a merciful and helping hand extended to you without malintent or pretense. That you hadn’t recognized it, and perhaps, it was the truth, but you were sure it didn’t really matter at the end of it.  A thing worse than all the death and destruction and pain you’d dolled out in the name of the dark side, that one act was singular in its unencumbered horror for you’d not had the farce of your master's orders to hide behind, the helm of the dark whispering in your ear, stealing you of your choice. This had been wholly your own action, entirely your doing. 

The first thing that had ever belonged only to you in your entire life. And strange because during your time as a Sith, you’d undoubtedly killed any number of the beskar covered warriors, but this last one, it had been a kill without thought, without necessity, without influence. Only as yourself. Perhaps it had set the stage for all the rest. Perhaps it had set the stage for your own fall. 

You aren’t aware you’re crying until you feel his mouth on your face, his throat vibrating with low growls as he licks at your tears, the hollow thud of the helmet hitting the floor finally registering in your ears. Stop, it’s okay. Please, don’t cry, little one. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you can, trying to pull away, escape him again, but he pulls you close. The long, uncompromising line of him pressing all the way along your softness, inciting the chill of death inside of you back to life. 

“Do you really think,” he starts low, the sound of his unmodulated voice for the first time in so long, “that there’s anything you could ever do, that I’ve not forgiven you for already a thousand times over?”

You begin to thrash in his grip, feral and wild and not wanting to be tamed this time, but he does not let you run, not again. His arms like bands of iron around your waist, stitching you to the cold steel of his chest and crushing your protests from your lungs. The two of you fold slowly to the ground. Huddling you between his crouched thighs, you try and push back, but he cages you between his knees and arms, and you turn your face away from him, trying to escape his wet mouth, the damp of his lips catching against your tear soaked lashes. “I never wanted to be this– this thing,” you gasp by way of another apology. “I never wanted to live like this – strange and violent and obscured in the shadow of something I was too young to ever understand until it was too late. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied or deceived you or made you feel something for someone that never really existed. Most of all, I’m sorry that it could not be true,” you gasp. “I’m sorry that I could not be true. That I couldn’t be something else.”

“You have nothing to apologize to me for. You think…” he says very slowly. Measured. “You think that I haven't done terrible things, as well? That I haven’t killed when I, perhaps, could have been merciful? That I’ve never been afraid or lost or weak? That I’ve never let violence overtake me? Worst of all, that sometimes I even liked it. We’ve all done things to be ashamed of. We will all, at one point, do things to be ashamed of. That is what it is to be human.” Human. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly been that. “What means more to me is honor and loyalty and character – these are things you’ve shown me.”

“I haven’t,” you cry.

“You have,” he growls, and he takes you between his hands violently so that you’re crying out in pain from your wounds or shock or fear of what he’ll do to you now. Crushing you to him so fiercely you feel as though he’s trying to squeeze your very heart from your chest so that he might look upon it with his own two eyes. “You exist. You exist, and you are here and you are mine. You were never given a choice. You were a child, stolen and abused and turned into something you were never supposed to be. The Force within you is a gift, and they tried to corrupt it into something it should have never been, but they did not succeed.” You try and shake your head at him, push him away, scream and cry and tell him that he’s wrong, that you are bad and poisoned and that even he, the great warrior, cannot save you. But he grips your jaw in his long fingers, grinding your bones between his strength, and halts your disagreement. He snarls at you, so furious at what had been done to you. You realize, suddenly, that he is vibrating with barely restrained rage. For you. Not at you. 

“They did not succeed. Your presence here, your regret, your wish for more, for better, your very escape, proves to me that they did not. You were too strong, too good.” I am not, you moan, starting to thrash and claw in his arms again. You don’t know, you’re wrong. “I know your true heart, I see you. As much as you hate it, as much as you wish it were otherwise, I know the true desires of your mind. As much as it pains you to be seen, to be known, I do. I always have, from that very first moment in the darkness, I saw you.” And his voice holds so much conviction, so much surety, you’re left with no other choice but to believe him, for Din is good and honest and true, and if he says it’s so, then it must be so. 

You go loose and weak suddenly, eyes pressed together tightly, squeezing tears out through crinkled lashes. Din is good and honest and true, and if he says it’s so, then it must be so. Your entire body is trembling, fraught with nerves and a surging of truth inside of you so overwhelming your heart beats in your ears, behind the fragile membrane of your eyelids. 

They’d done such terrible things to you, over and over again, and you were nothing but a single blip in the galaxy of stars, a singular pinpoint of terrible pain. That’s what they’d turned you into, but here, in his arms, you’re beginning to realize they’d failed at their goal.

He pulls your face into the space between his jaw and shoulder then, so tenderly, and you finally open your eyes to take in the skin of his throat, the growing stubble there. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. We’re together now.”

“I’m not sweet, don’t call me that.” But there is no conviction behind your words, and you clutch at him more tightly. Your fingers twisting into the folds of his cape, clawing at the skin of his cheeks. 

“You are for me,” he says. And it’s true. There’d always been something about him that’d made you fragile in the face of his strength, in a way you’d needed, in a way you’d never had before.

“No. No.” You try and push and pull at him weakly, fruitlessly. “I’m leaving soon. I just need to catch my breath, and then I’m going.”

And he clutches you tighter at that, fingers twisting through your hair to jerk your head back painfully. You snap your eyes shut, mouth falling open on a gasp. “You’re not going fucking anywhere, do you hear me?” 

He’s being so careless with his face, dangling it before your closed-eyed face. “I won’t open my eyes. I don’t care what you do.”

He gives a rough sound of frustration, pressing his panting mouth to your cheek, growling against your skin, “Try to leave me again and see what fucking happens,” and there’s no doubt or wavering in his voice, only a great sort of conviction laced in terrible fury. “Go anywhere in the galaxy and see how long it takes me to find you again.”

“Please, Din– it hurts.” You can’t help it, he’s being too rough for the state you’re in now, barely holding yourself together at the seams. His hands leave you immediately, pulling back so that you’re sagging between his crouched thighs. You listen to the sound of him picking up the helmet, the hydraulics engaging once again as he fits it over his face. 

The two of you are quiet for a moment, catching your breaths. Your lungs feel set to burst, your vision jumping from bright light to murky dark and your stomach twists a sharp, brutal pain. Everything hurts everywhere. 

“How long?” And you know he’s asking about your time captured. 

“I don’t know,” you say, bracing your hand against the hard strength of his thigh, barely able to keep yourself upright. “I lost track of time, but it was winter when they took me away.”

“It’s winter again now.”

“Yes.” And the truth sits like a heavy smog between the two of you, a very long time. “I don’t want you to forgive me,” you say then. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Which is why you won’t look at my face.” He pets your head so gently, and you lay your cheek against the beskar over his thigh, letting the coolness of the metal settle the flames running beneath your skin, and think it is terrible, sometimes, to be understood so deeply. Tears drip over the bridge of your nose and lose themselves in the weave of his pants. 

He shifts, settling on a folded foot beneath himself, bringing you in closer to his chest, careful, careful, as if you’d been made of nothing but breakable hurt. Silence swells, fraught and unbearable, between the two of you, and your heart beats in rebounding thumps. You feel you know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “I told you that there’s nothing you could ever do I’d not forgive you for. I think… I think that love allows for forgiveness.”

You choke on your breath. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it,” you beg. He continues to pet your hair slowly. 

“I love you. And you’re going to listen to me say it. If I have to live with it, then so do you.”

“This doesn’t feel like love, this feels like punishment,” you whisper, tears falling faster, soaking the duraweave beneath. 

“How would you know? You’ve not had it before.”

Your eyes snap up to the face of his helmet, and you try and jerk away, but he holds you in place with a hand fisted in your hair. His voice is still gentle, not meant to hurt. “Fuck you,” you spit, hurt anyways.

“But neither have I, and yet, I know that’s what this is.” You shake your head in his grip, so full of confusion, listening to the wheezing whittling of your breaths pass in and out of you. You can’t understand. You don’t. Or you don’t want to. 

There is something humiliating about the easiness of his forgiveness. He forgives you now, and so what was all that for? Where does the point of all your suffering go now that he’s so swiftly given you that which you’d craved for so long? 

“I don’t give a damn what you’ve done. I’d let you stab a knife through my heart if it pleased you and die still loving you.” He cups the side of your tear soaked face, drags the warm, dry pads of his thumb gently beneath one swollen, aching eye. The callus of his trigger finger catches on the paper fragile skin, and there is a writhing, howling pain working inside of you, inside your heart. 

I love you too, you mouth up at him, words made only of air, but no less true. “But I can’t look yet,” you tell him, “I’m not ready yet.” Not strong enough to grant myself that. 

“I know.” And you’re grateful. Grateful for this, for his understanding, even if it is terrible. Grateful he’d not kissed you yet; you’re not ready for that yet either. 

“How can you not be angry with me? How can you not hate me?”

“The only thing I’ve ever been angry at you about, is that you forced me to betray you.”

“I didn’t–”

“I should have never let you go.”

“I didn’t want you to,” your voice breaks. “I wanted you to fight.”

“I know, cyar’ika. I should have seen that.”

There is, with startling clarity, the realization that there was no point at all. That there is never any point, justification to suffering. It just is, and then it is not. 

“Why did I do all of it?” You plead, cry.

“Why did you do all of it?” He asks you instead, for at the end, you’re the only one who can say. 

And there is no justification, and no point, and it all just is. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“You did what you had to. Or what you thought was right. I know. I see who you really are. I understand.” And absolution is a very specific sort of thing, and it lives here between the two of you. It always had

Chapter XI

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