#if my singling patted my head like that. violence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckyalpine · 8 months

Text

My First and Only

Virgin Mob beefy Bucky x reader

So I'm taking my drabble and making into a one shot. Our beautiful, rugged mob boss whose glare make grown men cower is just a sweet shy thing on his wedding night. He has his wife to guide him poor Bucky is even more nervous because he doesn't want to disappoint his princess. Do keep in mind he's going to be a menace once he's well practiced.

"The right one will be worth it Jamie" Bucky's mothers words echoed in his ear as he sipped on a glass of whisky, the loud bass of the club music making the ice in his glass clink. "You'll know when it's the right time"

He was sixteen when she told him that, around the same time that he started working closer with his father, preparing to take over his families business. With money came power and with the money the Barnes' had, it was near limitless. The last thing Winifred wanted was for her son to go down the wrong path, one filled with greed, violence and lust.

She raised him to respect those around him and himself. To see beauty in living things, to love others and above all else, to value what it meant to share a life with someone you cared for. It was a sharp contrast to the way George ruled with an iron fist but it gave Bucky the balance he needed to be an excellent leader.

Under his mother's guidance, he followed the path that lead him to where he currently sat along with his two right hand men, Steve and Sam, the three men sipping on a dark amber liquid, ignoring the numerous girls that tried to fling themselves at their table.

"You'd think they'd get the hint after you said no to the first three" Steve chuckled while another woman slinked up only to have Bucky politely shake his head.

"Think you'll say yes to any of them?" Sam playfully shoved Bucky's shoulder already knowing the answer. Whenever they were out, plenty of women would approach the mob boss only to be turned away every single time.

"Not tonight" Bucky snorted, knowing he'd be ready when he found the right one. It was just a matter of time.

Looking at him, it was doubtful anyone would think or know Bucky was a virgin. He'd dated girls before but no one made him feel anything that also captured his heart. Of course, its not like he told anyone what he did or didn't do with those girls. He certainly didn't look like someone who lacked experience. He took care of himself when he needed to, after all he was still human. His right hand knew exactly what to do when necessary.

He met his pretty angel at a flower shop. He was there to get a bouquet for his ma's birthday and left with your number instead, quickly going back with a blush on his cheeks, realizing he didn't get what he initially came for. Bucky knew he'd found the one when the first thought that came to mind after his date was that he had to take you home. Not to his bed but to his family. To show everyone the sweet girl he knew he'd love for the rest of his life, the one he instantly knew was for him.

"You better protect her with all your heart" Was the only thing his father said before patting his shoulder whereas His mother didn't say a word about you after you'd both first met. She simply handed Bucky her wedding ring, already recognizing the lovestruck look on her sons face.

When he kissed your lips at the altar, he nearly fell to his knees, the soft warmth of your skin already making him woozy. He didn't leave your side the entire night, his arm protectively around your waist, so in love with the one person he got to call his for the rest of his life. Your first dance was filled with soft kisses, whispering sweet nothings to each others while your loved ones watched with teary eyes. When the SUV came to whisk you both away, Bucky still didn't let you go, holding you tightly in his lap, ready to start a together new chapter as husband and wife.

The very first one being in his bedroom.

Bucky didn't understand this feeling. It was brand new to him. He'd felt every emotion under the sun except this.

Shyness.

Pure, innocent shyness.

God, he'd never felt so shy in his entire life, it was almost embarrassing. He shook his head at himself; he was over 6 ft tall, covered in dark ink but the thought of going to bed with his sweet wife was what was going to take him down.

"Jamie, can you help me with the back please?" You stood in front of the dresser while his sucked in a breath, his fingers fidgeting with the delicate buttons down your back. He carefully undid them, letting his hand ghost down your spine, his breath catching in his throat when your dress fell and pooled around your feet. You stepped of it, left in your white lingerie and heels, bending over to unstrap them, only to have Bucky stop you.

"Let me, sweet heart" He got down on one knee, taking off the tiny strap wrapped around your ankle and slipping your heels off before standing up again, taking in the soft lace that barely covered your body.

You took off his blazer before you unbuttoned his shirt, smiling at the way he held onto your waist, his thumbs tracing small circles onto your hips. He didn't know where to focus, feeling your lips kiss his chest where he had tattooed your name over his heart to the way your soft breasts were now pressed against his body.

You let your hands caress over the thick planes of muscle while going down to his belt buckle, various pieces of art covering his body in the most beautiful way. Bucky's heart hammered against his chest as your hands trailed down to unbutton his pants, your nimble fingers brushing over his throbbing erection.

He hopes you don't realize how nervous he feels when you unzip his pants, letting it fall to his feet. He gives you a shaky nod when you look up at him for permission to pull down his brief's, letting you see all of him for the first time. Your fingers hook around the waistband, puling them down his thick thighs, till he's left perfectly bare in front of you. His thighs tense together at the soft gasp you let out, scared he'd disappoint you some how though the very thought is ridiculous.

You can't help but take a moment to admire you perfect husband in his all naked glory, his thick, heavy cock curved towards his tummy, heavy balls, achingly full. The blush on his cheeks deepen when your eyes flick down to his most intimate parts; no one else ever seen him like this before, not since he was a baby. You lean up to give him a reassuring kiss while he slips his hand into yours, taking you to bed. Every part of him wants to pick you up, throw you over his shoulder and toss you on to the large mattress but not tonight. You lay down with him against the soft pillows, the silky sheets under you cool against your skin while he gently tugs on the straps of your lingerie.

"Can I?" He whispers, still to nervous to do anything while you move his hands to the clasps of the lace.

"M'your's Jamie" You nod, letting him take his time unhooking your bustier off, his eyes growing wide at your perfect bare breasts. You know its his first time and there's nothing more you want than for him to know you trust him completely and you're all his.

He doesn't waste any time slipping your panties off, his tongue darting out to lick his lips at the sight of you naked on his bed. It starts off slow and innocent. He doesn't rush to do anything, taking his time to hug you close to him, relishing on the feeling of your bare skin on his between soft kisses. He struggles to calm himself down with the way your soft body is pressed against his, your leg hitched over his waist, his cock itching to rut against your tummy for more friction. His wide, thick body engulphs you when he holds you close, his hands skimming up and down your waist before trailing up your spine.

His heart starts to hammer again when he starts to trail kisses from your jaw down to your neck wanting to touch more of you. He wants to show you how much he loves you, gently taking a nipple into his mouth, moaning as soon as he starts to suckle. Your back arches, a gasp melting into a moan at the way his tongue flicks and moves in circles between his lips tugging and sucking your peaked bud.

Nothing compares to how warm and soft your breasts are in his mouth, his cock starting to leak. He so lost in kissing and sucking your breasts, precum smearing all over your tummy, where his cock rests against.

"Can I Touch you baby?" you whisper, kissing his forehead when he looks up at you with wide eyes. He quickly nods, pressing his hips against you showing you where he needed you most while refusing to take his mouth off your breasts.

You hand goes down to gently palm him to giving poor baby some relief. You wrap around his thick shaft, loving the needy muffled moan he lets out, his hips moving on their own when they thrust up into your fist. He doesn't even realize he's practically humping into your hand, your lips nipping down his neck.

"I-

"What is it James" You ask with your sweet doe eyes and he manages to blush more. He should be the one making you feel good and taking care of you but instead here he was, scared he'd cum before getting a chance to be inside you. You see his eyes trail down your body, darting down to between your legs, understanding he wants to touch you too. You pull away slightly, lying down on your back for him because fuck, you needed to feel him.

"Angel" His voice was breathless as you spread your thighs apart for him, giving him the perfect view of your soaked pussy and swollen button. He could feel precum starting to dribble from his tip; there was something so beautifully erotic about the way you were giving yourself to him despite how shy you were yourself. Displaying your most sacred and intimate parts to your husband so he'd take care of you.

He loves the way your face contorts with pleasure each time he rubs your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles. He doesn't get a chance to toy with your for too long when you peck his pouty lips before trailing kisses down his body. His eyes grow wide when you get closer to his cock, his hips nearly lifting off the bed so you'd know where he needed you so badly but too shy to ask.

You take your time to clean off his slick precum that's beading from the tip, his swollen cockhead growing more sensitive each time you flick your tongue across his slit. He lets out soft, sweet babbles when you take him down your throat, his salty taste coating your tongue.

"You're making me leak" He whimpered, biting his lip to keep from letting more high pitched whines slip out, "dragă, st-stop, I'll c-cum"

He's never sounded more gone, gripping onto the sheets while you swirl your tongue around his head one last time before pulling off with a pop.

"oh-OH" His eyes grow wide when you drip down further to take his balls in your mouth instead, the sensation different that anything he's ever felt. A steady dribble of slippery arousal streams out of his cock while you nurse on suckle his heavy sac, addicted to your husbands distinct, sweet taste. You love how heavy he feels in your mouth, the smooth silky head of his pink cock begging to be sucked again.

He know's he'll cum if you keep on going which is why he pulls you up, kissing you deeply before settling you comfortably against the pillows again. He wants to make love to you so badly, even if it's not perfect the first time. He wants to give himself to you, nervously blushing when you spread your thighs for him while he pumps his cock.

"Are you ready?" He whispered against your cheek, the both of you nearly trembling with anticipation when you nod, letting him line his tip up with your fluttering entrance. He lets out the most desperate moan when he starts to push in, his body weight falling on top of you while his cock throbs, already close to cumming.

"Angel, I think m'gonna cum" He whimpers against you neck, knowing the slightest movement will make him blow his load. He hugs and clings onto you tightly, rutting himself into your cunt with the most gentle roll of his hips.

"Want you to feel good Jamie, it's okay" you hug him back while he pants harder trying to give you deeper strokes, he wants to make you feel good, feel how much he adores you by giving you pleasure but he just can't. You feel too good, pussy so warm, silky and soft.

"P-please cum for me angel" He pleads, his hand slipping between your bodies, finding your throbbing clit, rubbing quick circles with his thumb.

"J-James!" You hold onto him tighter, spots starting to cloud your vision with the way he's toying with your body as if he's touched you for years, his cock reaching depths you didn't know existed. "Fuck, fuck baby, feels so good" Your moans nearly turn into wails when he moves faster, his orgasm barreling towards him when you start to clench around his cock.

"Need you to feel good angel, don't wanna cum yet, wanna make love to you" He hides his face against your neck to try and muffle his moans but it's not use, a few sloppy stokes in and hes pumping you full of his seed, unable to stop as stream after stream burst from his cock.

"I-f-fuck, Swetheart, m'cumming- I-oh-hng princess-" He practically rolls over with you, still buried deep in your pussy, your mixed arousal soaking the sheets. His body shudders and he continued to thrust his hips up, grabbing your ass to keep you flush against him, moaning into the crook of your neck, "m'cumming so much for you, god I can't stop"

And he doesn't stop.

You gasp, feeling him still somehow rock hard, his sensitive cock still thrusting into you, his cum making it easy for him to slip in and out of you faster.

"Not done pretty girl, gonna keep my cock in you all night"

****

"Was I okay?" He whispers innocently while you cuddle into his chest, the both of you still naked, snuggling in the sheets. You giggle at his adorable expression, pecking his lips

"Of course baby" You reassure him again, your body still trembling from the way he pulled a second and third orgasm from you.

"Is everything okay for you?" You check in with him, loving that the question okay makes him shy again, the pink on his cheeks now moving to his neck and ears.

"M'happy I waited, that you're my first and only" He playfully shrugged, struggling to meet your gaze while you hugged him tightly, closing your eyes. The both of you drift off to sleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night, blindly reaching for each other again.

No words are said but you end up on top, dinking down on his cock, bouncing up and down, the lights turned off, only the glow of the moon illuminating your skin. He can't help himself, greedily pulling you down towards him when your breasts bounce in his face, desperately suckling on your nipples.

Between the way you ride him and the way your soft breasts in his mouth feel, he doesn't even realized he's whined mommy, eyes closed and clinging onto you like a baby.

Keep in mind, this was Bucky's first time. He's surprised at how needy and subby he can get for you, so desperate to please and pleasure you.

Until he starts to get more comfortable.

When he discovers his dom side the bedroom.

He learns he loves when you call him Sir and Daddy. On the rare occasion the house is empty, he becomes the most filthy fuck you'd meet, pulling his knife out whenever he wants to strip your clothes off and getting on his knees to eat you like a man starved. He'll bend you over anywhere; over the banister, over the kitchen counter, the table, the stairs, the floor when he wants.

If he's not nursing off of your clit, you're between his meaty thighs giving him the most sloppy head of life and he's never been more thankful for his sound proof walls.

He loves being a switch the most, alternating between begging to get a chance to taste you and then railing you with his cock till your crying and dripping with cum.

2K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Text

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers.

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment.

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse.

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter.

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle.

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.”

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.”

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.”

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him.

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection.

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense.

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had.

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering.

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long.

Knows what can hunt you.

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.”

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!”

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here.

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves.

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt.

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money.

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable.

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat.

Turn back.

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin.

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs.

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other.

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat.

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time.

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place.

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard.

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath.

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it.

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head.

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper.

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed.

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had.

The Ghost.

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal.

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it.

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air.

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips.

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat.

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up.

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts.

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale.

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh.

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you.

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes.

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley.

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop.

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor.

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes.

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances.

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog.

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help.

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold.

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here.

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward.

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey.

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches.

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time.

Eyes like a burial mound.

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads.

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense.

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage.

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages.

But the Ghost isn’t even there.

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.”

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward.

Where did it go?

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear.

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it.

Those eyes.

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state.

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears.

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do.

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close.

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh.

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage.

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough.

“H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!”

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him.

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering.

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back.

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction.

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise.

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity.

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival.

So run you did.

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson.

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage.

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape.

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar!

But the house was different.

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade.

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches.

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly.

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.”

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this.

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves.

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened.

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering.

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live?

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently.

This would be your sanctuary for the night.

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not.

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers.

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink.

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly.

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings.

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?”

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt.

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.”

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!”

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop.

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive.

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view.

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?”

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen.

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?”

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door.

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force.

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.”

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back.

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring.

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees.

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul.

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches.

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do.

The beast patrolled the glade.

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away.

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront.

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork.

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here.

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really.

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action.

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart.

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor.

Your neighbor the Werewolf.

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him.

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented.

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined.

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside.

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.”

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate.

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling.

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors.

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider.

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.”

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug.

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting.

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.”

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums.

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others.

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.”

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion.

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.”

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.”

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath.

An embarrassing giggle meets air.

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder.

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room.

You wake up to the sound of the door opening.

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality.

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches.

All sound ceases.

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting.

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers.

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently.

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up.

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form.

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.”

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes.

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways.

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes

sitkainsnow · 1 month

Text

Desperately need a fic from a police officer’s pov and they watch SuperBat interactions bc like all the cops either hate or love Bats, but are still kinda terrified of him, but ofc Supes is all sunshine and smiles and “He’s my best friend y’all!” And they KNOW bats probably totally has kryptonite and an attitude worse than the devil.

So they end up in a situation where they’re working together and Batman in taking with the police and Superman’s standing behind him waving and smiling at everyone while Batman is giving single-word or just huffs for answers. And then Superman freezes and cocks his head and to everyone’s surprise grabs Batman by the shoulder and whispers something in his ear and then what’s more surprising is Batman doesn’t even mind as he wraps his own arm around Supes and then they’re gone in a blur of blue and Black. All the cops are just left standing there like 🧍‍♂️shocked bc Bats didn’t mind Supes touching him.

Or another instance where it’s after this big battle in Gotham and it’s with whatever villain but Superman is there too and the villain had kryptonite. Anyways so after the battle Bats is talking to the police and handing over the villain and Superman comes over after talking to the civilians, picks Bats up by the scruff mid sentence politely nods to the officers he was talking too, and moves him a couple feet away and just starts yelling at Bats abt how stupid it is for him to run around jumping in the way of heavy blows EVEN if they have kryptonite and Bats just scoffs and turns his head away and all the police on the area watch as Superman and Batman argue about how stupid it is to risk your life to save the other (they both did it) completely oblivious to their audience and the police whose POV it’s in just thinks “god they sound like a married couple. Wouldn’t it be crazy if the two of the worlds greatest hero’s were actually a couple lmao. But that’s crazy they’re just really good friends”

Gordon watched all this trying not to blow his fuse bc yes, Batman does need to be yelled at, and yes, he does need to prioritize his safety more, but NO, you don’t need to be having your lovers quarrel in front of the whole damn GCPD.

Or in another instance Batman racks up a bunch of charges on him for whatever reason and the GCPD by luck manages to arrest him and so here comes Superman trying to bail his partner(in more ways than one) out of prison and the police are like “we’re really sorry Mr. Superman sir but we can’t legally do that” and Supes goes “what the hell did he even do” and so the officer goes “Property Damage, unlawful violence, arson, punched a cop in the face and broke his nose, caught carrying weed which is illegal in the state of New Jersey, multiple -and I mean multiple- unpaid speeding tickets. Oh, and the DMV wanted us to talk to him about his unregistered Batmobile and Batbike.”and Supes is about to cry as he quietly asks “Okay, so how much is bail” And the officer looks away and mumbled “sixteen grand” and Supes gasps and cries out “I don’t get paid enough for sixteen grand!!”

However thirty minutes later Supes is back at the GCPD station shakily counting out bills bc he can’t use a check or card (obvi) sweating heavily and looking extremely pained. The cops don’t even ask where he got all those bills so quickly and just watch him and another 30minutes later Bats is out and Supes is shaking him by his shoulder shouting “so who’s gonna lag me back!! Who’s gonna reimburse me for for 16k?? Whose gonna apologize for the heart palpitations you gave me?? Whose gonna apologize for all the gray hairs this is going to give me?? You’re giving me gray hairs all the time B!! I can’t do this!!” And Batman just sighs and pats Superman on the back as they walk out of the station and Superman is mumbling about bank credit and loans and how bad he looks with wrinkle lines and gray hair sounding like he’s about to cry.

Meanwhile the police try not to loose their minds throughout this whole interaction and Gordon’s just staring at the door blankly smoking a cigar and the police whose POV it’s in looks at the cigar a little bit closer and goes “That smells like weed” and Gordon looks at her and just says “I feel for Superman a bit more than I want to”

#superbat #batman #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent #superman x batman #jim gordon

545 notes · View notes

bunnys-kisses · 24 days

Text

bright as the morning

simon "ghost" riley

cw: plus sized!reader, smut, pwp, body worship, possessive behavior, jealousy, age (early 20s/mid 30s), simon can pretty much bench-press you, oral sex, missionary the mating press

bunny says: like fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? request your own! (title inspired by hozier's 'too sweet')

there was a period of time you thought you were ugly. you thought guys either ignored you or made comments because of your size. the sight of you made them gag and they'd rather be single than date you. even now with more confidence, you still couldn't believe when men hit on you.

you were waiting for your boyfriend at the mechanic's shop. you were in nothing too special, just wanted to join simon as he got his car. but you were adamantly listening to a mechanic around your age talk your ear off about cars. you thought he was just being nice.

but then you felt the presence of your boyfriend. the air got cold when he was near and he looked over you like a shadow, "the car's here."

you looked over and smiled up at your lover. he took your hand in his hand and headed away from the mechanic. you tried to keep in pace with him but his strides were just too big. then in front of the car, he looked over at he other man and pulled you close to him and kissed you through his mask.

"my doll." he said quietly, "was he causin' ya any problems?"

you looked up at him and shook his head, "nope. he was just being nice."

he chuckled, "yeah... nice. let's get ya home, i heard you were makin' me somethin' special for dinner." then pulled away but kept his eyes on you.

you smiled, "it's canned soup, simon." and turned away to get to the other side of the car. you could feel his heavy gaze on you as you got into the vehicle. simon got in soon after, you didn't even notice the look he gaze the other man as he put his hand on your thigh.

he pulled away for a moment to put the keys in the ignition, but it was soon back on your thigh as he pulled away and headed home. the entire way home, his large hand was on your thigh. his strong fingers squeezed a little at their softness.

"are you okay?" you asked as you looked to him. you placed a hand over his, the roughness of his knuckled brushed against you palm.

"fine, love." he said gruffly.

you sighed, "i know you better than you know yourself then. tell me, did the mechanic over change you?"

"nah." he said, "just some punk talkin' to my girl."

you raised an eyebrows, "simon. he was just being sweet. nothing to be jealous over." you patted his shoulder and continued to look at him.

he replied, "after all these years, ya still don't know how beautiful you are." then looked over quickly to reach over and pinch your round cheek, "prettiest damn girl i've ever seen."

simon knew exactly how he was going to show how beautiful he thought you were. he liked how your thighs touched together, he loved the roundness of your face. he loved how you felt in his arms. you never held a gun, you never had to starve while on missions. you were content with the life you led up to that point. it wasn't marked by violence. you were safe enough to be a little softer around the middle, and simon though it was beautiful.

even if all your personality was extracted, he would still worship you like a devotee. worshiped your softness, kiss the plush skin. perfect.

you were in your bedroom and simon had you in his arms. he was pulling the t-shirt over your head. you wiggled out of it and helped him get off your body. he dropped the shirts then felt you up, his hard grasp lingered around your arms. he toyed with your breasts and groaned to himself.

his mask had long since been taken off. you could see the scarring on his lower face. as he played with your curves, you leaned up and kissed him on the scar on his chin.

he sighed contently, "he can't have this. only me." he let out a short chuckle through his nose before he went in for the deep kiss. he thought of the young mechanic who was trying to hit on you. it wasn't that he couldn't believe that someone would flirt with you, he just didn't get that someone couldn't see that you were already a taken woman!

no one else was allowed to flirt with him, but him!

he soon dropped to his knees and pulled your pants down. then soon your underwear followed to around your ankles. he spread your thighs a little and dipped his head between your legs.

you let out a small noise and tangled your hands in his blond hair. your face felt aflame from his attention. you said, "simon!"

he chuckled, "too sweet." he kissed your thigh, "too sweet for me." then continued to orally pleasure you. he felt his soft thighs in his hands was a feeling that made him excitement.

you quivered a little and he held you up against him. you held onto his hand as his tongue lapped against your clit. you tasted like a dream, while a weaker man would expect his girl to taste like candy. but the nature taste of your wetness made his cock strain in his jeans.

"shit... simon." you whimpered.

he continued to lick at your sweet pussy and marveled in the sounds that you made. it was music to his ears as he heard you. he wanted to make sure you knew how good you looked to him.

a lesser man would ignore you for your size, but what did they know. simon knew better, he was a real man. and he loved a partner who was soft. meant it let him protect you.

he pulled away and looked up at you with wetness staining his chin. he said, 'c'mon, love. get those legs around my head." and then slowly got you up on his shoulders with your pussy right in his face once more.

he held you up by your lower back and continued to pleasure you orally. when he hit a sweet spot, your thighs clenched around his head. he made sure you were secure up there. perfect against him as made you feel good.

and with your hands in his hair, he felt amazing. his cock strained against his pants as he held you up. he often told you that it was like a bag of grapes when he picked you up. he was trained to hold up a lot more, so it was quite easy for him to pick you up.

you yelped from the sensation of his tongue on you, you panted as you held his head tighter. his forehead up against your stomach. it was a sore spot to acknowledge, but he knew how to make every inch of you feel special. even if you were insecure.

"always mine, doll." he said softly, his kisses littered the soft skin of your cunt. his touches were forms of worship across your back. he was a devotee to the religion of your love. he remembered the first time he made you orgasm on his fingers, he felt the thump in his chest. his cold heart shattered into a beating organ.

he had found a life post-war. something beyond blood and conflict. a place he could nestle his aching bones and rest. you had opened your heart and home to him, and he would be forever grateful.

it often shocked him that you weren't the most confident woman to ever exist. but he'd just have to show his worship every day until you believed it too.

he raked his blunt nails down your back side and over your ass before he held onto you lower back once more and tried to get as deep as he could against your cunt.

"please!" you whimpered, "i can't cum like this."

he said something then smacked your ass. he groaned between your thighs. it was his mission now to make sure you came on his tongue. he could hold you up all day if he had to. he felt you tense up and his assault on your clit gave way for you to hold onto him tightly and kicked out your legs as you finished on his tongue.

he chuckled as he got up slowly and headed to the bed. he placed you down gently and gazed at your naked body. simon saw the birth of venus painting when in a mission in italy. but he could believe he was seeing it for a second time when he looked at you.

you looked up at him, your face felt hot as you rubbed your wet thighs together. you didn't know what to do with your hands so you held onto the covers under you as you watched your boyfriend strip down into nothing.

that strong body, with a little more insulation than when you first met. but he was strong and imposing. he could still kill as effectively as he could when he was in the military. you swallowed and covered your face.

"don't hide from me. i want to see it all." he said as he gazed down at you.

you moved up the bed and he got on top of you. he handled you easily and with care. he loved the feeling of your softness against him. you felt like a dream, a warm heat he could find comfort in.

he didn't want anyone else to have you. he wanted you all to himself. to enjoy and love. to make him feel complete as he rubbed his cock up against your slit him holding your legs.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

he continued to rub up against you, teasing your pussy before he sank his length into you. he was tempted to pin you down to the bed, but he liked when you got all shy. he found in endearing when he made you blush so much that you hide yourself from him.

"do you like that?"

"love it."

he then slipped his cock into you, he sank in easily thanks to all his work on your pussy. he held your legs up as he pushed in fully. he exhaled deeply as he felt the air leave his chest.

you tried to kick out your legs once more but he kept them pinned to him as he started to rock back and forth. he moved against you, letting your wetness give him access to the deepest parts of you.

he moved against you and you held onto the bed under you.

"you look amazing." he said, "i wanted to kill that guy for talkin' to ya. i want you, and i want you all to myself. you're too perfect. all mine."

you looked at him and replied, you breathed deeply, "i only want you too, simon. i wouldn't want anyone else." you felt yourself get dragged as he got off the bed and held you up by the hips a she pushed down into your cock which almost left you in a mating press.

you felt your stomach in your throat as he pushed down into you. the sounds of sex filled the air as the two of you fucked on the bed you shared.

"i think you're just perfect." he said, "no other girlie like you. you make me wanna be a good man."

you replied innocently, "you are a good man." if you only you knew what he had done before he met you. he leaned forward and kissed you once more which squished your further.

he thrusted into you at a quick but steady pace. he watched your face changed the more he brought you pleasure. you were a sight to behold in front of him. he watched your body move against him, your curves shake with his movements.

you two fucked on the bed, well at the edge of the bed. it wasn't long however before you two felt close to orgasm. he cotninued to thrust into your body, he loved the feeling of the two of you against one another. it was a comforting feeling.

he thought you were sexy, but also a place of comfort for him. a place where he could rest his head and find content with life. he just thought you were amazing. the perfect woman.

with another hard thrust, he finished inside of you. and soon you clamped around his cock and came around it. you held onto the covers for support as he railed you. once you were over the tip of your orgasm, you felt the fight leave your body.

you both got to the top of the bed and cuddled in each other's arms naked. he rubbed your curves and kissed at your neck. he could feel the sweat on your neck. he sighed contently.

"simon."

"yes, love."

"you really do think i'm pretty?'

"i don't think you're pretty. i think every woman should be jealous of you." he chuckled softly as his lips went into your hair where he buried his nose in your strands. you were his mornings, afternoons and evenings, and no snot nosed mechanic is going to get in the way of that. <3

xoxo, bunny

403 notes · View notes

lanasblood · 1 year

Text

BIG EYES, BIG LIES | neteyam x reader

pairing: neteyam x f!metkayina!reader summary: you've had suffered silently from years of bullying within the metkayina clan, never sharing your pain with anyone, not even your boyfriend neteyam, until one day, there's no other option, resulting in a huge argument between the two of you but also a moment of understanding and healing. word count: 5.8k warnings: angsty beginning, fluffy end, !!!severe mentions of bullying, injuries, violence, blood!!! (read at your own risk), established relationship, protective neteyam, angry neteyam, healer boyfriend neteyam, difficult past, lying, insults, some suggestive comments, let me know if i forgot something. note: all characters are aged up; the following na’vi words were used: tsurak - skimwing, skxawng - idiot, pxasìk - screw that/no way, kurkung - asshole, kalweyaveng - son of a bitch (lit. 'child of a poisonous spider‘), tsantu - good guy

* gif's not mine.

The familiar sound of your name said over and over again lured you into consciousness. You had lost all sense of the space-time continuum, not knowing where up or down was, whether you were alive or dead.

Only the pain was omnipresent, it told you it was real what you felt. It burned and pulsed, throbbed and tingled. You surrendered to this pain for what felt like an eternity, groaning again in agony because every movement, no matter how tiny, hurt.

"You are awake."

A bright voice made you widen your eyes. Everything was dark, shadowy, intangible, strange.

Panic flooded your body and only now did you feel the cold around your legs, your aching body. It was dark, almost black. The kind of perfect darkness you saw in shades of dark grey in front of your eyes as a result of signals from the optic nerves. You were lying on the ground of the empty marui near the seawall terraces.

"No, don't move. Please."

You only heard a single voice, but you felt many more echoing in your pounding head. Hands were on your shoulders, apparently wanting to prevent you from making too hectic movements or even getting up, which increased your panic.

"Right, uh, light, light, light, mhm — Ah, there! Wait here!"

You squinted against the darkness again, hoping to see something, but the only thing you could really see clearly was a beam of soft dancing lights coming through the small crack under the entry into the marui you were in and the faint outline of the person kneeling in front of you.

Before you could reply anything, the light coming from a bioluminescent seashell was held in your face without warning and you squinted your eyes again, trying to protect them from the purple light.

"I'm so sorry, y/n I should've warned you," you heard the person in front of you speak who happens to be none other than Neteyam's brother, Lo'ak. "Damn! You don't look good at all!"

Thank you.

"What happened?"

"I guess, I, um…" Quick, you had to think of a good lie now, "I didn't feel so good after today's training. You know, high intensity under the sun can be exhausting," You looked down at yourself and noticed your bloodstained upper piece. "And it, uh, caused nose-bleeding…" You noticed the many bruises on your legs. "I must've fainted because of it, hurting myself."

"I can see that," Lo'ak looked pitifully at the left side of your face, right under your eye, then shifted his gaze to your bruised upper lip, and back at the place right under your hairline. "Did you fall face-first or something? That looks so baaaad."

Thanks again, appreciated.

"I, uh, yeah, can you help me up?"

A sharp pain shot through your chest as Lo'ak pulled you up by your arm and you had to grab the wall to catch your breath. You coughed uncontrollably as whatever it was that caused that pain left you breathless. Lo'ak patted you gently on the back, carefully, but every touch hurt.

"I didn't know you had to train so hard. I thought you had a fun day as we did, playing with the ilus."

"My teacher's very strict unfortunately."

"Hmm."

"What are you doing here anyway? It's the girls' communal marui."

Lo'ak's eyes widened at your question, "I swear I'm not some kind of creep," he quickly said, "Tsireya said she lost her hair band so I figured I look for it here," he looked at the ground beneath his feet, which was smeared with dirt and blood – your blood, "but maybe it's not here, yeah, anyway, good thing I came here or else you would've died or something."

"I wouldn't have died," you said, amazed at his dramatic exaggeration.

Lo'ak shrugged his shoulders, "Not so sure about that."

You followed his gaze and your reflection in the mirror caught your attention. Your skin was sticky, your clothes were damp with blood and sweat, and you felt gross.

"I, uh," Feeling a sense of embarrassment, Lo'ak gestured with his finger towards the spot behind the marui, "I'll just quickly go… there, uh, for a moment. Will you be okay?" You nodded. "Neteyam is near, by the way, we have a chill round with Tsireya and Ao'nung and the others, how about you come with me?" You stared at him as if frozen, but eventually managed to nod once more. "Perfect. Okay. See you in a minute." With that, he left you alone, and you felt your breath quicken.

On one hand, a sense of relief washed over you at the thought of Neteyam being nearby and able to be there for you when you needed him. On the other hand, you had no idea how you would talk your way out of this situation. He would ask questions, and it would become uncomfortable. Old lies would threaten to resurface. The thought made your stomach churn.

You noticed how your shawl, which you had wrapped around yourself, had absorbed the blood, leaving the fabric irreparably stained. In this condition, going home was out of the question. Not only would your mother be beside herself upon seeing you, but you also had to pass through the communal areas to reach your marui. Once Lo'ak was out of sight, you struggled to slip the fabric off your shoulders, feeling the pain in every single bone. You realized that even your upper piece hadn't been spared as you held the shawl under the water and noticed the stains on your upper body.

Outside the marui, you kneeled down with an effort, and decided to wash your hands and face in one of the pool's water. A drop of pinkish-red-colored sweat dripped from your chin into the water, or maybe it wasn't sweat at all, who knew, it could be tears as well, you shouldn't just limit it to sweat.

"That's what I get for lying," you hissed at yourself, while your hands dunk back into the water, getting everything else around you, including half of your upper body, wet.

You decided to wash the red stains out of your shawl, the water changing its color around your hands to a washed-out reddish blur.

There was a clearing of the throat in the distance, perhaps just a few meters away from you.

"I'm coming back, y/n, okay?"

You cursed under your breath, focussing solely on removing the stains as you washed the shawl in your hands even more aggressively now, the noise of the splashing water being louder than your own thoughts.

"Let's go!" Lo'ak stood behind you.

Before you knew it, you had torn the light blue fabric in your hand. You closed your eyes in defeat and suppressed another curse word. It was a shame actually, because you liked combining the shawl with matching loincloths over various chest pieces you were wearing most of the time. You at least convinced yourself that you wouldn't have gotten the bloodstains out anyway, so the fate of the garment was sealed from the start, even before you had accidentally torn it.

Setting aside the damp piece of torn fabric, you stood up with a sigh and turned to Lo'ak, ready to follow him to wherever he would take you. At least you had washed most of the blood off your body.

"Thank you for not dying on me," Lo'ak joked next to you and all you could manage was a small smile. Your entire body ached, and every step you took felt as if you could collapse at any moment.

In the distance, you could discern a gathering of young Na'vi near the shoreline, forming a circle as they enjoyed each other's company. Some sat or reclined in the sand, while others perched on rocks, and a few stood, perhaps sharing tales. Their laughter resonated through the air, creating a joyful ambiance against the backdrop of the shimmering water and the twinkling stars above.

Just a few meters away, Lo'ak gave you a final thumbs-up, leading the way to the group with you by his side, and the clamor of voices grew increasingly chaotic, enveloping both of you in its midst.

"No, of course not, it should fear us!"

"What are you talking about? Not even my grandma would fear you!"

"Your grandma isn't a fish, is she?"

"Don't say anything against my grandma!"

Your head felt like exploding any second. Not because of the boys, but because you felt the need to lie down. That's what you thought until you suddenly heard Neteyam's calm voice, and instantly, you felt a little bit better.

"If you approach it with the right mindset and undergo the necessary training, I have no doubts you will succeed!"

"No, he definitely has no chance, look at him, like a squid in armor."

Tsireya, who had refrained from the heated discussion, was the only one who looked up. As her eyes met yours, they widened, and she quickly rose from her seat, approaching you. With a gentle and questioning gaze, she placed a hand on your arm, showing her concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a soft voice searching your gaze. Appreciating her care, you placed your hand on hers, mustering a small smile.

You heard how Lo'ak cleared his throat, as it seemed that nobody else had noticed you.

"Don't mind them, y/n," Lo'ak turned to you, as your presence remained unnoticed by the boys, "You can take my seat over there next to Tsireya's while I go find you a new shawl."

"No, here, take mine," Tsireya suggested already putting her shawl over your shoulders, the piece hugging your torso.

After that it got quiet very quickly, because when your name was mentioned, Neteyam looked up, and with him the others.

Immediately he got up from the rock he was sitting on and in a few steps he stood right in front of you, hesitating whether he should hug you, and finally decided to do so. When he carefully put his arm around you and pulled you close, you hissed slightly out of pain and suddenly felt even more fragile and broken than in all of the previous weeks.

"I go and bring some new clothing for her," you heard Tsireya's voice, "and maybe some wound dressing from my mother." You saw out of the corner of your eye how Lo'ak nodded gratefully when Tsireya was already hurrying away.

You didn't feel like crying, but you felt so weak and helpless and wanted to just stand there for hours while Neteyam hugged you.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his voice thick with concern.

"Is that blood?" you heard the other boys whisper among themselves.

"Did you see her face, man?"

Rotxo's voice stood out more than the others as he addressed his question directly to you, repeating Neteyam's words, "What happened, y/n?"

You stayed quiet and pressed closer to Neteyam despite the pain, and Lo'ak did the answering for you, "The training today under the sun made her nose bleed out of exhaustion or allergy or something so that she passed out," he explained hastily, heading back to his seat.

You felt Neteyam stiffen in the hug and you squinted to escape reality for a few more seconds.

"First of all, what kind of lie is that even?" Your heart sank when you heard one of the boys – you guessed Ao'nung – talking loudly, questioning the course of action, and before long everyone else was about to join in the conversation, one at a time. And with every sentence you felt the urge to leave the place on the spot.

"Ask y/n, I swear that's what happened! I found her near the marui by the seawall terraces."

"She might have been passed out but pxasìk — I don't buy that!"

"What were you doing there, Lo'ak?" someone else with longer hair asked.

"None of your business, bro."

"And second of all, she rather looks like she was beaten up." At that, Neteyam pushed you slightly away from him to give you a questioning look and inspect you more closely. His eyes alternated between yours and you recognized how the hint of suspicion crept into his eyes.

"She was clearly beaten up!" The girl on the far left, Neteyam's sister, Kiri, unexpectedly supported Ao'nung's statement, which was highly unusual for her. It wasn't her cold demeanor towards you that was atypical, but rather her agreement with Ao'nung that caught you off guard.

"Yeah, right! I mean, look at her." Every head turned to you now, inspecting you from head to toe, as if you were some kind of object.

"That's not true," you argued weakly, supporting yourself on the tree with your left hand, and grabbing Neteyam's hand with your right one because your feet threatened to buckle any second. Noticing that, he lead you to the rock right in front of you and carefully helped you sit down.

"The real question is who did that to poor y/n?"

"Why? You wanna beat up some girls for her?"

"Girls? I thought it'd be some kurkung from the tsurak taming team."

"Hey, don't say that, they're cool."

"Yeah, and don't cuss when Kiri and y/n are here."

"They are no children."

"Tsireya's back!" Lo'ak's voice drowned out the others, not surprising given the fact how loud he announced the return of the soft-spoken girl. Apart from you no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they were far too busy arguing amongst themselves.

"Nah, man, what kinda skxawng beats girls? Not me for sure."

"Let's teach those guys a lesson then."

"So now you wanna beat up guys for her?"

"Why not? She's Neteyam's girl, she's one of us."

"True words." You frowned as you realized how much they had gotten into the discussion when Tsireya handed you a neatly packed bag with fresh clothing inside which you gratefully accepted.

"Why would you all choose violence all of a sudden?" Tsireya looked around with an irritated expression, not sure what she had missed in the last couple of minutes.

"Those kalweyavengs deserve it!"

"You skxawng don't talk like that in front of my sister."

"But, you said—"

"Everybody quiet!" You winced slightly when you heard the anger in his voice vibrate through his body; he who had kept quiet the whole time, just observing, never speaking. Instantly it fell silent at the beach and all eyes were on Neteyam, except for yours.

"It has gotten late," he added, quieter but clearly audible, "We should all go back to the village." You expected a protest to erupt, but you were wrong again. Without a word, the individual heads of that group got up from where they sat on rocks or the sand, and left the beach, heading in the direction of the village, one after the other.

"Thank you, brother," Neteyam spoke as Lo'ak passed by, giving him a grateful pat on the back of his head. You caught Lo'ak nodding at him and giving you a pitiful look, and you managed to mouth a 'thank you' as well before he left.

"Why did you lie to him?" Neteyam nodded his head in the direction of his now-gone brother. "To Lo'ak, I mean."

You stared at your hands on your lap instead of answering him, so he sighed and knelt in front of you, positioning himself between your legs. With a gentle touch, he placed his hands on each of your thighs, right at the hem of your loincloth.

"I'm seriously worried, y/n, and it's almost a miracle I'm staying calm right now. What happened?" He cocked his head and looked up, searching for the gaze you were trying so hard to avoid. "Please talk to me." The gentle touch of his hands on your thighs, which you usually never got enough of, now felt like a burning sensation, causing inner agony within you.

"I didn't want to tell him the truth," you finally said, answering his first question.

"Do you want to tell me?"

"It's nothing, Neteyam, I—"

"Nothing?" He laughed wryly, letting go and walking away from you as he walked around in a circle and turned back with an ironic smile that didn't reach his eyes, his tail whipped aggressively behind him, "That certainly doesn't look like nothing to me." He gestured to you with both hands.

You covered your face with your hair because you could only imagine how terrible you must've looked, how disgusted he must've been with you, that he thought you weren't beautiful.

"You're in pain. You have bruises everywhere. You're covered in blood! And yet you say it's nothing. Do you listen to yourself?"

"I can handle it," you replied, adding more quietly, "It's not that I'm not used to it."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, irritated by his questions, "I mean nothing at all. Can… can you help me change into these?" You held up the bag from Tsireya which provided a good change of subject. It would be impossible for you to raise both arms and put the pieces on by yourself. On second thought, Neteyam would see the bruises on your chest that way, and the mere thought made your stomach ache. Therefore, realizing that the shawl provided good cover and not wanting to part with it, you added a quick, "Nevermind, I'll do it myself."

As if he had read your thoughts, he approached you with a determined gaze. Your breath caught as you felt his hand pull the shawl from your shoulders. Quickly, you clung to the fabric, stopping mid-movement, and placed your other hand on his to stop him from exposing your skin.

"Please," you looked him in the eyes, your voice barely audible. You didn't know what you begged him for. To stop him from seeing your injuries? To stop touching you? To stop asking questions? To stop digging for the truth? Did you want him to stop in the first place? Or did you want him to find out and free you from your net of lies?

He gently slipped your shawl off your shoulders, and then sucked in a sharp breath and bit the inside of his cheek, apparently trying to keep himself from swearing but the restless movements of his tail gave him away.

You didn't have to look to see that a huge wound must have been looming on your collarbones and on your side right under your breasts. Judging by the pain, you wouldn't be surprised if some ribs were broken.

"Who did this to you." It was no longer a question driven by curiosity, as he had asked earlier. This was serious. He wanted names and locations. He wanted to know who had done such a dreadful thing to his loved one. Who dared to harm you in any way. Judging by the fire in his eyes, he wanted to see that person bleed the way you did.

"Are you going to beat up some girls for me?" You playfully repeated the question you'd heard one of the boys say before. However, the way Neteyam clenched his jaw showed you it wasn't time to crack up some jokes.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Y/n."

"Neteyam."

He studied you intently, examining every facial expression, every subtle gesture, before speaking again, "You never slipped down any cliffs last week, did you?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "And what about last month when you said you—"

"I lied, okay?" you shouted at him, unleashing the pent-up frustration, as if he were the cause of your misery. "I made it all up. Every single bit of it. I'm a liar, and I'm a coward. Are you happy now?"

"Happy? It pains me to see you like that," he retorted, his voice rising with frustration, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What was I supposed to say!?" you shouted back, your voice filled with exasperation. "Cry like a baby and point at them for being mean to me?"

"No, but someone could've helped. Everything is better than that!" His tone was raised as well when he pointed at your bruises.

"They won't! I tried!" you hissed, the bitterness evident in your voice, "Once, when I was little and foolishly believed that my parents would trust and listen to me. But what did they do? They forced us to hug and pretend to be friends again, dismissing it all as a mere misunderstanding among children. And you know what happened next? They sought their revenge by cutting my hair," you swallowed hard, the memory of that painful incident resurfacing, "I cried so much that day. That's when I made a promise to myself that I would never tell anyone anything again."

"I am here now, I hear you, I see you," he responded gently, his voice filled with empathy, "Please, let me help." You shook off the hand that he tried to place on your shoulder. He silently acknowledged this, a hurt expression crossing his eyes, which he quickly concealed.

"There's nothing you can do. I've learned from my mistake today: Don't confront them when it's four against one. Simple solution," you stated firmly, emphasizing your resolve.

"I am eager to find out who they are," he expressed with a determined tone.

"It's not important."

"Y/n," Neteyam shook his head, his expression firm, "I won't be at peace unless you tell me their names."

"Don't ask me!" you once again raised your voice against him. "I won't say anything. You make it worse for me."

"I am the one making it worse?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yes," you said firmly, causing him to blink in surprise. "Please, Neteyam, for the love of Eywa, stop asking!"

"Understood," he nodded, his nose flared up and his tail on edge.

"You're pissed, I can understand that… but I don't deserve the way you treat me right now. You're pushing me too much."

"What do you exactly want me to do?!" His voice erupted with anger, his frustration visible, "Yes, I am pissed. But not because of the lies or because of your bruises. I am pissed because of you. Because of the way you're behaving right now. Your eye and the bruises on your face and body were not an accident, that's a fact we both are aware of. Yet, you choose to protect them. But why? It seems you're too proud to admit the truth, to tell me the truth."

"That's not true!" you yelled at him angrily, annoyed by repeating yourself over and over again.

He let out a groan of frustration, seemingly struggling to maintain self-control, "Just tell me who did this to you and I will make sure they regret ever laying a finger on you!"

He waited for your response.

You remained silent, holding your ground against his warning gaze for a long moment.

"Good," he interrupted the eye contact and nodded his head, "Then don't trust me, it's fine."

"Neteyam…"

"This is pointless." Neteyam brushed you off, walking back towards the village, not giving you another look when he passed your shoulder.

"Neteyam, don't walk away from me," you snapped out, feeling anger flare up inside of you. You reached out and grabbed his arm.

He stopped, slowly turning to face you.

"Just… stop for a second, okay?" you said in an irritated tone.

"Why?" He retorted.

He was staring at you, and you were staring back at him, and you were suddenly hyper aware of how close he was standing to you. Both of you breathing heavily, anger and frustration ebbing between the two of you; you were standing close, so close. You were suddenly struck by how attractive he was, his eyes flashing as he stared at you, searching your face for any answers when he took another step closer.

"If only you knew how much it hurts to be pushed away like this."

Before you knew what was happening, he brushed off your arm again, and walked away, leaving you to yourself and your lies. And this time, you didn't stop him; you only focussed on the point where he was standing just seconds ago, thinking of his words that left a deep pain in your chest, making you choke on your own words and tears falling from your eyes.

A little later, as you sat on the sand, lost in your thoughts, you hopefully perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching in the sand. Your heart fluttered with hope, and you hastily wiped away the tears from your face, turning around with anticipation, expecting to see Neteyam, but to your surprise it was just Kiri.

"Where's Neteyam?" she asked you.

"Gone." You put the little shell you were playing with back on the sand and traced the pattern with your finger.

"Well, you're here, so I'm sure he'll come back." You strongly doubted that, considering the way he had last looked at you.

"He was really angry," you mumbled, thinking back to your little argument. You spoke more to yourself than to Kiri. In fact, you didn't even think she heard you or paid any attention to you when you heard her gather and pack up the two pillows and the seaweed blanket that she forgot before. Yet her next question made you look up in surprise.

"But can you blame him?" Kiri narrowed her eyes in annoyance as she looked at you.

"I'm sorry?" you looked at her expectantly.

Kiri puffed bored, "My brother has always been courteous and polite towards you. He was the perfect definition of tsantu. Oh, Great Mother— he stripped his soul for you and gave you everything you wanted. Do you really blame him for getting angry for once?"

You focused your gaze back on the sand in front of you. The little shells looked like they were expecting an answer from you that never came for you didn't know what to reply to that.

"You are a grown girl. You have to be able to take a little criticism," Kiri added as she headed back to the village, "And I'm sure you both will fix it again. Buck up and get well soon." You nodded your thanks as she raised her hand in farewell and left again.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell over you, enveloping you like a suffocating blanket. At that moment, you felt utterly alone, isolated from the world around you not even caring of your body's aches anymore. Mirroring the depths of your solitude under the dark skies, the vast expanse of the ocean stretched out before you. Its endless waves, crashing against the shore, seemed to echo the tumultuousness of your thoughts.

You had no idea how long you had been sitting in the sand, lost in contemplation of your life when you heard footsteps behind you once again that night. This time, you didn't bother to look up, for you knew it would be one of the others who had forgotten something (though you were unsure what, as Kiri had taken everything), or perhaps your parents, searching for you.

Without a word, the person sat down across from you on his knees and reached out with his arm to pull you closer to him so that your thighs were between his knee and his between yours.

In an instant, the unmistakably pleasing scent of him infused with a mix of dew-kissed leaves and the earthy allure of sandalwood, clung to you like a whispered secret, caressed your nose and relaxed your muscles.

You endured it silently as he took a cloth out of the bowl of water he brought with him, wrung it out briefly and then carefully dabbed the area under your eye with it. He did this with so much caution and care that you felt bad for emotionally pushing him away from you. You watched his forehead furrow in concentration and he paused and waited every time you flinched at the pain.

"Since when?" you heard him speak, his voice pleasantly calm and understanding.

"Too long," you said, to which he sighed, not annoyed but rather disappointed because you continued to hold onto the emotional wall you had built long ago. "I'm sorry, Neteyam, it's just…" you struggled to find the right words.

"There's no need for apologies if you're content with staying the same."

"I'm not," you clarified honestly. "You have no idea how burdensome these lies are. I want to confide in you — it's just that I was scared of your reaction." As you spoke, you noticed how his tail twitched with interest, and his gaze shifted from the wound on your face to meet your eyes. "I was afraid that you would see me as weak and pity me. I had hoped that the lies would help me preserve this fragile facade. But I now realize I was mistaken, and for that I'm deeply sorry, Neteyam, I've never wanted to hurt your feelings."

"Y/n," Neteyam whispered, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek with a touch filled with love and affection, "my beloved, the one who holds my heart, I am sorry for pushing you before and I will wait until you are ready to talk but, please, tell me how I can help you. Tell me everything."

You shrugged, shaking your hand, looking everywhere but him.

"Neteyam, I know you want to help, but I don't want you to mess with these girls," you then looked him serious in the eyes, "Promise me that first."

A cocky smirk appeared on his lips, "Baby, if you really think I'm scared of some—"

"Neteyam," you interrupted him, your tone serious, "They may be bullies, but they're not completely stupid. They won't direct their actions towards you; they'll most likely take their anger out of your siblings."

His smirk vanished in an instant, "You know, I won't let that happen."

"I know," you affirmed sincerely. "You are their brother, and you will protect them, but you can't be everywhere all at once. You can't keep a constant watch over Tuk while also looking after Lo'ak or Kiri, for instance. Please don't risk it. I can handle it, really. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to one of them because of me."

"I am yours, and you are mine, remember?" He smiled at you, his eyes shining. "So, you are not alone in this. I will go to any lengths to ensure your safety and well-being. I will protect you, y/n, but you must allow me to be there for you."

As the words hung in the air, a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of the conversation lingering. Then, Neteyam reached out, his hand gently intertwining with yours. The touch sent a comforting warmth through your body, bridging the emotional gap that had momentarily separated you.

With a tender squeeze of your hand, he continued, his voice filled with unwavering determination, "You are my family, too."

Feeling a surge of emotions, you took a deep breath, your heart swelling with love. You looked into Neteyam's eyes, seeing the unwavering commitment reflected back at you. With a soft smile, you nodded, letting your walls come down, and whispered, "I trust you."

The atmosphere between you shifted, charged with a newfound closeness and vulnerability. It was as if an unspoken understanding passed between your souls, fueling the desire for a deeper connection. In that very second, the world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you standing there, hearts entwined. With the tension of unspoken words lingering in the air, you couldn't resist the magnetic pull drawing you closer to him.

So leaning in, you pressed your lips onto his soft ones — not too gently and not too forcefully, but just right. You caught sight of his eyes widening in surprise and his body remained still, but you mustered up the last bit of courage to close your eyes and hope for the best. When you felt the feathering of his eyelashes brush against your lids, you knew he, too, had his eyes closed. Then he leaned in ever so slightly, and his hands reached up to cup your uninjured cheek and the other behind your head.

Your heart pounded so loudly and harshly that you didn't think your chest could handle it, your stomach fluttered and churned with a mess of emotions that you didn't know if they'd ever go away, and your mind flooded with thousands of unanswered questions that you thought you might faint again anytime soon. But then you pulled away, your lips and his seemingly too reluctant for the loss of contact as they attempted to remain connected until the very last second, and your eyes fluttered open to the world which had frozen still; it had been a short kiss, that's for sure, but it was one that you'd remember for years to come.

"You do something to me that I can't explain," he whispered against your lips before he retrained.

"You do the same to me," you whispered back, "but I think I can explain."

"What is it?"

"I see you," you breathed, leaning up to kiss him again.

He backed away to put some distance between you and you raised an eye questioningly.

"If I kiss you again – and believe me, every cell in my body wants to," With a nervous laugh, he scratched the back of his neck before his lustful gaze turned back to you and you physically felt the excited shimmyflies in your stomach threatening to break out, "I just know, I won't be able to stop."

"Then don't."

"Oh, sweets, you love to make it hard for me, don't you?"

An inappropriate thought crossed your mind at that but you chose not to say it out loud. You didn't have to, because Neteyam's smirk looked like he knew exactly what was going through your head.

"C'mere, we need to patch you up first, and then—"

"Then we'll go to our place?" you asked excitedly.

"After I inspect you properly and decide that you don't need to see Tsahìk which I'm not so sure of yet – yes, then we could go to our place, and watch the stars or—"

"Why don't you properly inspect me at our place?" you interrupted him with a seemingly innocent look. He licked his lower lip in amusement, shaking his head.

"You're something."

"Your something," you corrected.

He looked at you in awe, as if you are the most precious thing he had ever seen. "My something," he agreed chuckling to himself and pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Now hold still so I can clean your wounds."

thank you all for reading ♥︎ I hope you enjoyed this piece of writing. looking forward to your comments and feedback 💕 (p.s. for anyone wondering about the other boys, i imagined ao'nung's "bully" friends nash'vi, koro, and ongu to sit with them)

2K notes · View notes

ichorai · 1 year

Text

water dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

the sequel to little dragon!

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; aemond loved his wife and his children more than anything. to lose one of them... that would bring nothing but war to the seven kingdoms.

words ; 10.3k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), heavy angst, established relationship (married), parents au

warnings / includes ; major character death (please proceed with caution), blood & cheese, descriptions of violence/blood, unprotexted sex scenes, sex in the rain, jealous!aemond, foul language, you and aemond have three children (syraena, kyrion, myra), cameos of the rest of the hotd characters, syraena experiencing gender dysphoria :( aemond being a good father/husband (most of the time), kyrion is a dragon dreamer, aegon being gross and touching you inappropriately, so sorry if the valyrian isn't completely correct </3 the timeline for this fic is a bit shifted so that king viserys dies a couple years later than he does in the show (so the children have more time to grow) lots & lots of foreshadowing !! there will be a part three.

main masterlist.

A dull, heavy thud resounded across the training yard when Criston swung his morningstar at Aemond yet again, its thick spikes missing his cheek by a hair’s breadth as he gracefully spun away, the ball landing onto the ground. Before his mentor could strike him again, Aemond darted around him in the blink of an eye, slanting the longsword’s blade against Criston’s throat.

“If we were enemies on a battlefield, you would be dead,” the Prince murmured.

The Dornish knight raised his hands in surrender. “Then I am grateful we are neither enemies nor at battle.”

With a hum, Aemond let the sword retreat back to his side, turning to place it back on the weapons rack. Only, he found his gaze falling on a small girl amongst the onlookers, her e/c eyes wide, curious, and eagerly dark.

“Syraena? What are you doing here?” he asked his eldest daughter, striding up to her and staring her down with the most stern expression he could muster. It was an hour past noon, and that meant she was supposed to be at her embroidery lessons with the Septa. Or perhaps it was dancing lessons? Aemond couldn’t quite recall. Either way, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Upon further inspection, he noted that her wispy hair was far shorter and more scraggly than usual, small bits of silver strands littered over her scrawny shoulders.

“What did you—did you cut your hair?” Aemond accused, his single eye narrowing as he knelt down in front of her. “Gods, your mother is going to have my head.”

“Do you like it, Kepa?” Syraena replied, wildly ruffling the short silver tendrils with a wide smile. “I found a sharp shard of glass by that broken window beside the mess hall… and I cut my hair with it!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Aemond blew out a long, exasperated sigh. Though this wasn’t the first time Syraena had startled her parents, prone to impulsive recklessness, it didn’t make her proclivities any less hard on Aemond’s heart. “Darling, that is wildly careless. Don’t ever do that again, you understand me? Come on—you shouldn’t be here, your mother must be worried to death searching for you.”

Swiftly, he wound his arms around the six year-old, lifting her up so she would sit over his waist. Of course, Syraena being Syraena, pulled a sour face and began reaching out for Criston, who was observing on with an amused expression.

“But I want to watch you spar!” she complained, twisting in his grasp and kicking at his stomach. Aemond had to bite down on his tongue to swallow his groan of pain, but he held onto her tight nonetheless. “Kepa, let me down! Let me go!”

“You should be in your lessons,” Aemond chastised, striding up the winding stairs back into the Keep.

Pouting, Syraena let herself flop limply against Aemond’s shoulder. “I hate lessons. I hate the Septa. I hate being a girl.”

Raising a brow, Aemond glanced down at her before softly patting the back of her head. Though he hadn’t a clue what it was like to be a woman in Westeros, he could understand her feeling of not belonging amongst others who seemed to belong so easily. Syraena never got along with other girls her age, who were often afraid of her callousness and her tempestuous nature. In that respect, Aemond supposed his daughter was just like him.

“I’m sorry, my sea dragon. Perhaps I’ll let the Septa know that you no longer wish to dance.”

“And embroider!”

“Hm. That, as well.”

Syraena grinned widely—her curved lips reminiscent of yours.

“Kepa?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t tell mother I cut my hair,” she whispered, eyes shining with worry.

It was hard for Aemond to suppress his smile. “I’m sure she’ll notice regardless of whether I tell her or not, darling,” he gently told her.

Her expression dropped. “I didn’t mean to cut it this short. I just don’t like my long hair.”

“You’re very beautiful either way, Syraena,” he easily replied, before stopping in front of his chambers, where he knew you were watching over their baby daughter. “Alright. You go on inside—I’ll go speak to your Septa.”

He set his daughter down on her feet. She loitered by the door, dragging her feet glumly.

With a bark of a laugh, Aemond nudged her forward. “Go on. Your mother won’t be angry. Not that much, at least.”

Aemond’s only son, Kyrion, was a quiet boy. Only five years of age, born less than eleven moons after Syraena, he was already of greater intelligence than most far older than him, growing a knack for reading and drawing. The maesters would often express that his mind was developing much quicker than what was deemed normal.

Not only that, but he was quite handsome, as well, with strikingly sharp features akin to his father, and a head of snow-white curls. His eyes were a pale shade of purple, always distant and clouded over with thought. From as soon as he began to talk, Kyrion often spoke in strange, twisted riddles, mystifying both you and Aemond to no end.

King Viserys, as sickly as he was, had claimed him to be a dragon dreamer. Alicent had hushed him then, thinking he was on another one of his senseless rambles, and gently asked the two of you to step out so he could get some rest.

Now, as Aemond sat with his son in the library, he pondered the possibility of it all. Perhaps Kyrion had a divine gift—the ability to see glimpses of the future. He would have to speak with you about it, see what you thought first.

Even if it were true, Aemond didn’t want to put any kind of unnecessary pressure on his son. Kyrion was only five, after all, no matter how startlingly intelligent he was.

“And what does this say?” He tested the boy, tapping his finger against the dusty Valyrian book.

Immediately, Kyrion replied in his soft, far-away voice, “Zaldrīzoti mērī ipradagon parklon. Dragons only eat meat.”

“Hm. Good.”

“It should be more specific,” said Kyrion, hands fidgeting beneath the table. “Dragons only eat cooked meat.”

A ghost of a proud smile hovered over Aemond’s lips. “That is correct—this book is old, from a time before maesters were able to record accurate, detailed information about dragons.”

Kyrion didn’t reply, flipping the worn, yellowed page.

“What does this mean?” he eventually asked, pointing at an unfamiliar word.

Aemond glanced over at the book, before blanching, and cleared his throat hastily. The paragraph was depicting a few different maesters’ debates on the mating practices of dragons—a topic of which Aemond was not too keen on broaching with his five year-old son.

“Mmh… nothing of importance. Keep on reading, my water dragon. You’re doing very well.”

Blinking up at him with his large, pale violet eyes. He seemed to sense his father’s discomfort, so he let the matter drop, returning his attention to the book. Aemond blew out a relieved breath—he’d surely have to tell you about this later tonight.

Myra Targaryen, the youngest of Aemond’s children at three years of age, was a sweet little girl with a soft heart, always wearing a gentle smile. She loved all things in nature, and had a near unbearingly kind soul. She loved singing and dancing, a stark contrast to Syraena, who turned her nose away at such activities. At times Aemond wondered how Myra could possibly be his kin, for she was far too pure and he was… certainly not.

Unlike her sharp-faced siblings, Myra’s features were much softer and healthily plump. Her hair was a shade darker than them as well, the curls a silver-gold hue of blonde. Though Aemond was hoping for another daughter that bore your beautiful eye color, Myra was born with his dark purple irises, nearly blue in certain lighting.

As you had left to soak in a bath, Aemond had taken it upon himself to put his river dragon to sleep, tucking her beneath a fleece blanket and brushing her flaxen away from her drooping eyelids, heavy with exhaust from the day.

“Ēdrū sȳrī, Myra,” he whispered, brushing a kiss upon her forehead. Sleep well.

“Night-night, Kepa,” she responded, grinning sleepily, dimples indenting her chubby cheeks. “Today I saw a butterfly in the gardens!”

“Mmh, was it a large butterfly?”

“No. It was very small—smaller than my hand! I named it Hūra, because it was white, like the moon.”

Finding her grin contagious, Aemond felt a smile flicker over his usually stoic demeanor. “A lovely name. Your Aunt Helaena loves butterflies, as well. Perhaps you can tell her all about Hūra tomorrow.”

Myra enthusiastically nodded, before sitting up against her feather-pillows, reaching up to her father to press a sweet kiss against his scar, just below his eyepatch.

By the Gods, he could nearly feel tears prick the corner of his vision, but he managed to subdue them for a minute, not wanting to weep in front of his young daughter, lest she grew worried for him.

“I like Kepa’s scar,” she mumbled as she settled back down to go to sleep. “How did you get it?”

Aemond was silent for a long while, unsure of what to tell her. “An accident,” he simply replied.

“Does it hurt?”

It did, at times. Not as often as it used to, but there were instances he could still feel phantom pains throbbing behind the leather patch. “Not anymore,” he lied, voice quiet.

If Myra had any other questions, she didn’t get the chance to ask them, already drifting off into slumber.

Aemond hummed, before rising onto his feet, making his way out of her chambers. To his surprise, you were hovering by the doorway, arms crossed and affection written plainly over your expression.

“I just put Kyrion to bed,” you whispered, leaning into his touch when he cradled your face with his palms with a quiet greeting. “He was speaking in riddles again—something about a deal with a stag?”

The two of you began making your way down the hall, to your shared chambers. “Stag?” he asked. “Baratheons?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, sighing. “I worry for him.”

Aemond slipped into the room after you, shutting the door behind him. He gathered you in his arms, capturing your lips with his in a chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he studied your concerned features—just as beautiful as the day he’d met you.

“We’ll be fine, dōna embar,” he reassured you, leading you to bed with a protective hand resting over your lower back. You loosely smiled at the nickname—sweet sea. “The dragon-trouts are strong. No house, stag or otherwise, could ever lay a hand on them.”

Instead of responding, you kissed him again, your nose bumping against his in your haste. The both of you laid down on the tall mattress, the promise of sleep whispering sand into your ears.

Before you could fall into a dreamless rest, however, Aemond quietly murmured, “I’m assuming Syraena didn’t tell you she cut her hair with a shard of glass she found by a broken window. Kyrion also asked about mating practices whilst we were in the library. And Myra wanted to know how I got my scar.”

Startled at the sudden barrage of information, you abruptly sat up, eyes wide, sleep suddenly the very last thing on your mind. “What?”

The next morning was dreary.

It was a rare thing for rain to grace the capital, as it was usually arid and warm. But the skies were grey and thunderous, miniscule pinpricks of water beginning to fall from the dark clouds. You stood on your chamber’s balcony, enjoying the cooler temperatures and the light drizzles dampening your skin, your hair, your sleeping shift. It’d been several moons since it last rained—compared to your original home, the Riverlands, King’s Landing simply paled in comparison. How you missed the feeling.

Aemond, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to the change in weather. He stepped out to join you, one of his spindly hands reaching out to grasp the damp fabric around your waist, the other moving upward to tilt your chin so you’d look at him.

“How beautiful you are, ābrazȳrys,” he whispered, trailing kisses down from the corner of your lips to your jaw. The Valyrian word for wife was uttered with an extra husky tone. “The hour is quite early—the children are still fast asleep.” There was a rough, needy scratch to his voice, indiscreetly conveying his lustful intentions.

With a wanton grin, you replied breathily, “Fuck me in the rain, Aemond. Fuck me until I can’t wa—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Aemond was already shoving you up against the stone railing, his hot mouth slanted desperately over yours. You kissed him back with just as much vigor, curling one of your legs around his waist. Already, you could feel his length hardening, pressing against your lower stomach.

You moaned lewdly into his mouth when the hand that had been under your chin snaked further downwards to grasp at your breasts through the drenched shift, his nimble fingers pinching at your sensitive peaks. His other hand relinquished his grasp on your waist, slipping beneath the fabric between your thighs and running a finger through your folds. The action made you cry out, grasping his forearms for dear life.

“You’re already drenched for me,” Aemond susurrated, pulling away from your lips, which you had chased after with a sigh, littering kisses against your bobbing throat. “Ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Please, Aemond,” you croaked, needing more. “Please, I need you inside me.”

With a hum, Aemond swiftly shoved your damp shift up to bunch around your waist, leaving your lower half completely bare for him.

“Who am I to deny you, embar?” he whispered, biting the outside of your ear, before slowly sliding his leaking, throbbing length into your cunt. “Fuck! Mmh—you take me so well, sweet wife.”

Slowly, he began rocking into you, prideful at the way you rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Your shift, clinging against you like a second skin thanks to the rain, made the motions of your heaving, bouncing breasts all the more enticing. He ducked his head to freckle kisses over your chest as he thrust into you, murmuring praises into the wet fabric.

A clap of thunder drowned out the obscene noises the both of you were making.

Wildly, Aemond tore himself out of you, extinguishing the fiery complaints on the tip of your tongue by turning you over and pushing your stomach into the railing, so you could face the city. You were far too high up for anyone to clearly see, but the thrill of it was there, nonetheless.

Your husband slid back into you with a deep groan and a string of curses, sloppily pounding you from behind as he neared his peak. He wound an arm around you to languidly stroke at your pulsing clit, which had you bucking back into him with a surprised choke of his name.

It wasn’t long until you collapsed against him, your cunt clenching around his cock like a vice, white stars bursting out in front of your vision. Not too soon after, Aemond spilled himself within you, his hot cum dripping out of your core and down your thighs, panting against your shoulder.

“Mmh,” you moaned once he slowly pulled out, so as to not overwhelm you with overstimulation. “I do hope it rains in King’s Landing more often.”

“If it leads to more of this, then so do I,” Aemond replied, turning you around with gentle touches to kiss you soundly. “For now, how does a hot bath sound?”

Myra’s shrieks of laughter echoed across the large chambers as she clumsily ran away from Syraena, who was enacting a large, hungry dragon searching for her prey.

“Kepa, help me!” she screamed, scrambling to hide behind her father’s legs. Amused, Aemond picked up his youngest girl, setting her on his hip. His eldest clung to his shin, forcing Aemond to drag the both of them across the room as they squealed in delight.

“Faster!” Syraena ordered. Aemond made a mental note to tell Criston he was most likely going to be late for training today, knowing his girls probably wouldn’t let go of him for the next few hours.

On the other side of the chambers, you sat by your son next to the fireplace, sipping on a chalice of spiced apple cider. Kyrion was sprawled out on the expensive chaise, the corner of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on drawing on a piece of parchment with a coal-tipped pencil.

“Mother, look,” he said, pulling your attention away from your husband and the excited girls. The paper was pushed onto your lap, covered with black smudges and hastily drawn lines. “This is what I see in my dreams.”

You blinked, studying the drawings closer. “What is it, honey? Are those trees?”

His white hair flew every which way as he vehemently shook his head. His small hand pointed at the six figures, hovering a few inches above the uneven ground. “Those are people. They didn’t bend the knee.”

Horror’s dark fingers wrapped around your heart, and you reared back to stare at your son. “Kyrion, what is this? You… have you seen this?”

His pale violet eyes met your terrified ones. “In my dreams,” he repeated, voice soft and tame, as if he hadn’t just drawn a picture of six lords hanging from the gallows. “You don’t have dreams like those?”

Still in shock, you shook your head, mute.

Kyrion studied you for a moment longer, before grabbing another sheet of paper to start drawing again. “You’re lucky, mother. Sometimes I feel it.”

“Why is that, Kyrion? What else do you feel?”

The little boy shrugged. “The milk curdles, the blood spills.” He fell quiet after that, clearly done with the conversation.

Struggling for words, you blew out a long breath, before looking back at the parchment. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his head, patting down his short white curls, before standing up and making your way to Aemond, his drawing in hand. Myra had somehow ended up on his shoulders, yelling for help as Syraena jumped around, trying to catch her little sister’s flailing feet.

“Mama,” the young river dragon cried, reaching out to you with tearful purple-blue eyes. “Syraena bit me!”

True to her word, there were shallow teeth marks imprinted in her chubby shin. Syraena grinned at her handiwork, looking none too apologetic.

“Aemond!” you sharply reprimanded, which made your husband flinch at the sudden attention, puzzled as to why the blame was placed on him instead of Syraena. “Gods, did you just stand by and watch as your daughters mauled each other?”

“I was outnumbered, darling. They are vicious little things, our girls,” Aemond lightly replied, letting go of the golden-haired girl so she could cling onto you, sobbing into your neck. At your stern expression, Aemond added on, “Syraena, say sorry to your sister.”

With a quick tongue, she quickly said with years of rehearsed practice, “Sorry, Myra. Can I come watch you train now, Kepa?”

Before he could reply, you stepped in. “Ah-ah, Syraena. You need to go to the Septa and apologize for running away from your lessons yesterday. You may be excused from embroidery and dancing, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude.”

Glum, Syraena glanced at her father, who only beckoned her along. “Listen to your mother.”

With a heavy exhale, the silver-haired girl stomped out of the room to do as she was bid.

You traced your hand along the bite mark on Myra’s leg. “It’s not too bad, sweetheart. Go on—go ask your brother if you can draw with him.”

Sniffling, Myra slid down from your arms and waddled off to sit by Kyrion, who wordlessly scooched over to make space for his little sister.

“What’s wrong?” Aemond asked, noting the worry in your expression. The once light-hearted atmosphere seemed to dissolve away in an instant.

Pursing your lips, you handed over the drawing.

“Kyrion said he saw this in his dreams. People hanging… he said they didn’t bend the knee,” you whispered.

Aemond studied the coal-streaked parchment, eye narrowed. “Perhaps that’s all it was… just a dream.”

“Or it could be a vision. Your father said it himself—our son is a dragon dreamer,” you responded, gripping his forearm. “Aemond, I’m worried that war is upon us. Sooner than we think it is.”

There was little Aemond could truthfully say to comfort you, and so he simply drew you close, breathing in your homely scent—pleasantly noting that he could still smell the rain on you.

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured sincerely. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or our family. I’ll keep you safe.”

Blinking away the tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you pressed your nose against his throat. “I’m not sure you’d be able to, husband. Not in a war for the iron throne. Nobody is safe from that.”

Your law-sister, Helaena, had always harbored a gentle, sweet soul—a direct opposite to her brother and husband, Aegon. The very thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, made to squeeze out heirs for a monster of a man was already nightmarish enough… you couldn’t fathom what it was like for Helaena to endure such a life. Nonetheless, she was often as happy as one could be, dreamily smiling and murmuring unintelligible words to herself.

That evening you found yourself having tea with her, listening to her speak about the strange weather and the bugs she had found washed up in the gardens due to the rain.

“Many worms, yes,” she mumbled, fiddling with a wooden carving of a cockroach. “Worms and drowned ants. Ants and drowned worms. Beetles, as well, yes.”

You smiled, glancing at her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, playing with yours—though Kyrion wasn’t really playing with his cousins, more just standing in the shadows and silently watching his sisters play with them. He truly was a copy of his father, after all.

“The poor creatures,” you surmised. “Rid of their homes and families just because of a bit of rain.” A bit of guilt twinged within your chest—just earlier today, you had told Aemond you wished for it to rain more.

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” Helaena hummed, looking up at you with a mild grin. “Death gives way to more life. There will soon be new worms, new ants, new beetles. It’s simply the way of nature.”

You nodded, setting down your teacup. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just a shame that it has to happen in the first place.”

To your surprise and none of Aemond’s, all the childrens’ dragon eggs hatched within their cradles. They were growing larger and larger every day, being looked after by the dragon keepers before the children could ride them.

Today, Aemond took them down to the Dragon Pit, where his children were going to bond with their respective beasts. You were invited to come, as you always were when Aemond went off on his excursions with the kids, but you had wrinkled your nose and turned back to your book.

“I have no taste for stinking of dragon today, thank you,” you curtly replied, grinning down at your book. “Don’t you think Myra is a bit too young to bond with her dragon? She’s only three.”

“It doesn’t hurt to get acquainted,” he swiftly replied, before bending at the waist to slant a sweet kiss to your hairline, before taking his leave to head out of his chambers and wrangle his kids down to the Pit.

They were excited to go, Syraena most especially, practically sprinting down the corridors. He called out after her to slow down, but she paid him no mind.

The Dragon Pit smelled of smoke and charred meat and something distinctly dragon.

Keepers brought out the three dragonlings, playfully nipping at each other’s wings and yipping as if they were young pups.

The largest of the trio was named Aerion—Syraena’s dragon. He was a slender beauty, with shining black scales and sharp, crimson wing membranes. With the Keeper’s nod, Syraena confidently marched forward, stroking her dragon’s head, a toothy grin plastered across her lips. Aerion seemed to purr beneath her touch, plumes of grey smoke falling from his nostrils.

Next to come forward was Kyrion’s dragon, his rippling scales a dark shade of green and sharp eyes a molten amber. “Tyvaros,” Aemond heard his son mumble his dragon’s name. “Tyvaros.” A bit more timid, Kyrion hesitantly stepped forward and, with the Keeper’s approval, he reached out for the small green dragon. He was the calmest of the three, leaning forward to gently nudge his head against Kyrion’s shoulder.

The smallest of the hatchlings was Goldentooth, a pale, cream-hued dragon with aureate spikes running down her back and along her tail. She was Myra’s to claim, having been the very last to hatch.

“Go on, Qelbar.” He gently nudged his flaxen-haired daughter forward. River, he affectionately called her. “Don’t you want to bond with her?”

Myra nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I can’t see a reason why she wouldn’t like you,” he calmly responded, patting her back. “Your brother and sister are getting along with their dragons just fine. It took me a long time to bond with a dragon, as well. You’ll get there, eventually.”

His words seemed to instill some courage into her, and so she shuffled along to the last Keeper, murmuring hello to her dragon. It wasn’t long until the fear subsided, and the small dragon was already climbing all over her arms and shoulders.

After an hour of bonding, the Keepers were hoarding the dragons further down into the Pit for feeding, and in turn, Aemond took the children back up into the Keep. They all stank of dragon, something you definitely weren’t going to be happy with, but had wide smiles on their faces nonetheless.

There was a hearing carried out on the subject of the heir to Driftmark (which was settled in an unsettlingly gorey manner, courtesy of Daemon Targaryen), which meant Princess Rhaenyra and her sons were back in King’s Landing for quite a while, to Aemond’s displeasure. You, on the other hand, bore no ill-will to the Princess, and were rather excited for the royal dinner to be held the next day.

The night after Vaemond’s beheading, Kyrion had tugged on your skirts and asked if you could accompany him to the library so he could return his book.

“Alright,” you told him with a small smile. “But we must be quick about it—the hour grows late, and I can see how sleepy you are.”

The purple-eyed boy nodded, taking your hand as the two of you made your way down the dark corridors, to the library. When the both of you turned the corner, you nearly ran straight into Lucerys, jumping back in surprise.

“Oh, Gods! My apologies, my Princes,” you exclaimed, flustered at the sudden appearance of Rhaenyra’s sons. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Lucerys tilted his head. “No need to apologize, Lady Tully.”

“Targaryen. Tully is my maiden name—I’m married to Prince Aemond now,” you gently corrected.

“Evidently so,” said Jace, glancing at your son with a polite smile. “This must be my little cousin. Kyrion, isn’t it?”

The white-haired boy stared up at him with his pale eyes. “Ice and fire. Arrows and seas. Pacts and death. I saw you in my dreams.”

“Kyrion,” you hastily reprimanded, mortified that your son was speaking of death in front of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son, gathering the small boy up in your arms. “Sorry, he must be tired. It’s his bedtime—”

“He doesn’t look much like you, does he?” Lucerys observed, finding it eerily strange to be staring at a little boy that was a near carbon copy of the bane of his childhood.

Brows furrowing, you hesitantly replied, knowing the stale animosity between him and your husband, “I… I suppose not, my Prince. He takes after his father. My daughters, too.”

“Ah, then we must arrange to meet them. I’m sure your children would enjoy playing with my little brothers, Aegon and Viserys. They must be around the same age,” said Jace in an amicable manner.

Before you had a chance to respond, a familiar voice spat, “And why, pray tell, do you think I would ever allow my children near you and your filthy kin?”

Aemond appeared from out of the shadows, features set in one of cold fury. Both Jacaerys and Lucerys took a step back, shoulders stiffening. They had seen him training earlier today—it didn’t go past their notice that he had become incredibly skilled in combat over the years. In no way would either of them be a match for him.

Wary not to allow a fight to break out, you reached out to place a calming hand on his arm. “Aemond—” you gritted out.

“Leave us,” he growled.

Teeth gnashing together, you shook your head and whispered, “Aemond, I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us.”

“Take our son and go,” he said, more gently this time. To you, Jace and Luke were just boys—sweet boys with kind hearts. To Aemond, however, they were the monsters who took out his eye. They were a threat to him and his family’s safety.

Exchanging a worried glance between him and Jacaerys, who nodded at you to take your leave, you blew out a frustrated breath, before hastening away with Kyrion in your arms. It seemed the two of you would have to take a trip to the library another day.

Lowering his voice, Aemond calmly told the two brothers, “Speak to my wife or my children again, and I’ll have the both of you fed to my dragon.”

Luke swallowed nervously, but Jace stood his ground.

“Is that all, Uncle?” he challenged, eyebrows cocked.

Aemond fixed a sharp glare on them, nose upturned. With an irritated grunt, he turned and strode off after you, leaving the two bastard boys stunned and mildly confused in his wake.

Once he had made sure his girls were safely tucked in their beds, Aemond paid his son a visit, sitting by his side.

“I apologize for interrupting your trip to the library, water dragon,” he murmured, patting down the boy’s messy white curls.

Kyrion chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “Why don’t you like them, Kepa?”

Aemond’s single eye searched his son’s gaze, completely sincere in his curiosity. “A story for another time, when you’re older,” he replied. “Your mother said you’ve been drawing what you see in your dreams. Can you tell me about them?”

“Which ones?” he asked.

The one-eyed man felt sick at the thought of his little boy having to watch a thousand lives pass by in his visions, most having to inevitably end in death. It was a curse to be a dragon dreamer, he thought with a grimace. A burden.

“Whichever you want to tell me about, tresy.” Son.

Kyrion’s pale eyes seemed to mist over, and he fixed his gaze on a random candle across the room. “I see you wearing a crown. You sit on the Iron Throne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

It seemed his son had mistaken Aemond’s befuddled expression for anger, as he shrank away from his father with a frown. “I’m sorry, Kepa. Don’t be angry with me.”

Aemond softened. “I’m not angry, Kyrion. I was just… shocked.”

Not all of Kyrion’s visions came true, did they? Aemond tried his best to wrack his mind for the dozens of times his mystic ramblings lead to nowhere.

“I also see mother sailing away on a ship with Syraena and Myra. She looks sad,” he quietly spoke. “I don’t like that dream very much. Can I go to sleep now, Kepa?”

Blowing out a small breath, Aemond mustered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his worried eye. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, little dragon.”

Hastily, he stood back up on his feet, blowing out the candles around Kyrion’s chamber, before striding out the door. His head was spinning with a million thoughts at once, his son’s wispy voice echoing within his mind.

A crown on his head. His wife and his girls on a ship. Seven hells… what was to become of his family?

Myra was humming a sweet song of summer, chubby cheeks rosy with the warm breeze that blew through the Godswood. She was seated in front of you over a yellow blanket situated on the ground. In your hands, you were weaving the little girl’s golden hair into an intricate braid, small wildflowers slotted in between the crevices.

A little ways away from the both of you, Syraena was running circles around the Weirwood tree, fighting off invisible enemies with a long, wooden stick she claimed to be her sword.

“There you go, darling,” you said, patting Myra’s shoulders once you were done. “Syraena, come here! I want to fix your hair!”

Your eldest girl huffed and puffed as she stomped over, her short silver strands sticking up every which way. “What’s there to fix?” she grumbled, plopping down in front of you.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t foolishly sliced it all off with a shard of glass, it wouldn’t resemble an uneven rat’s nest sitting upon your head,” you reprimanded.

Giggling, Myra clapped her hands. “Rat’s nest!” she parroted.

Syraena scowled. “It’s not fair. You let Kyrion have short hair. I want to be a boy, like him.”

“If you wanted short hair, you could’ve just asked. Lailena would have gladly cut it for you,” you said, brandishing a wooden comb to gently run it through Syraena’s thin silvery strands. “Do you want to know what your father said when I was first pregnant with you?”

Syraena shifted with a grimace as you yanked at a knot in her hair. “What?”

“He said he didn’t care whether you were a boy or a girl. That you were his blood, regardless. His tempestuous sea dragon,” you said with a small smile, mimicking a sour face at her nickname. “And Kyrion came next, our tranquil water dragon. Then lastly, Myra, our sweet river dragon.”

When you were done, you had Syraena turn around so you could inspect her hairline, brushing back any stray bits of hair that escaped your comb. “All finished. Beautiful, handsome… I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetling.”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, nodding. “Can I go play knights with Jaehaerys now?”

“Go on,” you lightly nudged her away, an exasperated smile tugging at your lips, knowing full and well her hair was going to be all mussed in no less than half an hour of playing.

Before Syraena could get up and scramble away, however, a figure approached the three of you. She was clad in a black cloak, detailed with fine red thread in embroideries of flames and dragons. Golden jewelry decorated her pale skin, her long hair like sheets of pure snow.

The Princess Rhaenyra.

“Princess,” you breathily greeted, mind flashing back to last night, when you had bumped into her sons.

You were about to get up to bow, but Rhaenyra quickly said, “No need, Lady Y/N. My apologies, I wasn’t aware the Godswood was occupied. If you’d like to be alone—”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright, Princess. It’s a space to be shared, after all,” you said with a courteous smile.

Rhaenyra studied you carefully, her purple eyes taking in your form. It was a strange thing, she thought. You were married to her half-brother, and mothered her childhood friend’s grandchildren. A childhood friend that was her friend no longer.

With you, however, perhaps the story could be different.

A genuine smile graced the Princess’ lips. “These are your girls?” she asked.

The taller and older of the two most certainly took after her father, with her sharp features and silver hair, though she bore your eyes and your smile. The younger was plump with a softer face, and had more blonde than white hair, her large eyes a deep shade of violet.

“Yes, this is Syraena, my oldest. And this is Myra,” you told her. “My son Kyrion is in the library at the moment, with his father.”

“His father,” Rhaenyra echoed quietly, voice distant. The memory of little Aemond in front of her, eye slashed out, and Luke cowering behind her with a bleeding, broken nose flashed into her mind. Clearing her throat, she reeled herself back into the present by saying, “Your children are very beautiful. Have you considered any potential suitors for them yet?”

Your eyes widened simultaneously as Syraena’s head whipped up to stare at you.

“No,” you replied, a tad too quickly. “I don’t think I’d want to subject them to that until they come of age. Or until they want to.”

The Princess tilted her head to the side with a mild laugh. “If your daughters were anything like me when I was a teenager, then you’d find the latter quite a challenge.”

“Yes, Queen Alicent has told me of your youth… how you rejected nearly all the contenders for your hand,” you replied. “I can’t say I could relate. Aemond was my first and only suitor.”

She hummed in thought. “I only asked because I just had my sons betrothed to their cousins.”

Right. Jacaerys and Lucerys were to wed Baela and Rhaena.

So that was why she asked. She wanted to know if Alicent was scheming, just as she had been. Betrothals and weddings were equivalent to political currency in times of war.

“I don’t plan on wedding my children off any time soon,” you reassured her. From the corner of your eye, you could see Syraena’s shoulders loosen up. The prospect of marriage was not one she was particularly interested in.

“I see,” Rhaenyra said, though her face was much more relaxed now than before. “I shall go wash myself before supper tonight. I look forward to seeing you there.”

With that, she turned to take her leave. Myra looked up at you with a toothy grin. “Can I come with you to supper?”

“It’ll be past your bedtime,” you said, rising to your feet and picking her up to place on your hip. “But I promise we can spend the entire day together before that. Come on, Syraena, I’ll drop you off at Jaehaerys’ room.”

That evening’s royal supper was a disaster.

It started off well enough, with several toasts from the adults, and an additional one from Jacaerys dedicated to his uncles and his cousins’ good fortune. The King gave one long, hunkering speech on unity and the togetherness of the dragon’s house, wheezing through his words all the way.

Only then did the feast begin, consisting of a large assortment of roasted meats and soups and plates of steaming bread. There were also cold platters of appetizers passed around, full of cheeses, figs, and grapes. Viserys had barely eaten a bite before he had to be escorted back to his chambers, past his point of exhaustion.

Aegon had spent most of the dinner tormenting Jace and Baela on their future marriage. When he grew bored of his nephew’s stoic demeanor, he turned to you, his good-sister. It was evident the Prince was quite drunk as he blathered on and on about the most trivial topics as you gingerly drank your hearty soup, though you didn’t have much of a stomach for it anymore.

The last of the toasts came from Helaena as she congratulated Baela and Rhaena on their betrothals, subtly dunking on her husband before she drank with a dreamy grin.

Not too long after, music started playing, a symphony of strings and bells, and Jace had offered his hand to Helaena, much to Aegon’s dismay.

In an effort to retaliate, Aegon leaned close to your ear, placing a hand on your thigh beneath the table. You had jerked away from his touch, glancing at Aemond, who sat on your other side.

“Care for a dance with me, good-sister?” He smelled of wine and a general foul dampness.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s quite alright, my Prince. I don’t think you’re in a state to dance with me.”

“Nonsense, Lady Y/N, I am as sound as the day I was born!” he drunkenly hiccuped, words slurring together. His hand found its way back to your thigh, fingers gripping tighter this time. You tried to yank your leg away, nearly standing up with the effort.

Sensing your discomfort, Aemond growled out, “Leave my wife alone, brother.”

The song drew to a close, and Helaena returned to her seat, beaming brightly.

“Or what?” Aegon cackled, clearly enjoying seeing his brother get riled up. Thankfully, his hand slipped away from your leg to grip another chalice of wine. “What will you possibly—”

Before he could finish, Jacaerys stood between you and Aegon, offering his hand.

“If I could have this dance, Lady Targaryen?” he asked, emphasizing the family name in memory of your correction last night. His expression bore one of concern, obviously coming here to offer you an escape from Aegon.

Sparing a glance to your husband, who had taken to silently bristling, you nodded once.

“Of course, my Prince,” you said, taking his hand. Much to your satisfaction, Aegon had looked like he was struck across the face.

Off the two of you danced—spinning and twirling and laughing the entire time. Aemond was never too fond of dancing during the celebrations, always cautious of the stares, much preferring to dance with you in the privacy of your own chambers. Watching you openly have such fun with Jacaerys, however, made jealousy coil tight within his abdomen. You were smiling so widely—a smile that he had the joy of seeing every morning. To see it elicited because of his bastard nephew kindled an envious, green flame inside him.

Then came the pig.

And Lucerys’ none-too-discreet giggling.

Something in Aemond snapped.

The music halted as he slammed his fists onto the table, and his wife hastily stopped dancing with Jacaerys to see what the commotion was.

Of course, Aemond simply couldn’t help himself. In front of the entire family, he called his nephews Strong boys.

Pandemonium broke out. Jacaerys had let go of you to storm forward and land a punch on your husband, which seemed not to affect him in the least, shoving the brown-haired boy to the ground.

Aegon, eager to join the chaos, had grabbed Lucerys by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him into a searing platter of fish. “A gift for the new Lord of Driftmark!” he announced with a wild, manic grin.

In the end, Daemon had been the one to put a stop to the scuffle, staring down Aemond with raised brows. With a frustrated hum beneath his breath, your husband stormed out of the mess hall, making his way upstairs to your shared chambers.

You scrambled out after him, lifting your skirts to give you space to run. It was improper to leave without bidding the rest of the family goodbye, but then again… nothing about the dinner had been proper at all.

Once you had rushed into the room, Aemond roughly slammed the door shut, pushing you up against it. His fingers were already undoing the laces on your back, his lips sealing shut over yours.

“Aemond,” you murmured against him, lightly pushing at his chest. “Stop, for just a minute.”

Your husband pulled back at your request, single violet eye ablaze.

“What… Gods, why would you do such a thing? Why would you go out of your way to torment them?”

“You know very well why,” he quietly gruffed, reaching behind to pull off his eyepatch, tossing it onto a small table by the door, the sapphire in place of his lost eye gleaming dully beneath the moonlight. Your lips parted to ask him something else, but he cut you off by gripping your chin, whispering in a possessive fashion, “Hush, ñuha dōna embar. Seven hells, you’re more beautiful than ever. And you’re all mine.” My sweet sea.

“Don’t hush me!” you hissed, brows knitting together. “Aemond, Jacaerys will one day be the crown prince when Rhaenyra ascends the throne. It is not wise to provoke them in such a manner.”

Blowing out a heavy sigh, Aemond stroked your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “They’re bastards, my love. The throne is not theirs to take. And my sister… the realm will not accept her as their ruler. You know this, jorrāelagon.”

“They swore an oath! Our families swore oaths to her. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on becoming an oathbreaker,” you reminded, softening beneath his touch. “Aemond, I don’t want to fight with you. I just don’t want you to do that again. If not for me, then for our children. Don’t go picking fights where it’s not needed.”

Aemond shut his weary eye. If Myra had seen him tonight, she would surely be afraid of him.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I got caught up in my anger.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, soft and gentle, and Aemond wasted no time in reciprocating, pressing you back against the door. Off came your dress and down came your styled hair with Aemond’s skilled fingers. In no time, Aemond had your legs wound around his waist, his coat unbuttoned and shirked off somewhere behind him. Your drenched core was pressed right against his throbbing length, rock hard and leaking with pearly beads of precum.

“I love you, more than anything, more than life itself,” he murmured against your throat, gently nipping at the skin there. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Aemond,” you moaned wantonly when one of his hands snaked down to thumb at your clit. “Please, I’m yours, please fuck me.”

With a satisfied hum, Aemond planted a deep kiss onto your parted lips, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit into his bottom lip, eyes hooded. He lined his cock up, before sinking into you with one smooth motion, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck.

You held onto him for dear life when he began to rock into you, scratching faint crimson lines down his toned back. The pain seemed to only spur him on, and he shifted his angle to pound into you deeper, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the pleasure.

“Fuck!” he bit out. “So good, ābrazȳrys. Feels so good around me.”

He moaned when you clenched around him, his breath hitching when you slid your hands up into his hair and yanked with no abandon. In no time, he could feel you coming undone around him with a litany of colorful curses, shaking almost violently in his hold. In turn, Aemond came inside you with a shout of your name, rocking into you once, twice, thrice more.

Slow, he pulled out of you, watching the cum drip out of your spent cunt with great satisfaction. He kissed you sweetly, nose nudging against your cheek.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he softly said, carrying you across the room to set you down on the bed. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Mm, I love you,” you murmured. A ghost of a warm smile etched into the corner of his lips. He repeated the sentiment to you, but you had already drifted off to sleep before you could hear it.

King Viserys was dead. Rhaenyra and her children were gone, having flown back to Dragonstone earlier in the day.

And already, Aegon was to be crowned King.

You were none too happy about the turn of events, but you were to turn the cheek and play the part of the faithful wife, for the sake of your family and their safety. The lords who had refused to bend the knee to Aegon were either thrown in the dungeons or hanged, labeled as treasonous traitors to the realm. It was just like Kyrion had drawn, as he claimed to have seen in his dreams.

“A beast beneath the boards,” Helaena had constantly murmured, which frightened you to no end.

It was only worsened when Kyrion would reply with, “Bursting red, red in the sky, the sun in her mouth.”

Syraena was rupturing at the seams with a constant stream of questions—questions you had no such answers to. And your youngest daughter was crying the entire day, sensing the tense, fragile atmosphere. Your husband had gone to find Aegon in the slums of King’s Landing, who had unsurprisingly disappeared in thin air.

Not before long, he was dragged back into the Keep, and the coronation commenced above the Dragon Pit. The beast beneath the boards broke out only minutes after the crown was placed on his head. Hundreds of commoners and smallfolk were killed in the commotion. Princess Rhaenys rode her scarlet dragon, the Queen That Never Was mounted on the Red Queen of Dragons.

Aemond had shoved you back, protectively standing in front of you, though there was very little he could do. The both of you were immensely grateful the children were left in the castle with Lailena, safe from the chaos and the havoc. If you were to die today, you’d be dying in Aemond’s arms, knowing your children were safe for the time being—what better way was there to die?

But neither of you died that day, for Meleys had only screeched out a shrill warning, before clambering out of the Pit, and absconding to the clouds. Red in the sky.

Aemond had ushered you to the Keep, before hugging you tight in the secluded privacy of your chambers, genuinely terrified that he could’ve lost you.

The next day, he was already leaving again. He was to go to Storm’s End to broker a deal with Borros Baratheon: a marriage proposal between his brother Daeron and one of the Lord’s daughters. It seemed that betrothals truly were the realm’s political currency now.

“I want to come with you, Kepa,” Syraena said, staring up at her father with narrowed e/c eyes. “Let me come with you!”

Expression softening, Aemond ruffled her already-mussed hair. “It’ll be a quick trip. You can come to the next one, Syraena.”

The next goodbye was for his son, who hugged his father loosely. “An eye for a pearl,” he mumbled, too quiet for Aemond to hear.

Clutched to his leg, sobbing hysterically, was Myra, her cheeks damp and her dark, plum-hued eyes red-rimmed. “Oh, river, don’t cry for me. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

Finally, he turned to you, his hand on the back of your head as he kissed you, chaste yet passionate, and rested his forehead on yours. “Stay safe in here, my dear sea.”

“Storm’s End is wet and cold and… obviously stormy. Keep yourself warm. Don’t get struck by lightning, is all I ask, husband.”

“As you wish, love,” he whispered, before ducking his head to kiss your cheek. With a laugh, he pried his sweet girl away from his leg, lifting her up to chastely peck her forehead, and then handed her bawling form over to you. She was always this way when Aemond had to leave for longer than a day.

The four of you watched Aemond head out of the Keep. Unease roiled within your stomach with his absence.

“Three days for the pearl to wash ashore,” said Kyrion. There was a pallid tone to his skin, and he glanced at you with his large, pale eyes. “Mother, I’m scared.”

“Come,” you quickly said, ushering the children to their chambers. “Let’s go play with Auntie Helaena and Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, yes?”

It was late the next night when Aemond returned. The moon glowed in a sliver of its regular size, the crescent unnaturally bright in the dark sky, void of any stars. You were standing out on the balcony, sleeping shift rustling with the warm wind when the doors behind you creaked open.

Rainwater dripped from his cloak as he stepped in.

Drip, drip, drip.

His single eye was wide and haunted, expression so far that it seemed like Aemond wasn’t even in the same room as you.

“Aemond?” you called out, stepping back into the chambers and crossing the room in quick strides to greet him. “Gods, you're sopping wet. Are you alright?”

It was as if he didn’t hear you, staring at the ground with parted lips. There was an unfamiliar, raw sort of terror blanketed over his features, you could see it clear as ever. Your brows indented together, and you reached out to softly graze your fingers along his damp face.

At the gentle touch, Aemond snapped his gaze to you. His hands were shaking.

Finding yourself at a loss for words, you roped him into an embrace, clutching his drenched form tightly against yours, uncaring that you were getting soaked in the process. This seemed to break him out of his reverie, as he began to tremble violently, and his chest thundered with silent sobs. His nose went directly to your neck and you hushed him with your free hand stroking the back of his head.

“Aemond, my love, what happened?” you asked again.

This time, he tried his best to answer you. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what, darling?”

“Vhagar didn’t listen to me. I tried to stop her,” he croaked, pulling his ashen face away from the junction of your neck, searching your comforting face frantically. “I… I killed him. I killed Lucerys.”

Your lips parted in shock. There was little you could find to say—for what could you tell your husband, now a kinslayer? No amount of comforting words could fix a situation such as this.

When Rhaenyra would inevitably find out about her son, war would rain down upon you and your family.

With a thick throat, you tightly hugged Aemond again, tears gracing the corners of your own eyes.

The days passed in a blur. Aemond was quieter than ever before, regret painted over his sharp features each and every time you glanced at him. Once he told his mother, she had nearly gone down the same manic spiral, but steeled herself to deal with the Green council.

When Aegon heard of his nephew’s death, he threw a large, grand feast, inviting all the Lords and Ladies at court.

Neither you nor Aemond attended.

The fourth night after Aemond had returned from Storm’s End, you were in Kyrion’s chambers, brushing away his ivory curls with tender hands as he settled beneath his fleece blanket to go to sleep. Aemond was putting the girls to bed by reading them a story, as the both of them were more restless than usual as of late.

“Kyr, baby, I have a question for you,” you said, voice soft and hesitant. Should you really be asking your son this? When Kyrion tilted his head in a silent motion for you to continue, you cleared your throat. “In your dreams… Did you see what happened to your cousin, Lucerys?”

Your son nodded once, biting at the inside of his cheek, a habit that he seemed to share with you.

Before you could ask him what he saw, there was a sudden, dull thud heard outside, followed by the familiar screech of steel. Fear wound its cold, dark hands around your pulsating heart.

The door flung open so quickly that the hinges whined in protest. Your eyes fell upon the two guards in front of Kyrion’s chambers, sprawled over the cobblestone floor, dark ichor leaking out of slit throats. Two looming figures stood in the doorway. One large and burly, the other short and thin as a twig.

You had no time to react, for a second later, the small one had darted forward, seizing you with surprising strength, brandishing coarse rope from thin air and binding your limbs together with tight knots, doing so with just one hand as his other was tightly sealing your mouth so you wouldn’t be able to scream for your husband, for more guards, for anyone. The other large man slammed the doors shut and barred them with one of his many swords he was carrying. The one holding you roughly gagged you with a cloth as soon as he pried his hand off, tying the ends around the back of your head. You gagged when your tongue registered the taste of coppery, day-old blood and sweat.

Despite the hindrance, you screamed your throat raw through the cloth anyway, kicking furiously and struggling in desperation against the small man, who was adamant on keeping you rooted to one spot. Your yells came out muffled and guttural, but not nearly loud enough to alert anybody outside, seeing as the closest people to the chambers were now dead.

Your son whimpered out for you, but he remained quiet after that, his pale mauve eyes wide as he fixed his gaze upon the large, brutish man who slowly approached him.

“Don’t be scared, little fish,” the mousy man sneered gripping your cheeks so you’d be forced to watch your little boy cower further beneath his covers. “We’re simply debt collectors, you see. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We just want ‘im. Won’t hurt one hair on your pretty lil’ head, ey?”

“NO!” you sobbed, struggling thrice-fold against him, to no avail. “Take me! Please, not my son!” you screamed, though it sounded like nothing but incoherent wailing through the dirty cloth.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as the large man tightened his grip on his longsword. The other hand reached out for your son, dragging him out of bed by the scruff of his sleep shirt so he dangled nearly a meter away from the ground.

“Don’t look, mother. I don’t want you to see it,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear through the thundering of your pulse in your ears, making your knees buckle. “I saw it in my dreams.”

With one strike, the man lopped Kyrion’s head clean off.

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment. You screamed through the cloth, sobbing as you painfully crumpled to the ground, the gangly man finally releasing you. The blood… your son’s blood… his bed was covered with it. The walls behind him, the floor, the books on his desk…

Red, everywhere…

The two monsters had taken Kyrion’s head, the large man’s crimson-flecked fist gripping your son’s pearly-white curls, both fleeing the chambers in a blink of an eye.

You sobbed against the ground, inching your way to your son with your bonds digging into you. You didn’t care. It was nothing compared to the pain within your chest.

“Kyrion,” you wailed through the cloth, using your shoulder to roughly shove it down your lips, letting it fall around your neck, tearing the corner of your mouth in the process.

The entire Red Keep seemed to awaken with your grief-stricken scream. You kneeled your head against your little boy’s decapitated body, sobs wracking through your entire form.

That was what Aemond had rushed into, hearing the echoes of your cries from far away. He’d locked the girls’ rooms before coming, fearing the worst.

Upon seeing you on the ground, hovering over his murdered son, Aemond collapsed to his knees beside you, gathering his broken, shaking wife in his arms as he tugged you away. With trembling fingers, he undid the ropes around you, allowing you to throw your arms around him freely.

“Look away, jorrāelagon,” he said, voice uneven as he began to cry with you. “Look away.”

His words made you sob even harder… your son had told you to do just the same.

When Criston Cole came rushing in with Alicent Hightower, Aemond had immediately got to his feet, murderous revenge painted across his features. He helped you up, still crying hysterically.

“Mother, escort Y/N to our daughters’ chambers. Get a dozen guards to man the door. I’ll find our son’s murderer, and I’ll kill him myself.” He began striding away, Criston hot on his heels.

You called out for him, voice hoarse with overuse.

Pausing in his steps, Aemond turned his head ever so slightly, but didn’t meet your gaze. He blamed himself, of course he did. He was ashamed, because it was his fault his son was dead. It was his fault he couldn’t protect him—that he couldn’t protect you.

It seemed that Aemond was far too blinded by his rage to learn from his mistakes.

“I need you here, please! Please, Aemond, please don’t go,” you sobbed, leaning your weight against Alicent, who had taken to cradling you against her chest.

A muscle in your husband’s jaw jumped. A tear slipped down from his only eye, and he continued to walk away, determined to bring justice to his son. It felt as if a searing hot knife had pierced through his chest and twisted when he heard your despaired cries ricocheting off the stone halls of the Keep.

Revenge, was all he could think of, cold anger dancing along the dark shadows of his face. If it is a war they want, it is a war they shall have.

a/n ; hey !! thank you for reading this fic until the end <3 means so much to me! i made some picrews of what i visualize the kids to look like so here you go !! they're all aged up, ofc.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen fic #aegon targaryen x reader

2K notes · View notes

toournextadventure · 11 months

Text

movie night pt iii

Summary: Third time's a charm, and you finally get Tara. Well. You kind of get Tara.

Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: swearing, smut (cunnilingus, fingering), mention of scars, vague gun mention, violence Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

“Come on, Danny, help me out,” you pleaded as you continued to peel potatoes as aggressively as you possibly could.

Danny sighed and placed the ladle down before leaning his hip against the counter. You knew he wasn’t in the mood to put up with your shit, but you didn’t care. He was supposed to be helping you! If he hadn’t wanted to help you for the rest of your lives then he wouldn’t have given you a place to stay when your last roommate got you both evicted.

“I can’t help you plan a date,” he said with another sigh. “That’s up to you.”

“I helped you with Sam,” you said, pointing the knife at him menacingly. Okay, maybe not so menacing, but you pointed it at him anyway. “The least you can do is help me with her sister.”

“I’m not having you ruin my chances with Samantha,” he said with a raised brow. “If you want to get laid, figure it out on your own.”

“Not once did I mention getting laid,” you grumbled as you quickly went back to peeling.

The kitchen went silent once again as you both continued your predetermined duties. Although you had the itching desire to toss a few potato peels at Danny for refusing to help you. You had helped him so many times in his attempts to win Sam over, and this was how he repaid you? By making you work for it?

It was downright rude and un-American.

“I’m inviting Sam over on Friday night,” Danny said when you finished dumping the pathetically diced potatoes in the pot.

“Stop rubbing it in,” you said.

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I’m giving you a time you can do something with Tara.”

You looked at him with an expressionless face. What was that supposed to mean? He couldn’t just tell you things like this without giving you context beforehand. What did him inviting Sam over have to do with you doing something with Tara? Nothing, that’s what. Why couldn’t he just-

“-Without getting caught?” He said.

Ohhh.

“You’re a genius, you know,” you said with a smile.

“I know,” he said with a pat on your shoulder.

It didn’t take long after that night to get a hold of Tara and tell her of your fantastic, unstoppable, irresistible plan.

“Absolutely not,” Tara said with a shake of her head.

“I promise you Sam won’t even know,” you insisted. “I’ll be like a thief in the night.”

“That’s not as cool as you think it is,” she said with a single raised brow.

“I never said I was cool,” you said with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Just let me come over on Friday.”

“And what are you going to do if Sam catches you?” Tara asked as she came to a stop at the corner of the street. “I don’t think she’ll be so nice a second time.”

“She won’t catch me,” you said with a shrug. “And if she does then she can go all Loomis on me.”

Tara gave you the most unimpressed look you thought you had ever seen in your life.

“This is why she hates you,” she said.

“And she thinks I’ll get us killed,” you pointed out.

“You do know you’re not making your point, right?”

“Just say yes!” You practically whined, even going so far as to stomp your foot like a petulant child for good measure.

“Fine,” Tara huffed. “You can come over on Friday.”

“Yay,” you said in a surprisingly normal tone with a little smile. “It’s a date.”

“Not a date,” she defended before starting to walk away. “And stop being weird about it!”

“See you soon, bestie!” You called out, laughing to yourself when you saw Tara’s tiny hand raise just enough to flip you off over her shoulder.

Friday evening simultaneously came too soon, and not soon enough. You had gotten all the ingredients you would need, Quinn had agreed to stay out for the night, and you were more than prepared. Physically, at least. But mentally, you were a wreck. It was a guaranteed night alone with Tara, but what if she didn’t actually like you all that much? What if it was too much alone time and she realised just how incredibly annoying you were?

What if Sam was right about hating you?

Oh god, Sam was probably right.

No, you shook the thoughts out of your head when you approached the stairwell to Tara’s apartment. It was 15 minutes after Danny was supposed to gather Sam, so there was little chance of getting caught. All you had to do was get to the apartment, have the perfect date (again), and get the girl.

You got this in the bag.

“Why do you look so focused?”

Your smile fell when the door opened before you could knock. Tara was standing in the doorway in the shirt she had stolen from you just the other week. Just like that day, she looked stunning. The shirt hung just a little too low and was just a little too big and oh. Oh, maybe you just liked seeing her in your clothes.

Oh no.

“Are you gonna come in, or just stand there looking like an idiot?” Tara asked, drawing you out of the staring that you had inevitably been doing.

“Obviously I’m coming in,” you said as you rolled your shoulders back and pushed past her into the apartment. “You want dinner, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I trust you to cook,” she said before you heard the door close behind you.

You dropped your bag on the kitchen floor. “I’m a phenomenal cook, just you wait and see.”

“As long as it’s better than your movie taste,” she said when she plopped herself into the chair at the table.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a brat?” You asked, turning around from your unpacking just long enough to meet her eyes. Her stunning, hypnotising eyes. Focus!

“You, actually,” she said with a shrug. A nonchalant shrug that would have been believed if you didn’t see the slightest crinkle at the corner of her eyes.

“Just for that, I’m poisoning your food,” you said as you very nearly pointed the knife at her. But the way her eyes darted to the knife then back at you had you reconsidering. You gave her a soft smile instead and turned back to the counter.

Conversation flowed easily while you prepped and cooked. Mostly about movies, occasionally about school, even more rarely about life outside both of those topics. At one point Tara even went and grabbed her laptop to put on one of her new favourites; something called Pearl. Just the start of it told you it wasn’t going to be your favourite but the excitement on her face as she watched it was more than enough for you.

“Here,” you said softly before placing a plate in front of Tara, who was very much still into the movie. She looked up at you and gave you a quiet “thank you” before looking back down at the movie.

It didn’t take much longer before the end credits started to roll and Tara sat back in her chair with a smug grin. She had barely picked at her food and looked like she was about to prove something. About the movie, about your cooking, about you. Though you didn’t really care because the absolute relaxation on her face was worth every moment of your life.

“What did you think?” She asked, finally looking at you with that half-smirk that she did when she was feeling a little too confident.

“It was good,” you bluffed. Effortlessly, you might add.

“Oh yeah?” You nodded. “Then what was your favourite part?” Fuck. “The part with the scarecrow, or the gunfight?”

Okay, maybe she was calling your bluff. Maybe you hadn’t paid attention to the movie even in the slightest. All you knew was it was a horror movie, and that was only because it was almost the only genre Tara watched. But you could be forgiven for not paying attention when she was right there looking like a complete snack. Fuck a snack, she looked like the whole damn meal!

Time to make a choice.

“Definitely the gunfight,” you said with a decisive nod.

“Really?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

“Y- uh, yeah,” you nodded again. Too many times, in fact. “It was hella dope.”

“Hella dope, huh?” Tara asked, now with raised brows.

She stared at you, searching through your very soul for what, you had no idea. And for a moment you thought you could see into hers. See through those dark brown eyes and into the trauma and love that she undoubtedly was desperate to show. But the longer she stared, the more your skin started to crawl, and you bit your bottom lip for a second before breaking eye contact.

“There was no gunfight, was there?”

“Oh absolutely not.”

“I can explain.”

“Lay it on me.”

You opened your mouth to tell her some bullshit excuse; why would you openly admit you were too busy staring at her instead of the movie? That she was the reason you hadn’t even cooked properly, because you were so entranced by everything about her. The way she leaned forward at the good parts, or the scrunch of her nose when there was excessive gore, or her eyes darting back and forth across the screen. It would be so much simpler just to tell her you didn’t care for the movie because it was subpar and the score was mediocre.

But then she lifted her hand to rest her chin on it, and you caught sight of the scar on her hand, and your mind started racing. She had been so hesitant to let you see any part of her because, and this was your assumption, of the scars she had. You knew she had them, she was painfully aware, but that didn’t mean she wanted you to see them. Insecurity, maybe, and yet you were still going to deprive her of something that not only did she probably need to hear, but that you were desperate to tell her?

“I-.” You cleared your throat. “I was thoroughly distracted by how stunning you look.” Tara’s face fell into one of disbelief. “And I liked watching your reactions far more than the movie itself.”

“You’re so full of shit,” she said with a shake of her head and a move to stand up. “If you didn’t like the movie you can just say so.”

“I’m serious,” you defended, quickly following suit and standing up from the table right alongside her. She was already making her way to the living room. “Tara, wait.”

“Tell me you didn’t like it,” she said without turning around, “but don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying- just stop moving.”

You reached out to grab her arm, as gently as you could yet still able to get her to stop moving. It broke your heart when you heard her breath caught in her throat at the move, but she still turned around nonetheless. There was something in the look she was giving you, something both terrified and hopeful.

“I’m not lying,” you said, lifting your hand slowly to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re beautiful, Tara.”

“You think so?” She asked, her gaze holding your own.

“Yeah,” you said with a small nod and your eyes falling to her slightly parted lips. “Yeah I do.”

“Then show me,” she said softly.

And oh how that look in her eyes could smother you under the weight of everything they were trying to say. But she didn't need to say anything, not when you leaned down and brushed your lips against hers. She wasted no time in pulling you the rest of the way with her arms around your neck; she half tasted of the cheap wine you had brought. The other half tasted of hope.

You let Tara take the lead, pulling you with her until the back of her knees hit the couch and she fell onto it, bringing you with her. The jolt caused your teeth to clack against hers and you both couldn't stop the small laughs from bubbling up. Her hushed laugh fanned across your face and for a moment you weren't on a third attempted date. You were in your own apartment with a movie in the background and half drunk beers on the table as your soul entangled itself with hers.

Tara's hands trailed down from your neck, across your chest and down your stomach until sliding under your shirt, nails lightly raking across your skin to cause a shiver. You could feel her smile against your lips as she did it again, only stopping when you nipped at her bottom lip before kissing her again.

"Take it off," she whispered as she tugged on the bottom of your shirt.

"There's no rush," you said with a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"My shirt always comes off first," she said a little more forcefully. "It's your turn."

"Impatient," you grumbled but still sat up on your knees, practically straddling Tara's small frame.

You could feel her eyes boring into you, watching you with bated breath as you grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled it over your head. It wasn't the sexiest way to undress, closer to the way a frat boy would do it, but it got the job done. Once the shirt was off and in your hands you looked around, at a complete loss of where to put it. It wasn't your apartment, you couldn't just toss it somewhere!

"Just get rid of it already," Tara said, her hands quickly finding their way to your waist.

"I don't want to make a mess," you said with a frown. "I'll fold it, one sec."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes I’m ser-"

"-oh my god."

Tara quickly took the shirt from your hand and threw it over the back of the couch. You tried to find where it had landed but felt those small hands on your waist pull you forward, making you lose your balance and fall forward until you were face to face with a smirking Tara once again. God she was irresistible- you meant irritating!

"That's better," she said, her eyes shamelessly trailing over your now exposed body.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," you said with a raised brow.

"The lights are on," she said, a little softer, almost even hesitant.

"Here," you said just as softly, "I'll show mine first."

"What do you-"

Her words fell off as you sat up and twisted enough to show her the scar between your shoulder blades. It wasn't as deep as hers had been, certainly no stab wound, but it was nice and visible. And just showing her at that moment was enough to make you realise that oh, oh that was how she felt about her own.

"What happened?" She asked. You felt her fingers brush lightly against the skin. Unlike hers, there was no feeling in the dead tissue.

"I was at a protest a few years ago and it got violent," you said with a shrug. "Some prick decided to use lethal rounds."

"Holy shit," you heard her whisper as she sat up, her hands still tracing the large area of scar tissue. You couldn't feel it, but just the thought had you shivering under her touch.

"So see?" You said, finally turning back around to look at her now that she was much closer again. "It ain't no thing."

You kept looking at her as you let yourself fall back to the couch, now sitting with your legs tangled with Tara's. She wasn't looking at you, more looking at the spot right beside you, and you started to wonder if you had done the wrong thing. You hadn't been trying to say her injuries and trauma weren't anything significant; they were and you respected it. Fuck, maybe you shouldn't have shown her, you didn't want her to-

-with the utmost hesitancy, her hands fiddled with the hem of her shirt for only a moment before she pulled it over her head, tossing it behind the couch much like she had yours. But instead of just letting you look, she crossed her arms over her stomach and refused to look at you.

“Hey,” you said softly as you reached out to brush your thumb against her bottom lip. Finally she looked at you with wide eyes. “Lay down and close your eyes.”

She opened her mouth to say something - probably to argue - but closed it and nodded once. Her eyes fell closed first before she let herself lean back on the couch, her arms still wrapped around your stomach. You waited until she got herself comfortable before making your move.

With the gentleness of someone holding glass, you lifted Tara’s hands and rested them on the couch. The muscles of her stomach twitched from the lack of warmth and you could see her eyes clench tighter, but she let you do it. You left one hand on hers, turning it around so you could hold it while you finally looked down on her.

She was no less beautiful than you had believed. If anything, she was even more so. Her tanned, lightly freckled skin was soft and unbearably warm under your touch. It was marred only by the myriad of scars littering her body, each one telling a different story. Some frenzied, some shallow, some deep, all of them holding a trauma that you couldn’t ever imagine.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered more to yourself than to her.

Your eyes were still studying the scars, leaving a mixture of feelings swirling in your gut. A sadness for the trauma inflicted, for the lingering effects that Tara would never be able to get rid of whether she wanted to or not. But also an anger that you knew if you allowed it, would set an inferno in your chest that would grow until you combusted.

Tara squeezed your hand lightly and you quickly looked back up to see her eyes open and focused on you. Her eyes were still wide, but they didn’t look quite so fearful anymore. No, they almost looked curious, maybe even happy if you were going to push it. Why would she look at you like that? Did she still not believe you?

But then her other hand grabbed you by the belt and pulled you forward until you were on top of her again. You barely had time to catch yourself before she pulled you down the last little bit, holding you in a kiss that was different from the others. It wasn’t as desperate or mindless; there was emotion behind it.

“Help me take these off,” Tara mumbled against your lips. You looked down briefly before quickly doing a double take when you saw her pushing her shorts down her hips.

“Wait wait, what about foreplay?” You asked as you locked eyes with her.

“Are you serious?” She asked, her hands stilling in their movements.

“Foreplay is no joking matter, Carpenter,” you said with a raised brow. “It has many uses-”

“-do you want me to get too in my head and stop?” She interrupted you. “Or do you want to fuck me?”

“You’re so bold,” you whispered without a care if she heard you or not.

“Well?”

“This feels like a trick question.”

“Y/N.”

“Okay okay,” you said with a roll of your eyes as you sat up and yanked her shorts past her hips and down her legs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You talk way too much,” Tara said as you settled yourself and threw one of her legs over your shoulder. “Has anyone ever- fuck.”

Her eyes fell shut as you instantly licked a single broad strip, adding a bit more pressure once you reached her clit. The hand still holding yours squeezed when you left a few kitten licks on her clit, just testing the waters. If she was going to rush you, then you were going to find out what made her tick. No better time like the present, right?

The slow, broad licks made her let out light, breathy moans. Her body would sink further into the couch and she would almost seem to relax. But then the fast licks on her clit had her thighs shaking and her back arching and her breathing quicken. She wouldn’t moan, but she would tense up and you could almost hear a whine stuck in her throat.

And when you wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked lightly? Oh, now that was what pulled the most delicious sounds from her lips. You did it again, feeling her thighs press against your head and keep you still, when you finally put your free hand to good use. Slowly so as to give her time to push you away or tell you no, you teased a single finger against her entrance.

“Please,” Tara whined, and you looked up to see her eyes still clenched shut and her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath.

“Please what?” You asked. It took everything in you not to laugh when she groaned, a frown suddenly appearing on her face.

“Please just fuck me alre- christ,” she interrupted herself when you slid that single finger inside her.

There was no time to tease her about it, not when you were absolutely mesmerised by the sight of your finger sliding in and out of her, already completely coated in her arousal. Had you really gotten her so worked up? You supposed so, but that didn’t make it any less hypnotising, especially when you could feel just how tight and wet she was.

“Fuck, Tara,” you mumbled as you added a second finger.

“Don’t tease,” she said with a huff.

Well, how could you say no to such a request from such a pretty girl? You continued your movements as you leaned back down, now focusing all your attention on her clit. Those short, targeted licks mixed with the curling of your fingers had her gripping your hand like it was her lifeline. You could vaguely hear some sort of ringing in the background but chalked it down to Tara’s thighs squeezing around your ears.

She was well and thoroughly wound up when you wrapped your lips around her clit again, sucking lightly and flicking your tongue in just the right way to have her thighs shaking. All you had to do was add one more curl of your fingers and she came undone beneath you, a mix of moans, your name, and expletives leaving her mouth as you continued your ministrations, helping her ride out her orgasm for as long as possible.

You waited until her grip on your hand lightened before you stopped, slowly pulling your fingers out of her before licking them clean, doing your best to maintain composure at her taste, which you swore you could get drunk off of. Something rang again, but you still paid it no mind. After all, how could you when the girl of your dreams was underneath you with sweat-coated skin and a blissed out look in her droopy eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” you said, your eyes trailing over her once again.

“Just shut up and-” something rang again, “-Oh my god.” Tara practically pushed you off of her as she rolled over and grabbed her phone off the floor. “What do you want, Sam?”

Oh shit, you thought as you sat up quickly. Did she know you were there? No, she couldn’t, she was supposed to be with Danny and you knew they were fucking. They were both secret horndogs, there was no way they had stopped long enough for Sam to figure out that you were in her apartment.

“Sam, slow down,” Tara said, her brows now furrowed. “What’s going on?”

You looked out the living room window just in time to see Sam and Danny looking in. Fuck. With a sigh, you got up and went to the window, looking out at them and giving them an embarrassed smile. At least you were still covered; that had to count for something, right?

But Sam and Danny didn’t wave back. They were gesturing and shouting and they looked borderline frantic. What were they so worried about? Tara shuffled around and quickly stood beside you, now covered by your shirt that hung just low enough to hide that she wasn’t wearing pants.

“If this is about Y/N being here then I’m not-”

“-behind you!”

You turned around at Sam’s frantic screaming and let out your own yelp as a large, shiny knife sliced through the air. Adrenaline rushed through your body the same as it had that night at the protest, and everything slowed down. You pushed Tara aside, vaguely aware of her tripping over a table as you yourself stepped back, the intruder flailing forward.

He got up and turned around, looking this way and that to find his target. The moment his body turned to face Tara, your mind was only focused on one thing. One thought repeating itself over and over and over. His knife-wielding hand lifted.

You didn’t bother looking around for the best thing to use; you just grabbed the closest thing to you and lifted it above your head. He was taller than you, but that didn’t stop you from bringing it down on his head as hard as possible. The item shattered and he fell back to the ground in a comical fashion.

“Come on,” you said as you darted forward, grabbing Tara by the hand and pulling her along with you.

“Wait, we need to stop him-”

“-Get moving,” you interrupted, throwing her apartment door open and shoving her in front of you.

You didn’t give her the chance to stop as you practically pushed her down the stairs, acutely aware that you didn’t have her inhaler. Surely she would be okay until the police arrived and you could go grab it from her room. What was more important was keeping her alive, out of the apartment, and that lunatic away from her.

“Tara!”

Sam and Danny were already outside when you pushed Tara out of the apartment building, barely noticing her stumble down the stoop until she was safely secure in Sam’s arms. You spun around, tripping on your own feet as you looked at the front door, waiting for someone to come out. You hoped he would; you dared him to.

“Are you okay?” Danny asked, his hand on your shoulder and trying to turn you.

“Was he watching us?” Tara asked, a sob audibly caught in her throat.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” Sam said through her own tears.

He hadn’t come down the stairs yet. There was nowhere else for him to go. He wasn’t going to get away.

“Hey,” Danny said again.

The air tasted metallic.

“Y/N!”

Large hands grabbed you by the shoulders and forced you to turn away from the door, now facing Danny. There was a fear in his eyes that you didn’t think you had ever seen before. Why was he afraid? You had it handled, you were going to kill the fucking bastard and keep Tara safe and-

“-you’re bleeding,” Danny said.

You furrowed your brows at the same time Tara fell silent. No you weren’t, you hadn’t even gotten hurt. It must have been that lunatic’s blood, you had brained him pretty good. He hadn’t even touched you, that was impossible.

But you followed Danny’s eyes and saw a new wound on your bicep, leaking enough blood to signify a decent wound. When had that happened?

“The police and paramedics are on the way,” Sam said as Tara wormed her way out of her arms.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked as she lifted her hands to your arm, stopping just before she touched you.

You met her eyes and felt your heart drop as you saw every emotion known to man cross her eyes. Anger, fear, desperation, worry, a mix of everything. With a slow, deep exhale, you reached out and pulled her into a hug, ignoring the way your bicep screamed at the strain as the adrenaline started to fade and everything came back into focus.

Ghostface had attacked you and Tara in her own apartment.

He was supposed to be dead.

Ghostface had attacked you and Tara.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

1K notes · View notes

l0vergirlv0mit · 6 months

Text

Bags

Song to go with: Bag by Clairo ❤️

Pairing: College!Hazel Callahan x Reader

Summary: you’ve been in love with your best friend for years. Watching her date people sucks especially when one of the absolutely despises you.

Contents/warning: Switch!Hazel x Switch!Reader, fingering, oral, pet names, nipple play, cursing, threats, light? violence (nothing gory), sm yearning.

A/n: for the dorm imagine Buffy and willows dorm from btvs<3. Also reader isn’t fem but also isn’t masc but is definitely masc leaning. for my in between girlies 😘.

You alarm clock rudely wakes you up with an incessant buzz. Hitting it a bit to hard it falls off your night stand making you groan into the sunlit room. You sit up with squinted eyes not noticing that Hazel was still in the dorm. “Well good morning sleepy head.” She smiles at your groggy state.

You wake up just enough to snatch the alarm clock of the ground and punch it off. “Ughhh good morning.” Your eyes finally adjust to the light fully taking Hazel in. She was still in her pjs wearing a white wife pleaser and low waisted grey sweats. “Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” You ask her confused as to why she was skipping her morning class.

“I should but Anya had me up till 2.” She clasps her hands around the back of her neck. She still had her tired raspy voice probably having woken up a couple minutes before you. “Oh god spare me.” Suppressing an eye roll you got up from the bed and grabbed your towel, getting ready to go to the showers. Anya pissed you off to no end.

And it wasn’t because she was dating the person you wanted more than anything (maybe a little bit). It was her glares and her back handed compliments that she gave you any chance she could. How she would snap at people over anything and everything she was extremely abrasive.

Your friends tried to explain that that was just her personality but you didn’t function like that you were quiet and sweet. Both didn’t mix well so she tended to single you out. Always trying to push you out of your comfort zone by teasing and getting a rise out of you. You can barley ask a waiter for ketchup let alone defend yourself. But you refuse to tell Hazel about her behavior because she was happy. She was so sweet to Hazel and that made you most livid.

“Not like that y/n we went out for our 4 months.” She grinned at your scrunched face. “How fun nothing says I love you like sleep deprivation.” She raises her eyebrows at your grouchy mood with a soft smile still on her lips.

“Oh wow someone’s moody, anyway Josie was texting the group chat about a going to the bar tonight are you gonna come?” Hazel asks you hoping you’d say yes because you never go out. “Mmm I’ll think about it Haze Ill probably have a lot of work to do.” Hazel sighs. “Pleaseeee you never come out with us anymore.” She give you a pleading look. “I have a lot of today I’ll let you know if I’m up for it.” You giggle at her childish tone and pat her shoulder then leave the dorm.

—

You let Hazel know you were coming and put your phone down and change out of your work clothes. Your style has always been a bit more grungy and masculine only really dressing a bit feminine for special events or outings.

You put on your favorite baggy black jeans that hung off your hips so beautifully. Then put on a spaghetti strap tank top and a long sleeve over it made of black mesh and lace that was completely see through. You left your hair messy and smudged black shadow and liner on your eyes. Finishing off your outfit by putting on your black docs.

Hazel was already with the group so you drove yourself to Josie, PJ, and Isabel’s shared apartment. You found your way to the apartment door knocking timidly. You rock back and forth on your feet waiting for someone to open the door.

When someone finally does it’s her. She doesn’t talk to you directly. “Y/n is here now guys can we finally leave?” She says not letting you in yet talking to YOUR friends behind the door.

Hazel quickly comes to the door and smiles brightly at you pulling you in by your hand . “Oh wow someone’s trying to get lucky tonight.” Hazel softly says nudging you. This earns you a glare from Anya.

The group sits in the living room area to catch up before heading out. Everyone’s talking but your mind is elsewhere. You’ve always been the quieter one of the group so your lack of conversation goes unnoticed.

You can’t help but stare at Hazel and Anya. A deep grief blooms in your chest. Hazels arm around Anya protectively. Anya tucks a piece of hair behind Hazels ear and kissed her on the cheek. Hazels face becomes so soft and loving it tears you apart wishing so bad that you were Anya. Hazels hand travels to her waist to pull her closer just to top it off.

You look at Anya for a bit taking in how perfect and pretty she is. She’s so feminine and put together. She was everything you would never be. She had on a full face of makeup that was perfectly done and a dress that hugged in all the right spots. She was an absolutely gorgeous girl.

You were only pulled out of this haze by Josie putting her hand on your knee. Knowing exactly what was going through your mind. You had drunkenly told her about your 2 year long crush on Hazel in a club bathroom. You look back at her with glazed over eyes and squeeze her hand as a silent thank you.

“Are you guys ready to get wasted cause I am.” Josie announced and pulled you up with her off the couch. She looks to you and smiles trying to change the mood that’s setting in. You smile back but felt suffocated anyway and had to leave. Everyone excitedly agrees and heads over the bar.

—

This bar was THE bar all the college kids go there to find hookups and get drunk. The group gets drinks to loosen up but you decide to hold off for tonight. You let your friends make you dance their tipsy state amusing you. You move timidly at first but the encouragement from your friends has you swaying to the music.

You danced with Britney trying to absorb her confidence in some way. When Hazel comes over to playfully dance with you twirling you around and giggling. She saw your shyness and was trying to remedy it.

She made you sway with her hands on your waist. It was all friendly and playful and you were best friends so it wasn’t unusual behavior.

Nonetheless you felt your face get warmer at her proximity. Anya was staring from the bar after telling Hazel she didn’t feel like dancing. Anya really thought Hazel was just going to sit there and watch all of her friends dance instead.

Anya quickly changed her mind though. Seeing you too make her jealous. Hopping out of her seat and waltzing over to shove you away from Hazel with feigned innocence. Hazel mouths sorry towards you and it was your turn to go to the bar and watch from a far. You get yourself a coke to sip on since you would be driving later, not much of a drinker anyway.

You sit there mindlessly scrolling your phone trying to keep yourself occupied. Watching them still it hurts your chest. Hazel holds Anya close she has her face in the crook of her neck holding her from behind. It was a real sight. Especially when Hazel looked so good. Her cropped white tee and baggy jeans left just enough midriff exposed to mesmerize you.

Josie comes to sit besides you breaking your trance. “I hate her.” Is all she says and she looks from Anya to you. “Me too.” You both laugh together. “Yeah she’s kind of a bitch isn’t she.” Josie remarks pressing her lips together and furrowing her brows.

“Yeah she’s something.” You huffed and smiled brighter grateful for your friendship .That’s when Josie gets a certain look that you know to well. “You wanna smoke?” She flashes you a wide grin and wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh god yes.” You take one last sip of your coke and follow her outside.

—

You and Josie walk back into the bar in a hazy giggle. After a shit talking session that had you loosing your shit and gasping at gossip. You go to dance again and you notice Anya arguing with Hazel.

Anya rolled her eyes and says something that made Hazels face contort into hurt. Hazel says something in a pout then storms off in the other direction. “Jesus they do this shit every fucking night bro.” Josie rolls her eyes following Hazel to the bathroom. Every night? You though to yourself. You were under the impression everything was great?

The anger taking over your body doesn’t let you ponder over it more. Body moving without you telling it too, you yank her shoulder to face you. She was taller than you and definitely stronger then you but you didn’t care. The face Hazel made at Anya was enough motivation. You could’ve fought 10 frat boys and won.

“Hey! What did you say to her.” You could stand her being mean to you but being mean Hazel was absolutely not allowed. “I don’t think that’s any of your business y/n.”

She looks you up and down. “I suggest you fuck off before I tell her your little secret.” She gets closer to you only inches from your face. “What do you mean secret?” You started getting nervous. She grabs your face in her hand and looks in your scared eyes. “Your in love with her. It’s pathetic really the way you gawk at her.” Her acrylics are digging into your cheeks. Frantically staring at her in disbelief.

“Start keeping your distance y/n, Im not worried about you im just annoyed that you THINK that could happen. Like she’d ever be into someone like you.”

She let’s go of your face lightly tapping it. You feel tears fill your eyes about to break the barrier of your water line. “I-i… f-fuck you Anya.” Tears cascade down your face. Anya just vocalized your internal thoughts for the past 2 years now your sure she’s some demon from hell that crawled out to make your life miserable.

Just as Hazel and Josie come out of the bathroom they see you walk quickly out of the bar. Hazel feels completely exhausted, this was supposed to be a fun night you FINALLY agreed to have fun and hang out again.

Hazel follows you out just catching up to you when you get to the door of your car. “Y/n! Wait! Please, where are you going it’s barley been an hour?” She looks at you confused eye brows pushed together and hands on her hips. “I’m tired Hazel.” You can’t face her you can’t stop the tears rolling down.

You open the door but Hazel puts a firm hand down closing it again getting frustrated at your short response. You finally look her in the eyes and she takes you in. “Holy shit y/n are you ok?” She goes to put a hand on your shoulder but you flinch. Her face becomes even more worried than before. Staring at the streaks running down your cheeks.

“Please Hazel I just wanna go home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow ok.” Hazel moves her hand from the door and lets you open it. “We will talk about this tomorrow?” She ask you to get more confirmation. “We will.” You reassured her knowing talking was the last thing you were gonna do.

You drove back to your dorm still feeling shocks of fear pulse through you at the thought of Hazel knowing you were completely in love with her. Losing her would do more than wreck you. She’s been your best friend for what felt like forever.

Finally inside your dorm you rip your clothes off and put you pjs on as fast as you could. You didn’t bother to take your make up off and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Thank god for the weed.

—

Your woken up by the jiggling of keys. You turn to look at the time and you way overslept. “Oh your up.” She closes the door lightly walking over to your bed. She puts a brown paper on your nightstand and smiled softly at you. “I got you a bagel from the place we like, I made sure they put extra cheese and hash browns. And I got you salsa.” The same sadness you felt the night before washed over you. Her sweetness makes you fall apart in more ways then one.

“Thanks Hazel.” You can only produce a small awkward smile. “Do you wanna talk about last night?” She carefully sat next to you and put her hand on your back, rubbing up and down. “I’m ok Hazel, really it’s fine.” You brush her off.

“I can’t help you if you push me away y/n. You’ve been really distant recently I’m worried. I-i mean did I do something?” She spoke softly and looked at your face silently begging for you to look her in the eyes instead of the floor.

But you can’t you start to cry before you can even get a word out. “No you didn’t do anything I’m sorry. Last night Anya was just really mean. Well she’s mean every time I’m around her but I-I’m sorry.” You spoke through tears and hiccups not even knowing even know why you were saying sorry. Regretting everything you just said. You knew Anya was going to tell her—everything was going to be ripped away from you.

Hazels face contorted into anger and shock. You were petrified that you had made her angry at you. “Anya did this.” Her tone was steady and dark. You nodded. Her jaw was clenched and her fist balled breathing heavily. She grabs her keys and opens the door. “I’ll be back in 30 minutes.” She shut the door behind her harder than she meant too. She quite literally couldn’t control her anger. She liked Anya, a lot actually, but the fighting has gotten to much. Hazel could handle a bit of sass from her here and there. But knowing she hurt you had Hazel enraged.

—

It had been 45 minutes of you sitting there bouncing your leg. Shaking anticipating the consequences of your breakdown. You tried watching a movie to get your mind off of your situation but you couldn’t focus. The bagel on your nightstand making you nauseous just by being there. Frustrated tears forcing there way up every once in a while.

You hear the knob jiggle and keys. Your immediately alerted. Hazel calmly walks through the door and moves to where you’ve come to stand infront of your bed. She takes your face into her soft hands pulling you into the deepest kiss you’ve ever had. When she finally lets you catch your breath she looks in your watery eyes .

“Why did you never tell me.” She whispers looking over your post cry face. Your lips puffy and pink frustrated cheeks. You notice that her lip is busted and she has a mark on her cheek that is definitely going to turn into a bruise. “Y-you aren’t angry? Are you ok?” You started to tear up again from the relief.

“No baby i could never be angry at you. And I’m fine just thought I should put what I’ve learned in my boxing class to use.” As she’s wiping your tears way, your remember, her and Anya took the same boxing class; thats actually how they met. Hazel looked angry but you didn’t think she was THAT angry. “I didn’t think you thought I was pretty.” She pulls you closer to her. “What! Why is that?” She questioned from the crook of your neck. “Cause you date girls like Anya I didn’t think I was your type.”

Hazel suddenly starts placing kisses on your neck. She realizes she has you turning into putty in her hands, like she always wanted. Everything about you was captivating to her in this moment. The way you smelled, the way your skin felt, how she could hear your breathing pick up with every kiss.

Your heart was racing you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “Your not gonna have to worry about Anya anymore honey, I promise. Your the only girl I want. And your sooo my type.” Hazel sucks a bruise with no warning into your neck and licks over it. “Oh my god Hazel please.” Your hand reaches up into her hair your fingers tangled in her silky brown tresses. “Please what baby?”

Your face got impossibly redder whole body on fire unsure of how to answer her. Feeling the way Hazels hands roamed you made your head spin. You just couldn’t take it anymore pulling her up lightly by the hair to have her look at you.

“I need you.”

You make sure you say it clearly. Hazels eyes become more lidded than before overcome with lust. She pushed you backwards towards her bed until you fall into her sheets.

“Y-your so beautiful.” Shes stammering seeing you laid out in HER bed. She connects your lips again teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance.

You want to make her feel as good as she’s making you feel. Her knee comes between your legs giving you relief from pulsing heart beat that’s developed.

Your grinding on each other urgently. Years of pent up sexual frustration and longing being released.

You try to keep up with her kisses the best you can. The friction making you lose control. Completely entangled in each other, hands trying to feel every part of her.

Exchanging heavy breaths and soft whimpers. It was frenzied and sloppy it was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

You tug her shirt over her head. She does the same for your exposing your bare chest. “Fuck.” Her brows pushing together as she feels her arousal pooling in her boxers. She can’t help but gently thumb your hard nipple trailing kisses from your collar bone to your breast.

She took the soft flesh into her mouth leaving hot kisses. Her hand massaged the other. Her lips wrapped around your nipple and released it with a pop. You let out a strained moan.

Her hand traveled to the waist band of your pajamas pants. Teasing you with her fingers moving back and forth under the fabric.

“Can I take these off.” She ask you her eyes begging you to say yes, desperate to see all of you. “Please” You nodded and she gently undressed you leaving your skin vulnerable to cool air for your dorm.

It doesn’t matter though, because Hazels warm body is pressed to you in a second. Her hand trails from your breast to your hip slowly, keeping your attention.

“Do you know how long Ive wanted you?” You shake your head, voice escaping you in the moment. Her finger slides through your folds, your wetness sending waves of pleasure and confidence through her. The sound alone made her ache.

“Way to fucking long.” She slips a finger in your soaked needy hole. You let out an open mouthed exhale. She slips in another finger. “Fuck! Mm-n!”

Her fingers stretched you out and the sensation was mind numbing. An endless repeat hazelhazelhazelhazel. Was all you could think about. Her fingers curled at a slow pace hitting just the right spot. Working your clit with her thumb at the same time.

“Im I making you feel good honey?” Her voice was gentle and attentive. The way she was grinding down on your thigh mixed with your pretty noises was making her go insane. Your moans start to get more frequent. As you were embarrassingly close to release so soon. “S-so good Hazel.”

“Talk to me sweetheart. This is all mine now right?” Hazel questions you her pace picking up and mouthing your tits. “All yours all yours all yours all…” You mumbled to her as your eyes flutter. “That’s right honey.” She kept a rough tempo leaving marks on your chest until you were finally coming undone under her.

Shes watches as your orgasm possesses you. Moaning her name as you arch your back grinding yourself against her fingers. “Yeah honey just like that cum for me baby.” She doesn’t stop till your squirming from overstimulation.

You catch your breath for a second before becoming focused. You didn’t want your fatigue from your orgasm to keep you from pleasing her. Hazels already pulling you into another deep kiss like before.

“I want to make you feel good now Hazel.” She seemed a little shocked. As you think about the girls she’s hooked up that’s probably not the kind of treatment she was used too.

“You don’t have to y/n, making you cum is pleasure enough.” She seemed almost nervous. You shake your head and take her hand placing the two fingers that were just fucking deep inside of you into your mouth.

Releasing them with a pop. Her eyes are droopy and mouth slightly open. Her chest breathing deeply overwhelmed with lust. “No Hazel. I really want to make you feel good.”

Hazels ripping off her sports bra without another word. You nudge her shoulder down and straddle her. She’s frantically trying to take her sweats and boxers off. You help her rip them off and throw them across the room.

The sight is beautiful she’s completely soak, all you want is to have your face between her thighs. “Can I taste you?” You ask coyly as your hands rub up and down the tops of her thighs, your words going straight to her core. “Fuck, y-yeah, yes p-please—I mean.”

You settle between her thighs leaving light kisses on her inner thighs. Hazels having a hard time keeping still with you so close to where she needed you.

You look up into her eyes through your lashes as your breath fans over her soaked cunt. She lets out a whimper on accident and it set her body on fire with embarrassment.

Finally you lick a broad stripe. Hazel sign in relief. Her fingers pulling at your roots. Your hands are hooked over her thighs keeping them apart. Tongue flicking over her clit at a pace YOU didn’t even know was possible.

Hazel eased into the feeling of being taken care of. She’s switching between look you in the eyes and looking at the ceiling when the shyness become too much. She quietly took in the sensation of being taken care of before speaking trying to get rid of the shyness.

“I’ve thought about you like this s-so many nights.” Hazel mumbles out between whimpers. You push your finger into her curling. “Yeah?” You question quickly. She throws her head back when you go back to sucking on her clit.

You add another finger. Pace becoming quicker and deeper. “I always imagined this,oh god,h-happening during one of our movie nights.” You hum into her creating a whole new sensation as her legs start to quake. “I th-thought youd take the hint. Oh god don’t stop.”

She let out a soft laugh until the knot in her stomach was becoming to much to handle. “I mean we c-cuddled for like 3 hours at a time! Shitshitshit!” Hazels grip on your hair became tight as her eyes rolled back, letting out a loud moan. The knot in her stomach snapping as the white hot feeling flushes over her.

You watch her in awe. Her chest heaving as she grinds into you her other hand gripping the headboard showing her toned tricep.

You help her fully ride out her orgasm then pull away to use your shirt to clean yourself in and lay next to her gently.

Hazel turns to look at you with a tired smile spreading across her face. She cups your cheek once more kissing your forehead. “I thought it would end like this too.” She says to you quietly. “Me too.” You reply going to kiss the tip of her nose. She looks into your eyes for a moment thinking.

Her eyebrows push together as a though crosses her mind. “Did you ever eat the bagel?” You laugh at her genuinely concerned question and pull her into an embrace, warm bodies lovingly entwined. “No I actually thought I was dying though in my defense.” Hazel pouts at you.

“Did you beat up Anya?” You question her instead. “I tried to but she honestly kicked my ass sooo bad, like embarrassing I’m so happy you weren’t there” You laughed at this too.

“I looked cool though right?” She dropped her voice dramatically. “Oh yeah sooo cool.” She gasped at your sarcasm.

When your both of yours laughter dies down it’s seems both of you have the same realization that your best friend was now your girlfriend. Eyes saying what they needed too.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked quietly. “Only after you eat cause a $12 bagel on a college student budget is atrocious.” She kissed your forehead and nudged you to get up.

(Thank you for reading😙)

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x you

544 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 1 month

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (18)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: semi-public sex, sex content, breeding kink, smut, angst, dirty talk, anxiety ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

Lady Strong Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He could not believe it, but yet, after so many years, he spoke the words of his vow in front of the woman who, when he was a child, he thought would always be by his side. Watching her in Helaena's golden gown, the colour of which so wonderfully emphasised the darkness of her hair and eyebrows, her pale, soft face, he felt his heart freeze for a moment.

They really intended to do this.

This time the way it was meant to be, of their own free will.

When it was all over, when he held her at last in his arms, he, like her, could hardly hold back the burning tears of relief that rushed to his eyes, knowing that at last nothing could separate them. They were bound before the gods, and their will could not be defied by any human being.

It was too late.

No one, no one could stop it now.

This thought filled his members with fire – he felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, his hand tightening on her hair and forcing her to look at him, her gaze dreamy, moved, her puffy lips parted in a deep breath, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

He sank into her lips like mad with a low murmur of pleasure, not caring that his act was not decent, placing greedy, hungry, passionate kisses on her lips with a loud click of their saliva. He heard her sigh sweetly as she stroked his hair and cheeks with her small hands, reciprocating his caresses with delight and devotion.

He pulled away from her at last, panting heavily along with her, feeling that their kisses had aroused him and grunted loudly, turning towards his brother, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He did not know what made him move towards him, to embrace him and pat him on the back like a brother, like a companion, though he had never even touched him this way before. Aegon seemed surprised and muttered something under his breath, patting him on the shoulder.

"My congratulations." He said, and he expressed his gratitude for those words and for his support, knowing that they owed him everything.

They moved away from each other, embarrassed, sighing heavily with relief at the thought that everything had gone according to plan; he saw out of the corner of his eye his wife and Helaena speaking to each other closely, holding hands.

He thought with surprise that he had never noticed the silent bond that had formed between them.

Good, he thought.

"According to tradition, spouses should receive gifts, but I have nothing more precious than what I have given you today. Ensure that the Septon writes a proper marriage act. Tomorrow we have a battle ahead of us." He said lightly, patting him on the shoulder and nodded at him, heading for the entrance, his sister letting go of his niece's hand and moving behind him, throwing her a single, calm smile.

He walked towards the man in the grey robe, who looked at him fearfully, towering over him.

"Sit down and write. I know what the content of this act should be, if you try to trick me, I will cut off both your hands." He said coldly; the man nodded quickly and sat down at a simple wooden table on which a sheet of parchment lay – he reached for a quill which he dipped in inkwell and began to write, his hand trembling all over.

He stood over him like an executioner, watching every word he wrote carefully, his wife standing in the distance, looking at them uncertainly, seeing how tense he was.

He had to be sure that this time their marriage would be official.

As soon as the man finished writing he snatched the parchment out of his hand, reading its contents hastily. He hummed under his breath, satisfied, tossing the sack of coins towards the Septon, which rattled loudly in the pouch, spilling on the table.

"Payment for your favour." He muttered, rolling the paper as he walked towards the way out, nodding at his wife to follow him.

They emerged from the underground into one of the main corridors of the keep, looking around uncertainly, relieved to see no one around.

The guards must have just been exchanging.

He halted as he heard his wife stop and turned over his shoulder, intending to rush her, however, he saw that she had stepped through the open door into the throne room, startling him completely.

He moved immediately after her, shocked, wanting to ask her what she was actually doing, not wanting anyone to see them and report what had happened to his mother or grandfather, dreaming only of holy peace for at least one night.

She did, however, make her way down the steps, her silhouette surrounded by the warm light of the torch; he ran after her and grabbed her arm, turning her around with a sharp, impatient motion, his lips clenched into a thin line.

"May I know what you're doing?" He hissed and sighed, surprised, as her fingers tightened on the material of his tunic, as her lips clung to his in a sticky, hot kiss, her tongue forced its way deep into his throat making his cock swell painfully in his breeches.

He himself didn't know what he was thinking about that, involuntarily dropping the rolled parchment to the stone floor, clasping his hands on her hair and gown.

"Here. I want to do it here, uncle." She breathed out into his mouth, sending him into a daze – he groaned low, feeling himself instantly become completely hard, the tips of their tongues licking each other with a loud click.

"− fuck −" He exhaled and pushed her backwards, forcing her to retreat until her back hit the stone pillar, his mouth sinking into hers, thirsty and swollen as his fingers slid down to the material of his breeches, untying them, releasing his aching erection.

She turned her back to him, breathing heavily with him, moaning helplessly as he lifted the material of her skirt above her buttocks, as if she couldn't wait to see what he would do to her, her behaviour, the way she obviously desired him made him think only of what throbbed aggressively in his hand.

He licked his lips, directing the fat head of his cock against her slit, noticing in the firelight how her pink, swollen folds glistened from her own moisture, though he hadn't even touched her.

"− already leaking − good gods, you have no fucking shame −" He growled, forcing her to fit him inside her with one sharp, sure thrust of his hips, opening her wide on his length with her loud moan of pleasure that echoed through the throne room.

"− be fucking quiet − or do you want the guards to catch us, hm? − is that what you want? − for other men to see me take you? −" He hissed, immediately imposing an aggressive, fast pace on her, driving his nails into the soft skin of her hips, with each push hitting her buttocks with his thighs with a loud, sticky splat, all slick from her wetness, her fleshy walls squeezing him greedily.

"− I-I want to carry your heir − please −" She mumbled, and he quivered all over, drawing in the air loudly as he felt his cock pulsate hard deep inside her at her request, a hot shiver ran along his spine, making him quicken his pace, thrusting into her like mad with the loud click of her moisture.

"− I −" He grunted, unable to get anything more out of himself, just panting loudly along with her, listening to her whimpers, watching again and again as his thick manhood stretched her tight, hot walls, thinking terrified that he was too close to fulfilment, that he should slow down.

"− don't you desire this, uncle? − don't you desire to see me swell from your child? − ah − don't you desire to feel what my sweet milk would taste like on your tongue? −" She panted and he gasped heavily with his mouth wide open, clenching his eyes, feeling that her words had done something to him. He cursed loudly with relief and rage as he peaked inside her so hard that for a moment it went dark before his eyes, pleasure and heat rippling through his lower abdomen.

"− oh − oh fuck − gods − what have you done to me? −" He muttered, trying to catch his breath, pressing his welted cheek against her temple, moving lazily inside her, with the remnants of his free will directing his fingers between her thighs, giving her bud a few encouraging rubs and squeezes, making her fall apart in front of him with a girlish cry of pleasure.

"− Aemond − Aemond −" She babbled, grabbing his hair with her hand, rocking her hips while her walls squeezed him in her fulfillment, feeling his spend mingled with her moisture run down their legs. He leaned down and brushed her neck with his swollen lips, panting heavily along with her, feeling that he was completely out of breath.

What was that?

The two of them lingered in each other's embrace for a while trying to calm down, running their hands over each other's body, his lips clamping down on her neck, sucking that place out of sheer spite – he heard her hiss of discomfort, she tried to push him away but he didn't stop until he left a red mark on her neck.

She grunted in displeasure when he grasped her cheeks in his palm and forced her to arch back – their lips joined in a deep, hot, sticky kiss, her fingers involuntarily running through his hair. He gasped as he ran the tip of his nose over her temple, feeling his frustration, surely due to his powerful fulfilment, leave him, her gaze directed sideways, far ahead of them.

She looked at the Iron Throne.

"− look at it, uncle − the source of our eternal misery − the cold chair of steel −" She whispered quietly; he sighed at her words, closing his eyelids, placing a lingering kiss on her hair.

"− let's move to my chamber −"

"− I should begin to bleed soon −" She mumbled in a trembling voice, and he opened his eyes, feeling a squeeze in his throat, surprised by her words.

He was unfamiliar with these mysterious feminine matters, for they had never occupied his head and he had not delved into them.

For her, however, he thought, as a woman, her fertility, even more so in the situation in which fate had placed them, was of the utmost importance.

"− I fear that I will be like the dragon egg that has not cracked − that along with the blood between my thighs will flow the blood of us all −" She said in a breaking, shaking voice, and he stared at her with his eyes wide open, feeling the strong pounding of his heart, the cold sweat on his neck.

He had no clue what he should answer, he couldn't find the right words to express how much she surprised him.

I fear that I will be like the dragon egg that has not cracked.

She was afraid that if she failed him in terms of giving him an heir, he would consider her worthless.

"For years I resented my father for choosing this particular egg and not any other − one from which a dragon might have hatched. However, the gods chose a different path for me. They decided that I would become the rider of the greatest dragon in the world." He whispered, looking at her with his lips slightly parted, taking the curls of her long, dark hair with a soft flick of his hand, revealing her long neck, the scent of vanilla pleasantly teasing his nostrils.

He leaned in, placing soft, butterfly kisses around the red bruise that his lips had left moments earlier, his fingers entwined with hers on her womb.

"− I'm scared − gods, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared −" She muttered in a squeaky, breaking voice from which he felt his heart sting; his eyebrows arched in pain, his arms tightened around her waist, pressing her securely against his chest, his soft manhood still deep inside her.

"− I know − but you need to calm down − come to terms as I do with whatever the will of the heavens decides −" He whispered low, feeling it was the right answer.

There was nothing more they could do.

He thought that, after all, neither his mother nor his sister carried their children in their wombs after the first weeks of their marriage, that it took months and, in the cases of other women, even years.

How could he expect her to somehow perform a miracle, to carry his child because the situation demanded it?

"− we need to rest, wife −" He hummed, leaning over her shoulder, wanting to see the expression on her face. He heard her sniff with her nose and wipe her red cheeks, swallowing loudly, still distressed.

"− forgive me − it's the day of our happiness, and I destroyed it −" She whined, and he let the air out loudly through his nose, shaking his head as he stroked her shoulder with the soft movement of his hand.

"− no − it's a good thing you told me about your worries − I'm your husband −" He said calmly and heard her breathe quietly, as if his words brought her relief. He slid out of her gently with a quiet click of their shared moisture, lowering her gown; she turned, leaning her back against the pillar, watching as he quickly tied his breeches.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence; something in her eyes filled with tears of happiness, sadness and joy made his heart squeeze.

She was vulnerable.

And although only a few weeks ago he had dreamed of her like this, at his mercy, so that he could destroy her and do whatever he wanted with her, now that she was his wife, now that she was a part of himself he wished that, like him, she would at last experience a little solace.

He took her warm, rosy cheeks in his hands, towering over her without a word – she closed her eyes as his thumbs ran over the wonderfully soft skin of her face.

His lips pressed against hers in a warm, lingering, sweet kiss with which he tried to express what could not leave his throat.

She sighed softly into his mouth, throwing her hands around his neck, his arms pressed tightly around her in a secure, safe embrace.

They kissed slowly, deeply, rubbing and teasing their swollen, moist lips, their tongues touching and licking lazily making his cock swell again immediately, pushing impatiently against her belly.

Gods, have mercy, he thought in disbelief.

She gasped into his mouth, delighted that he couldn't hide from her how the closeness of her body, her scent and her caresses affected him, her hand slipped from his neck to the material of his breeches, he groaned helplessly as she began to run her fingers down the increasingly hard, throbbing bulge.

"− not here −"

He made love to her that same night once more in his chamber, taking her at last as her husband in every sense of the word, their rapprochement this time quiet and tender, full of their wet, hot kisses and the embrace of their arms, their hands trailing over their naked, sweaty bodies as they pursued their fulfilment again with quiet moans of pleasure.

"− I need you, uncle − please, please, my beloved, don't leave −" She cried out beneath him heated with pleasure, throwing her head back, an almost animalistic, throaty groan broke from his throat as she called him so wonderfully, involuntarily pounding into her more violently so that after a few definite, deep thrusts of his hips his seed filled her again.

"− never −" He gasped, panting heavily, brushing soft skin of her rosy cheek with his swollen, moist lips. "− never −"

They kissed for a long time after that, lying in each other's embrace with their eyes closed, stroking each other's naked backs and shoulders, this one night focusing only on pleasure, only on their closeness, only on what they had lost and what they had finally regained.

The rolled-up parchment, the proof of their marriage that changed everything, lay beside them on the bedclothes; they both read it when his wife was already lying cuddled into his bare chest, unable to believe that it was finally over.

After eight years of torment, she was finally his rightful wife.

264 notes · View notes

justporo · 7 months

Note

i came uP WITH ANOTHER JUST NOW Tav has a bad dream about Astarion dying and is getting irrationally protective- Astarion must find a way to reassure that no, he is NOT going to randomly keel over, and after proceeding to Make It Worse with things like "it was just a dream" ends up resorting to trying to make Tav laugh to lighten the mood

My dear mushy, yet again you present me with a wonderful idea. This struck a chord with me for the last few days because I was feeling a little anxious and thus very much in the mood for some angst. So here you go! Also remember how I said I was taking a breather? I am! But I still love writing too much to not do it… Also this very self-indulgently helped me with some of my anxiety these past days. (Note tho: I am neither diagnosed with anxiety or a an expert, I can only describe what I can relate to and can imagine, just to put it out there)

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Talk of trauma and nightmares, descriptions of some violence and death

Wordcount: 2,3k

Tav wakes from repeating nightmares about Astarion. She sneaks out of bed in an attempt to hide it but gets caught by Astarion who immediately notices something is wrong and wants to comfort her.

It‘s where my demons hide (I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you)

You woke from your trancelike meditation. On your back, you felt paralysed for a moment, your heart still heavy with dream images that filled you with icy dread. You couldn’t move and felt a single hot tear running down your cheek as a silent sob left your chapped open lips.

The images were still vivid in front of your eyes: Astarion, full of blood, falling over, his face distorted in pain, agony and desperation in his ruby eyes, panickingly grabbing for you; and then: life leaving his ruby eyes until they were only hollow.

And in your dreams you screamed and raged with all your force trying to reach him in time, to prevent what was happening, to at least hold his head in your lap as life passes from him. Never reaching him before it was too late.

The nightmares had come for quite some time now. They always followed the same pattern - and so did you: waking up in the middle of your ‚night‘, freezing from cold sweat, tears running and desperately trying to not wake Astarion.

Because you knew it wasn‘t real. There he was, right beside you. Softly breathing in his own dreams. His face so peaceful and relaxed.

You felt an incredible urge to grab him and kiss him awake to truly know he was there and fine. You just wanted to know that whatever you had dreamt: it wouldn‘t happen, it didn‘t happen; he was alive and well and next to you.

You sat up and felt the goosebumps all over your body and you shuddered. Starting to rub your arms you looked over to where Astarion was. And he was indeed peacefully slumbering - or deeply meditating as was the custom for you elves. You spent quite some heartbeats to watch him - how his chest slowly rose and fell, how a single white lock fell onto his forehead, how his facial expressions softly changed as he was dreaming.

Your heart ached and you couldn‘t shake the dread that kept hold of you. It sat deeply in your bones by now, hands around your throat and closing it‘s fingers. You quickly started to get out of bed, grabbing Astarion‘s shirt that was still laying on the floor in front of the bed and threw it over your head. You felt that the sobs were coming and you wanted to be out of here before the vampire caught onto it - he had enough to deal with, so you wouldn‘t burden him with your brain harassing you with its bad, irrational nightmare fantasies.

The soft pat-pats of your naked feet being the only sound as you walked, you left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. There you grabbed some of the leftover milk from the day before and then went into the living room. As you lifted one of the thick brocade curtains you saw that it was already pretty dark outside. Some blue was still to be seen in the sky but it was surely and quickly to be chased away by the moon and the stars.

You drew the curtain away from the tall window and sat down in the alcove. Drinking your mug of milk your mind was still on your nightmares. You felt the wound up coil of anxiety in your stomach - it was bad this time. It surely would take some time before you would have calmed down completely. The tension was still way to present this time, making your foot that was on the floor tap nervously while you kept feeling restless.

„My sweet, it‘s way too early to be up…“ The voice of your subject of worry made you whip your head from looking out the window to Astarion. He was standing in the doorframe, sheets messily wrapped around his hips. He looked very drowsy and tired and not fully awake - a very rare look and mood for him.

„Also is that my shirt you‘re wearing because rawr, if I dare…“, his words trailed off when he realised that something was not quite right.

He saw the tension in your body, noticed the unnecessarily hard grip on your mug and your restless foot. Immediately, he was fully awake and rushing over to you: „My love, what is it, what‘s wrong?“ He sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap - no room for protest. His ruby eyes were clouded with worry, brows furrowed and his mouth in a tense line.

You tried to just shake your head and smile at him to assure him that everything was fine, you‘d just woken up a little early. But your body was traitorous, your eyes filled with tears and you could feel your chest start to heave - the urge to let out your sobs and howl in agony almost unbearable.

And as Astarion softly moved a strand of your reddish-brown hair behind your ear and then let his thumb softly wander over your cheekbone, then over your lips and then placed it on your chin lightly, it became too much to bear.

Sobs came and shuddered through your whole body, tears flowed openly. Astarion grabbed you and held you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him back hard - really having to feel that he was there. The vampire carefully placed his chin on the top of your head and softly swayed you from side to side. He said nothing for a while only humming softly - an old elven lullaby -, knowing that nothing he could put into words would make a difference in this very moment - he just held you. Because he knew what it felt like and had had to go for it alone, two centuries of nightmares, and he‘d never wish on another living soul having to go through something like this with no one there to spare you a little solace. This and the way you could feel his chest slightly vibrate while humming calmed you down slowly.

„Having nightmares again?“, Astarion whispered softly when the acute shudders of grief had calmed down a little. You burrowed your wet face at his chest, not wanting to admit that he had caught you. „Don‘t deny it, my love, don‘t think I didn‘t notice you getting up in the middle of the day and sometimes only returning hours later“, he continued. You could basically hear that his brows were furrowed. With a soft nudge on your shoulders he pushed you a little from his chest so he could take a look at you: „I‘m not one to pry and I respect your privacy, Tav, but I‘m worried. When was the last night of a full rest for you, hm?“ His eyes were so full of warmth and worry that you were sure yours were immediately filled with immense guilt. But you were still reluctant, having promised yourself to keep these problems your own.

Astarion softly cocked his head. „Don‘t you think, just a little bit, my love, that I deserve to know? Wouldn‘t you like to know? I bet if it‘d been me you would have already wreaked all Nine Hells‘ havoc upon me to find out what‘s bugging me“, he said while his tone turned sassy slightly. One eyebrow was raised, signature smirk was now turned on at least to half force.

And he knew you well and he was right, that bastard.

You cleared your throat. „It‘s nothi-“, you started. Astarion‘s face immediately dropped: eyes half-lidded, lips pouting. „We can play this the easy way, my heart, or the hard one - I have all the time in the world“, he threatened but his tone was still soft.

You sighed in desperation and looked up to the ceiling. Then you let your gaze drop. You had withdrawn your arms from around him and now nervously pressed down on your one palm with the thumb of the other hand. „I keep dreaming you‘re dying - and I can‘t do anything about it“, you admitted flat-out but did not look up.

„That‘s it?“, Astarion responded. Now you looked up - did he just say that like it was nothing? You kept staring at him in confusion and you surely felt anger rise up inside you. The vampire‘s gaze jumped from yours to the side and back, obviously not grasping what was so harrowing. When you kept staring, he said: „Well, do you have any idea how often I dream about stuff like that happening to you - and me for that matter? And I‘m here, am I not? It‘s irrational, nothing is wro-“ „You insensitive prick“, you yelled and weakly hit him on the chest with your flat hand.

„Do you know how it feels? Watching you die - vividly- over and over again! Covered in your own blood and I can do NOTHING! Only watch you as the life flows from your body…“ The tears were back and you could see how through your blurring vision Astarion‘s face changed from surprise to shame.

He pulled you in again: „I‘m sorry.“ This time he borrowed his face in your hair - you could feel how his face scrunched in agony as he kept squeezing you. „I‘m so sorry, I… didn‘t know how it is for you…“

You lifted your head from his chest with a gasp. The sobs had subsided once more and you were now at this awkward hiccupy phase of a really bad cry. „It‘s like… something burning in my chest“, you said, emotions still crushing over you, wanting to let it all out this time; to rid yourself of it if possible. Your hands rose to your chest, one grabbing the other. „Sometimes it‘s constant, for days on end, a constant buzz. Sometimes it claws its way up to my throat and I feel this pressure. And it‘s just sitting there, reminding me of the fear I have. And at worst it‘s like this impending doom - it holds my heart in its hand and it squeezes from time to time to make me hurt and my heart can only flutter against it like a hummingbird in a cage that‘s way too small. I don‘t know how it feels for you, but that‘s how it is for me…“ You squeezed your hand so hard it hurt - but still not even remotely close to the hurt you felt in your chest sometimes.

Astarion softly grabbed your hands with his and looked at you, sorrow in his eyes. „Well, if it wouldn‘t be so sad that would almost be poetic“, he replied with a sad smile. „I know the feelings you describe well. Too well. Perhaps I‘ve grown too accustomed to it to no longer relish their absence“, he explained his eyes slowly drifting from yours into a gaze that was a thousand leagues away. And now you understood his reaction a little bit better: his was one of an animal knowing nothing but abuse and imprisonment. While yours had barely scratched the surface of the sorrows of this world.

„Astarion“, you whispered softly, withdrew one hand from his and touched your fingers to his face, pulling him back to you - to the here and now.

The vampire closed his eyes for a short moment. When he opened them again he‘d come back to you. „It was still an insensitive reaction of me, for that I apologise.“ „You shouldn‘t have to feel like that or even get used to it. And I‘m sorry I shouted at you“, you answered with a whisper. You felt guilt now.

„No, my love, it was absolutely right to call me out on that and if it helps: it‘s getting better. Slowly, but better. And I‘m sure these storm clouds will pass for you too“, he answered and pulled your face to his, leaning his forehead against yours and his hand softly cupping your cheek. Warmth filled his ruby eyes again and a soft smile danced on his lips.

„Now, I propose whenever you wake with a horrendous nightmare you poke me in the side so the following yelp and curse tell you that I am still very much alive - or unalive for that matter, you get it - and myself and here with you. Promise?“, he spoke and his eyes widened as he made you look into his eyes.

„Only if you do it too“, you answered as you felt some more sobs threateningly bubble up in your chest; this time they weren‘t in sorrow though.

„Only if you promise to not smother me with your pillow when I raise you from your precious and much needed beauty sleep, my love“, Astarion answered with a big smirk now. You pushed away from him but couldn‘t stop yourself from laughing at the banter: „You‘re such a dick sometimes.“ Astarion just laughed dirtily in response - nothing you didn‘t tell him at least three times a day. „Yes, and you‘re a hag sometimes, my sweet“, he replied with a grin, fangs showing, ignoring the obvious contradictory statement he had just made.

You stuck out your tongue at him and as you did it you realised that he must‘ve very well known what he was doing. The tension and anxiety had actually left your body for good. You hoped it would stay this way. And you hoped Astarion might feel the same. Grabbing his hand, you leaned back against his chest, snuggeling up to him. You pressed your spread fingers against his, watching how his hands and fingers were quite a bit larger than yours.

There was still much to talk about, to unravel, to work through; for both of you - but maybe not tonight. Maybe it was enough that you unraveled just a tiny piece tonight. You had so many more nights to slowly get to the rest.

Astarion stared at your hands that pressed together, obviously lost in his own thoughts. But then he smiled and crossed his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly: „Now, promise?“ „Promise and promise“, you replied solemnly and waited for Astarion to say it back. „Now, you say it!“, you said pushingly and squeezed his hand.

The vampire rolled his eyes but with a smile on his face, twisted your joint hands and pressed a kiss on the back of your hand: „Promise!“

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #baldur's gate iii #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #poro writes #request

498 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 3 months

Text

Golden Boy vs. Dirty Boy (1) - The base

Summary: You end up between two tidal waves.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Soldier Boy

Warnings: banter, arguments, sexism, misogyny (SB), fighting, violence, talk about sex, characters death (the bad guys), mentions of decapitation

Golden Boy vs. Dirty Boy masterlist

“Did you have to break that man’s neck? You didn’t even give him the chance to fight back,” Steve complains on your way toward the next complex of the building you, Steve, and a new ally, calling himself Soldier Boy try to infiltrate.

Well, he’s not new in this world. Rather an old archenemy slash concurrent of Steve. Locked away for centuries, just like his super-soldier counterpart. Soldier Boy is a stark contrast to your ever so gentlemanly and old-fashioned Captain.

“Do I look like I give a single fuck?” Soldier Boy flashes you a smirk while insulting your Captain. “How about you give them pet names and offer tea while I rip their heads off for killing innocent people for fun?” He challenges now. “When they signed up for becoming mass-murders they knew what they were getting into.”

“Cap, he’s not wrong,” you interject, hoping you can stop them from butting heads, or worse. “We shouldn’t waste more time, though. There are only three of us, and there are hundreds of them. Backup is not available for another five hours. So, let’s get in without making too much noise, get the information, and start the countdown to destroy the base.”

“Good idea, agent Y/L/N,” Steve ignores Soldier Boy’s angry stare and pats your shoulder. “Always so reliable and loyal.”

“Sure, Captain.” You quickly reply, unsure why Steve’s eyes look a little darker. You stare at his mouth for a moment, mesmerized by the way his tongue wets his sinfully pink lips. “Anytime.”

“I bet I can make her salute even faster,” you squeak when Soldier Boy grabs a handful of your ass. Leaving you stunned and oddly aroused. He’s crass and misogynic, loud and just the right kind of wrong, “while my cock ruins her sweet ass.”

“First and final warning,” Steve raises his index finger at Soldier Boy. The thick vein in his neck bulges, and damn that man is flexing his muscles. He grimaces, and angrily glares at Soldier Boy while images of his bearded face between your thighs make your knees buckle.

“OR what?” Soldier Boy challenges. “Do you think you can stop me from ripping that cute tactical suit off of her ripe body and make her cunt my home? I don’t think so.”

“Guys.” You sigh and forget about your secret fantasies for a moment. “We don’t have time for this. If we don’t change position, we are all fucked, not only my juicy ass.”

“What?” Steve swallows thickly at your words. His concurrent whistles and makes another crude comment about your ass.

“MOVE!” You grunt and push against Steve’s back. “I don’t want to end up dead because you had to fight with him again. Shield accepted him on the team. Stop moping and start moving your asses before I slap your bum.”

“You want to slap my bum, agent?” Steve cocks a brow, looking more amused than surprised. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m not against a little spanking,” Soldier Boy throws in. “On both ends, sweetness. Let’s get out of here and inside my apartment. I’m gonna show you heaven.” He looks you up and down, and hums. “Or hell, if you want me to.”

“I want you to shut up and do your job,” you snap at the cocky supe. “I know you two believe we all are only foot soldiers following your lead, but this is my mission, and you will do as I say. Move soldier, now.”

Steve watches you dismantle Soldier Boy’s charm. He grins and nods in your direction. “Let’s hurry then, agent. We don’t want to ruin your mission.”

“Aw, he tries to impress you with his submissive side,” Soldier Boy cackles. “I’m not some foot soldier you can order around, sweet cheeks. After we finish this, you’ll pay for yelling at me.”

“Eat me,” you bite back. “If you are brave enough.”

You stomp off, Steve hot on your heels. Soldier Boy watches you leave. He licks his lips and cups his crotch. “Oh, I will eat you, sweetness…”

“Y/N, down!” Steve throws his shield at another enemy. He growls your name and throws himself into battle to run another attacker over. “Down, agent.”

“The fuck no!” You fire your last bullet at the next guy attacking Steve. “I’m not some damsel in distress.” You pant, and slam your fist into the last man’s face, breaking his nose. He grunts and tries to take you down.

“Hey, that’s my pound of flesh to pound,” Soldier Boy throws his shield at the man attacking you. He decapitates his head, laughing as you shriek and ungracefully jump backward. You land on your ass, crawling away as the head rolls toward you.

“What did I say about killing people?” Steve grunts while you try to not look at the head, and the dead man’s eyes staring back at you.

“I had to save our damsel in distress.” Soldier Boy shrugs. He picks up his shield, cleaning it on the recently deceased man's jacket. “Now, back to the mission. I want to get out of this suit and inside a warm cunt.”

“Gross,” Steve holds out his hand to help you up while your other team member is busy looking inside the cabinets at the laboratory you successfully infiltrated.

“You’re jealous, that’s all,” Soldier Boy opens another cabinet. “I can fuck whoever I want without ruining my reputation.”

“Shut up!” You grunt. “You almost killed me with that fucking shield!”

“You’re alive, and still got your tongue to talk back,” he shrugs. “What do we have here?” Grabbing a vial he smirks. “Do you think this is a drug? Maybe kinky shit helping you get the stick out of your ass, Cappy?”

“Don’t touch shit at the lab!” You try to stop Soldier Boy from doing something stupid. Again. It’s not the first time he got you into trouble.

“DON’T!” Steve screams as Soldier Boy carelessly drops the vial to the ground. “You idiot! NO!”

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

“He just killed us all,” Steve runs toward the broken vial to read the broken seal. “No, it’s even worse.”

“What can be worse than getting killed?” You huff.

“He doomed us to do the unspeakable,” the captain replies.

“Damn, I’m jazzed,” Soldier Boy claps his hands and grins at Steve. “What will we do?”

“Fuck.” Steve replies.

“Yeah, well we got that we are fucked, Steve,” you pat Steve’s shoulder. “But what was in the vial, and what will happen?”

“WE WILL FUCK. Anything and anyone coming to our path until it’s out of our system, Y/N. And if you don’t step away, I’ll go for you first,” Steve turns back around. His eyes are dilated, and he salivates as his eyes roam your body. “Get away from me. Now.”

“Fuck? OH!” Soldier Boy grins. “We will fuck!” He snickers. “Let’s do this then. I can’t wait to get my dick inside of you and ruin your holes.”

“Guys, that’s not funny,” you giggle, but press your legs together. “We should call for help. Right?”

Soldier Boy looks at Steve and then at you. He doesn't feel the influence yet but is more than happy to have the chance to get his hands on you and Steve.

“So, who wants to get dicked down first?”

Tags in reblog.

#Golden Boy vs. Dirty Boy (1) - The base #soldier boy #steve rogers #steve rogers x female!reader #soldier boy x female reader

181 notes · View notes

runningfrom2am · 3 months

Text

cold nights // part fifteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: another happy birthday post for @that-veela-girl bc i love her and thank you so so much for supporting me and reading my stuff and helping me with it too AH it just means so much to me!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You didn't talk about a single important thing in the hour that followed. You had changed into more comfortable day clothes, something Coryo instantly thought made you look more like yourself, and somehow made your way outside onto the back porch swing.

"Did you win your prize?" You ask, staring out over the meadow behind your home as you gently rock the bench back and forth with one foot on the ground.

"I did." He smiles, unable to take his eyes off of you. You catch him staring as you turn to look at him, an excited smile on your face.

"Did you really?" You grin, excitedly reaching out and placing your hands on his thigh, hoping that it wasn't a joke.

"I did, yeah." He confirms, chuckling. "Highbottom was very against it, but the odds weighed against him." Coryo shrugs.

"Oh, Coryo, that's wonderful. Congratulations." You pat his leg before removing your hands, retreating them to your own lap.

"I owe it all to you."

"Why is that, anyway?" You ask, eyes once again focussed on the wind forcing the grass this way and that. "I knew you needed people to like me, but you never told me why."

He lets out a breath while he delays his response. "Well... The task they gave us was to turn the tributes into something people could get attached to- something people wanted to watch." He explains. "You made it easy. I just needed to get people to see you for who you were. To see that you were worth watching. That you were special." He shrugs, looking down at his lap and picking at his nails. "It helped that Sejanus's family paid out the prize, I think." He chuckles.

"Ah." You nod, not wanting to think about it anymore but still glad you got answers. "Is he upset with me?"

"Sejanus?" Coryo asks and you hum. "No, not one bit." He promises.

"I-I mean..." You stammer, taking a deep breath. "About Marcus?"

"No." Coryo repeats, shaking his head. "He left before the games started, he didn't see what happened. I explained it to him before we even left the arena, though. He felt bad for even thinking for a moment you had done something wrong."

"You're sure?" You ask quietly, eyes brimming red as you look over at him. He nods. He wants to reach out and touch you, hold your hand, but he's unsure if that's even okay. Even after what happened the night before the games, now you were treating him very much as a friend. He didn't want to overwhelm you, so he would leave those questions for another day.

"Positive."

"You don't speak of your Dean favourably." You comment, wanting to change the subject. "Why? He was very good to me."

"You met him?"

"He saw me off at the train station." You nod. "Gave me some cash, promised me that compact would make it back to you."

"Oh..." He mumbles. "He just has some vendetta against me. I don't know why."

"I see." You nod. "That makes sense... He told me that I was lucky I survived you. It was odd."

Coryo chews the inside of his cheek, and it was his turn to look out over the scenery while you watched him. "He's always hated me. I've done nothing to him."

"I did not think you would." You defend quickly, the air becoming thick around you. You answered too promptly- he would know that you were afraid. Maybe think you were lying. Even as he sat next to you, smiling more than you had ever seen him do it before, you couldn't look at him the same.

Coryo can sense that you still don't want to talk about the games in any major capacity, and it was in his best interest to not bring up Bobbin, so he changes the subject. "Your cat is adorable, by the way." He can tell that makes you comfortable enough to relax again. He missed you looking at him.

"Isn't he?" You smile, shifting your gaze from him to the back door, hoping to catch a glimpse of your pet in the small window. "He's a sweetheart."

"I'm just glad he didn't attack me." Coryo jokes.

"What?" You laugh. "Why would he?"

"I don't know! I've never had a pet. They scare me a little."

"Oh, Coriolanus Snow is afraid of a cat?" You tease him. "I didn't know that about you."

"Y/N! Lucy Gray is here!" Your mother calls from inside the house and you're quickly distracted, clumsily standing up from the bench, leaving it swinging unsteadily underneath him.

"Coming!" You call out, grabbing his hand to pull him up with you. "You must meet her, she's my best friend. If you think I'm good company you'll see she's all the better."

"I've met her." He replies, allowing you to pull him up from the bench anyway.

"You have?" You ask, brow furrowed.

"Yeah, she helped Sejanus and I find you."

"Sejanus is here?" You smile wide and he nods, a little confused.

"Yeah, he came with-" He doesn't even finish his sentence before you're moving quickly into the house and to the living room where your mother had let them in, leaving the door swinging open behind you.

"Sejanus!" You call out as you see him, almost tackling him in a hug- armed with the confidence in Coryo's honesty that he didn't hate you.

He laughs, catching you in his arms. "Y/N, it's so good to see you..."

Coryo chews on the inside of his cheek as he follows you in. He wasn't met with a hug, or near the same amount of excitement. Maybe he underestimated how close you and Sejanus had become while he was stuck in the hospital ward after the bombing.

He can see the three, evenly distributed scars on the back of your leg. Healing, but still bruised all this time later. He wonders if it still hurts.

"How I have missed you- how are you doing?" You grin, pulling away from the hug and running your hands up and down Sejanus's arms.

"I'm pretty good! I've always wanted to see Twelve, so now I finally had a good excuse." He jokes, looking down at you. "How are you, though? That's much more important."

Coryo takes a moment to notice Lucy Gray staring at him. "I take it your hello didn't look like that?" She whispers, forcing him to relax his facial expression to hide any disdain.

"It did." He lies.

"Oh! My mistake then." She replies, clearly not buying it.

He thought you were treating him like a friend, but if this is how you treated friends, he obviously did not meet the mark.

"We found you guys a place to stay." Lucy Gray continues, watching you and Sejanus chat.

"Thank you." Coryo nods at her, but he's still watching you, eyes taking up and down your body, your hair, your skin- but always finding a home on your injured calf.

"Yeah, of course." She hums, arms crossed over her chest. "She'll come around, you know."

You turn, finally ready to greet Lucy Gray. "I'm sorry, I didn't even say hello to you." You giggle, giving her a gentle, less urgent hug.

"That's quite alright, Y/N/N. You see me every day." She laughs, gently rubbing your back.

"And it still doesn't feel like enough." You respond.

"I agree." She hums, pulling away and holding onto your shoulders as you smile at her. Lucy Gray is the only one who knows what you're going through, the only one besides Lennox who knows what your nightmares are like, to have you cry with your head in her lap in her backyard or even at the lake where you used to share the best days of your lives. You felt like you ruined it all, but you felt seen with her. Always.

"Lucy Gray found us a place to stay for the month." Sejanus tells his friend.

"I heard." He mumbles, fighting back the green monster bellowing behind his eyes.

"Yes! Right, I'll get you guys there and settled. I'm sure Y/N is just dying for her afternoon nap." Lucy Gray says, gently squeezing your shoulders. You nod. Even though your visit with Coryo was pleasant, it still placed a weight just behind your ribs you couldn't describe. You needed a break, and your best friend could see it.

"Yes, well, can't get enough of my bed these days..." You joke, but it doesn't come out as lighthearted as you intended, all context considered. You clear your throat. "We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep."

"Certainly." Lucy Gray smiles, pulling you into a quick side hug.

Coryo watches, avoiding reacting to what he saw happening in front of him. With your mother, and now with Lucy Gray. No one here, apparently, just hums in confusion or looks at you funny when you say something that hardly makes sense. They know you. They understand every word; or at least they pretend they do. They answer accordingly, like it was just a normal bit of conversation. There was no one else quite like you, and he was lucky to get to hear it. He knew that, but they knew it first. By the time the games had started, by the time you won and left, Coriolanus had started picking up the habit as well. You weren't entertainment, leaving something to question after every conversation, it was you. All you. And he loved you for it.

"How long will you be here?" You ask, returning your attention to him now. Finally.

"A month." Coryo answers promptly, smiling at you. At first, he thought a month was a long time until the next train left, but now, it didn't feel like nearly enough.

"Wonderful!" You smile, clapping excitedly. "So I will most definitely see you again."

"It's you I'm here to see." He grins, a pink flush spreading on his cheeks.

It matches yours almost perfectly. "Good." You nod. "I'm glad." You almost choke over the words and hope he doesn't notice.

"That reminds me! Lucy Gray's show tonight, are you going?" Sejanus asks you and you glance nervously over at her. It seems to Coryo that his friend was too eager to engulf himself in local culture, when they were supposed to be there to see you.

"Oh, you guys are certainly welcome but..." She looks back at you as she speaks, silently communicating with you on the best way to say this. You just nod. You trust her to speak for you. "Y/N typically doesn't come. It's nothin' new to her, any of my music she wants to hear I can sing for her anytime." She smiles.

"Coryo?" Sejanus asks him now, and he looks at you the same way you looked at Lucy Gray.

You sense his hesitation. Clearly, he will only go if you do. "You know what? I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. I'll come."

Lucy Gray looks surprised, but very pleased. "You will?"

"Sure, why not." She knows why not, but she won't dig any deeper into it in front of the boys.

"Alrighty then! We better get going, I've left rehearsals for long enough. The Covey is probably out searchin' by now." Lucy Gray says, waving the boys to pass her to get to the door.

"Are you sure?" She whispers to you once they cannot hear. "Don't feel pressured."

"I want to spend time with them." You whisper back. "I'll be fine."

She nods, a look of worry in her eyes as she hugs you again.

"Coryo?" You call as you pull away, walking past her to get to the front entrance of your small home.

His head whips up at your voice calling his name, looking at you expectantly. "Will you..." You start, and Coryo watches closely as you begin wringing your hands together in front of yourself.

Yes. Whatever you need, yes.

"If it's not too much trouble, can you come get me before you go? I don't like to walk at night..."

"Of course." He answers without hesitation. "I'll be back later, then."

"Thank you." You smile, cheeks red from the embarrassing question. "I'll see you guys tonight."

You had your so desired afternoon nap after that. Your mom came and laid in bed with you, gushing over how Coriolanus was such a good guest. A kind soul, she said. She could see it in his eyes, apparently, and hear it in the way he spoke about you. You wanted to believe her, but you really weren't sure.

You couldn't help but see him differently after he killed Bobbin. It wasn't necessarily that he killed him, it was the overkill that really haunted you. That last swing after the threat was so clearly subdued. He didn't look like himself anymore. It kept you up at night- and when it didn't, it was a frequent event in your nightmares.

You woke with a jolt from your nap, picturing your mentor standing over you with his blond curls falling over his eyes. You had a hand out to try protect yourself as you slid back across the cold, cemented ground of the arena. This was a common nightmare you had since you returned.

So when you got home from work only to see him standing in your living room, with your mother who knew nothing but the good things about him, you could have cried. Screamed. You thought for a moment that maybe you were sleeping and the dreams had adapted into something worse, but no. He was there. And he was kind, and so happy to see you that the boy you spent most nights remembering seemed incredibly unlikely to exist. When you looked into his eyes, as he silently begged you not to run, he was just Coryo.

Quick footsteps in the hallway turn your attention to the door. "You alright?" Your brother asks, hand braced on the frame to stop himself as if he had been moving too quickly to do it on his own.

"I'm fine." You nod, taking a deep breath and swallowing back your fear again.

Worried, Lennox looks back down the hall before coming into your room, closing the door behind himself. You move over in your shared bed, giving him his spot back as he slides in next to you.

"Nightmare?" He asks quietly, laying on his side to face you.

You just nod.

"Was it... about him?"

You want to lie. Tell him that no, it was just the games in general, but you knew he wouldn't buy it. Not after answering the door to see the boy whose name you mumbled in your sleep, begging for mercy standing in front of him.

That was the reason you had to tell your brother in the first place.

"No, I- Coryo, please..." Your brother hears you shifting under the blanket next to him, watching as Tybalt's ears perk up from your feet. "Please... Don't!"

"Y/N?" He mumbles, rolling over. "You okay?"

Then he realizes as he sees your eyes scrunched shut that you're still asleep. Nightmares he had dealt with for almost a week now, but tonight was the first night your mother didn't insist on sleeping in the room with you, leaving him on the floor while she took his spot. He had a suspicion that your dad was doing the same, just outside the door. But this was the first time you spoke.

"Y/N." He sits up, grabbing your shoulder to try and shake you awake. "Wake up. It's just a nightmare."

You sit up so fast it makes him jump back, the scream that fell from your lips made his heart race even faster. "Y/N?" He asks, quickly crawling back into the bed and trying to touch you, help you, but you're pushing yourself back against the wall, grasping at the sheets as you looked around. It takes you a moment to realize where you are- home. Safe.

Your brother turns his head as your parents come rushing in to comfort you. He doesn't say anything about you talking until you finally settle them enough with your calming smile, assuring them that you're fine and they should go back to bed. That they needed their sleep, while your own cheeks were still red and stained with tears.

He doesn't say a word until he's sure he's heard them go back to bed, staring at you as you lay back down under your quilt and your chest is still rising and falling so fast he's wondering how you're even getting any oxygen to your blood.

"You were talking to him." Lennox whispers, and you just turn your head to look at him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, voice still hoarse from the scream.

"What did he do to you?" By now, Coriolanus Snow or "Coryo", was a common name in your household. You only spoke of him favourably this last week you'd been home and even before that. That he helped you, saved you.

"Nothing, bud. It was just a dream." Now you're hushing him, reaching over and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder.

You can tell your brother doesn't believe you, but he doesn't know how to ask. What to ask, how to go about it without setting you off or hearing an answer that makes his blood boil so intensely that he jumps on the next Capitol bound freight train to do something you would never forgive him for.

"He didn't hurt me. I promise." You whisper again, sensing his fear. "I just..." You cut yourself off with a sigh. "Can you keep a secret?"

"You know I can." He promises.

You nod, small smile falling on your lips that's illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window. "Do you remember that boy from District Eight? Bobbin?" You whisper and he nods, hanging on every word.

"I watched Coriolanus kill him." You continue, assessing his reaction; confusion and shock settling in all at once. "And it was... Scary. He was already dead, but he hit him again and the look in his eyes I-..." You slightly shake your head. "It wasn't him. That was the last time I saw him. Coryo, I mean."

"How'd he get in?" Your brother whispers. "What was he doing?" It's all he could think to ask. Maybe he had gone to try and save you- to break you out. If you had told him that an hour ago, he would have believed it based on how you spoke about him.

"Sejanus, my other friend, snuck in. He brought bread to scatter over his tribute, and Coryo had to get him out safe." You explain. "He did, but not until after..." You sniff, wiping your eyes with the sheet.

"It's like you didn't know him." Your brother says, fully understanding.

"Yeah." You reply quietly. Lennox had always understood you. "I don't know if he was ever really my friend. If he's not the person I thought he was."

"I'm sorry." Your brother settles on.

"Nature teaches beasts to know their friends."

"You are not a beast." He whispers, brow furrowed.

You smile sadly at him. "You should get back to sleep."

"Yeah." You whisper, looking away and out the window at the sun beginning to set. Coryo would be here soon, and suddenly you were regretting agreeing to go out at all. "It was about him."

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie , @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

281 notes · View notes

theodorecanaryhood · 3 months

Text

The ride or die

Jason Todd x Male reader

Jason has a boyfriend who is Bruce Wayne’s assistant.

Warnings: swearing, sex, violence and mentions of death

10 years flew by as you moved from place to place, spending some time in London, then Europe, then back to London. Moving to Gotham for work.

I guess you could say you were trying to find yourself, but it was not easy. Maybe you were running away, from yourself or something. But you felt ready to stay in one place.

Bruce Wayne took you in as his assistant around 7 years ago, then you worked your way up higher.

‘Good morning, would you mind passing this on to my dad please?’ The man asked, handing you a small file.

You smiled and nodded, taking it from the man. He stood tall, at least 6ft plus, big arms, big form, black curly hair, handsome features filled his face. His eyes pulled you in, they were bright but had a hint of darkness to them.

You’d always stood by that eyes are the gateway to the soul, and his told a story without speaking.

‘Sure, he’s just in a meeting but I’ll grab him when he’s free’ you replied, the man smiled as he seemed to take your form in.

‘I’m Jason, Jason Todd’ he introduced, holding his hand out to you.

‘Y/n y/l/n’ you responded by taking his hand, shaking it.

Jason stood leaning over the counter a little as he watched you, catching up with you a little.

‘Jason? I see you’ve met y/n’ Bruce appeared from his office.

Jason walked over to give his dad a quick hug and chatted, disappearing into Bruce’s office.

You spent the last bit of the morning catching up on some deals, organising meetings for Bruce. Occasionally hearing Bruce and Jason laughing I the office.

‘So, I will see you Friday for dinner’ Bruce said as he patted Jason in the back.

Both leaving the office, the two smiled as Jason headed toward the door, him winking at you before he left.

You blushed a little as you watched Jason walk away, hearing Bruce clearing his throat, you picked up the file and handed it to Bruce.

A black tie gala was all you needed right now, Bruce asked if you could come with him as part of a new promotion he’d offered you.

Bruce didn’t want you as his assistant anymore, he wanted you as a partner. A business partner, a man responsible for half of Bruce’s work.

‘Hello again’ Jason caught your attention, his black suit, black leather gloves, flower rested neatly on his jacket.

Jason looked very handsome in this form, he looked like a man who would steal hearts with a look.

‘Hi Jason’ you smiled back, the two of you stood beside each other as Bruce made his speech.

Bruce noticed the two of you talking a lot and getting drinks together, Bruce smiled to himself, he hadn’t seen Jason like this for a long time.

‘He’s gay, and single’ Bruce whispered to Jason quietly as the two stepped away to get a drink.

‘Why are you telling me?’ Jason asked as Bruce shrugged.

‘Just saying’ Bruce chuckled, Jason glanced over to you.

You sat at the bar and began talking to another man, older and well dressed. Jason was about to have a heart attack with how much he hated to see you talking to another guy all of a sudden.

Jason pulled you away from this older man and took a leap.

‘Can I take you out sometime?’ Jason asked, looking into your eyes.

‘Yeah’ you smiled, no hesitation in your response, Jason blushed a little as he leant down and kissed your cheek.

5 years had passed since this moment, 5 amazing years of you and Jason. Bruce refers to you as not only his business partner, but his son in law. Referring to you as this with pride.

It was a long drive through the roads as Jason sped in his Porsche, his sports car. Holding your hand, radio playing tunes as the two of you stared at the road ahead.

Jason’s skin was always the best feeling as you held onto his hand, it was another hour or so until you arrived at the hideout house.

You knew of the other lives, Bruce told you a few years back that he is Batman. Then you figured the others are Nightwing, Robin and so on.

Jason’s white muscle tee complimented his physique well, a physique you would never grow bored of.

The first time you saw Jason without his clothes was a blessing, he took his shirt off and you nearly fell with the sight in front of you. He took his underwear off and you almost screamed with the size. Jason’s manhood swung around as you saw, it would probably be the death of you.

Jason stared off into the distance as his head dropped to what he was doing, not even noticing that you were drifting into a deep sleep.

Jason gripped the steering by wheel as he glanced over at you, his boyfriend, fast asleep and dreaming.

Jason patted your knee as he allowed you to remain where you were, the sun falling down and turning the sky into a black night. The grey skies were filling the road, Jason figured he would need to take a break at some point, pulling over into a parking lot and filling the car with gas.

In these silent moments when Jason’s brain was his own, he remembered all the bits of his life that he tried to forget.

His death, his resurrection and all the things that followed. Jason distracted his brain by remembering all the memories with you.

After another round of driving, Jason parks neatly in the bay as he rushes out of the car. Opens the passenger door for you, holding his hand out and ‘princessing’ you out of the car, gives you a big kiss. Then Jason finishes it off by giving your ass a slap, the big one where he grips on impact.

The two of you get inside the base, a simple getaway for just the two of you. Escaping from Gotham for a night or two. Jason walking behind you so he can have the best view as you walk.

Jason wraps an arm around your waist as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, you managing to lock the door as you turn to face Jason.

‘Fuck, you’re so cute’ Jason growls as he kisses you, deepening the impact t as he lifts you off your feet.

You wrap your legs around Jason’s waist, holding onto his arms as Jason kisses you, him smiling into it.

The feeling of the wall against your back and being pinned against Jason’s giant form, makes your groin ache for release, Jason knows this and has power over you.

‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard’ Jason pants in between kisses, you dig your fingertips into Jason’s muscles as he presses further against you.

Jason pulls your top off over your head as you do the same to him, running your hands down Jason’s body.

Clothes scattered all over the place as Jason pins you against the wall once again, shoving his length inside you, you threw your head back, eyes rolled back and big grunt.

‘Fuck, baby’ Jason moaned as he began to pump inside you.

Remaining where you were as Jason pumped at an unbelievable pace, you were floating in the air as Jason hit all the right spots.

Jason rested his forehead against your collarbone as he released himself inside you, you gasped as you felt his seed rushing inside you. Kissing the top of Jason’s head as he smiled.

Jason rinsed you down as the two of you stood under the shower, grabbing your face as he kissed you again. The steam from the shower filled the room.

Jason could never go too long without kissing you, he had to be touching you in some way. Jason loved without saying it too much, showing it was always Jason’s thing.

Black tank top, grey sweats and leaning against his Porsche, Jason lit a cigarette as you approached from the house.

‘Ready to go back home baby?’ Jason smiled as he blew smoke out of his mouth, you nodded as you kissed him.

Jason held the passenger door open for you as you got in the car, him finishing his cigarette before driving the two of you back home.

Hand resting on your thigh, you nose deep in a book, Jason listening to the light music from the radio. Jason smiled a little as he sat next to you, his love.

#red hood #gotham #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader

222 notes · View notes

chiffxna · 10 months

Text

A Love Too Dark (02)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 02: Chaos and Risks

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.

This story will contain 18+ mature themes, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 01

NEXT : Chapter 03

Several hours later, Yn finished her shift and she immediately changed her clothes, ending up with a long trench coat and a casual white T-shirt and jeans underneath. Just as she was about to leave the staff's changing room, she chanced upon Emily and the latter was quick to pull her back into the room to hear some tea. The two of them finally got the chance to talk since they were so preoccupied with their job in the casino.

"Yn! You better tell me exactly what happened with the Marquis!" exclaimed Emily with her eyes wide, glimmering with great curiosity to know more.

Yn chuckled, finding it humorous to see her close friend being this excited about some drama. Instead of answering, she asked, "Have you seen Mr. Malone?"

"Oh, he was looking over the result of the renovation. You know, the big renovation that made this casino shut down for a few hours yesterday," replied Emily. Then she hit Yn lightly on the arm and reprimanded her playfully, "Don't ignore my question! Tell me what happened!"

Yn sighed, knowing that the latter would not let her escape so easily. So she relented and apprised her of what had transpired in the VIP room.

"No way!" vociferated Emily, "That fuckwad is our boss now?!"

"He is our boss now," confirmed Yn.

Emily crossed her arms, looking displeased, "Damn, I don't like that. He sounds like a major asshole for what he said about Amy."

Yn nodded in agreement, "I know. But we can't do anything about it now that the deal is done."

"Yeah but it's a hard pill to swallow," Emily let out a sigh before she gave a burning stare at Yn and asked solemnly, "But... Did he say anything to you?"

Yn stayed quiet and Emily noticed it in an instant. The former did not tell her a single thing about her interaction with the Marquis. She felt embarrassed about what had occurred. She didn't want anyone to know about it. She wanted nothing more than to erase the memory of such a conversation and pretend like it never happened.

Emily could sense that there was something off with Yn's demeanor. She nudged her friend with her elbow and asked softly, "Come on, Yn. You can tell me. What did he do?"

Yn hesitated for a moment before murmuring, "He just…"

Emily was sitting next to Yn, her eyes focused and kind, as she waited for her friend to find the courage to share. The staff's changing room was empty, illuminated only by very few ceiling lamps, casting faint shadows on the walls. There was an air of calm in the quiet space, the only sound being their steady breathing.

After a quick consideration, Yn believed that it would be better not to tell anyone about the eerie interaction she had with the Marquis. She put on a fake smile and shook her head as if pretending that there was nothing to worry about. She then said, "It was nothing, really. All he asked was about the art I gave to Mr. Malone. That's all."

Emily's suspicion didn't wane as she looked at Yn intently. She knew her friend was hiding something but she decided not to push it any further. Instead, she stood up and patted Yn on the back reassuringly.

"Well, I hope that's all it was. Just be careful around him, okay?" Emily said with concern etched on her face.

Yn nodded, feeling grateful for her friend's concern and also for not pushing the subject more. She knew Emily long enough to know that she had a keen perception. But fortunately, she didn't persist and Yn was thankful for that.

"You just finished your shift, right?" asked Emily.

"Yeah, I have to go right now," answered Yn, "I'm worried about my sister at home."

"Oh yeah, you should go on ahead," said Emily, "Say hi to Sydney for me."

"Sure! See you next time, Em!"

As Yn stepped out of the staff's changing room, she felt a sense of relief for not having to disclose to someone about her odd interaction with the Frenchman. Plus, she didn't want to think about her interaction with the Marquis anymore. She just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and forget about the day's events.

Yn managed to catch the last bus to her apartment, her mind still preoccupied with the events of the day. As she stepped off the bus, she saw her apartment building standing tall and proud in front of her. The building was old and had seen better days, but it was home, and it was where she felt the safest.

She walked up to her apartment and unlocked the door, stepping inside to be greeted by her cat who immediately leaped off of the couch and rushed towards her.

"Rosie!" Yn called for her in a sweet, high-pitched tone, "Where's Sydney?"

The cat reached her and brushed her own body against Yn's leg. She then gazed up at her owner and meowed at her for so long as if reprimanding her for being late.

Without warning, someone appeared in the corridor and walked toward Yn. It was Barbara, a middle-aged woman who was a cousin to Yn and often watched over Sydney when Yn wasn't available.

"Hey, how's your night?" queried Barbara with a grin.

"It was just okay," answered Yn, suddenly remembering the Marquis again when she was asked that. She shook her head, trying to dispel the image in her head, as she spoke, "By the way, thanks for taking care of Sydney for me again."

Barbara shrugged and waved it off, "No problem, Yn. You know I love her. She is easy to handle. Anyway, she's asleep in her bedroom now."

Yn smiled at Barbara and then she fetched her purse and took out several dollars. Yn was about to hand it to her cousin when the latter put up a hand and said, "Yn, don't. How many times have I told you that I did it for free?"

"I'm serious this time, Bar. Take it," said Yn as she pushed the dollars against her cousin's chest.

"No, take it back, sis," persisted Barbara as she grabbed the dollars and pushed them against Yn's hands.

"Please take it, sis," Yn pushed back, "I finished my shift later than usual after all."

"No, no, no," answered Barbara who countered, "I don't mind that at all."

That's when Yn firmly clasped Barbara's hand and smacked the cash into her palm with a loud clap, and insisted, "Just take it!"

As politely as she could, Yn kicked Barbara out of her apartment since the latter seemed like she was seconds away from throwing the cash back at her. Once all had calmed down, Yn chuckled, finding it amusing how the situation played out.

After ensuring that Rosie was well-fed, Yn quietly crept up to Sydney's bedroom. When she peeked inside, her stepsister was fast asleep, her blanket tucked tightly around her and her doll clasped close to her chest. A soft smile curved Yn's mouth, evidently warmed to see her looking well, before she closed the door and walked off.

The next morning, despite not having enough sleep due to Yn finishing her shift at the casino at two in the morning, woke up early and began to prepare breakfast for both her and Sydney.

"Yn! Morning!" greeted Sydney who had just woken up and entered the kitchen to see Yn preparing sandwiches.

"Good morning, Syd. Did you sleep well?" Yn asked, turning to face her stepsister with a smile.

Sydney nodded, "Yes! I dreamt that Peter Pan flew me out to Neverland! I flew in the sky, Yn!"

"Aww, that's amazing!" Yn replied as she finished preparing the sandwiches, "There. Now come, let's take a shower. We better hurry up for your school!"

Sydney jumped up and down with excitement and followed Yn to the bathroom, chattering on and on about her dream.

After they showered, got dressed, and had breakfast, Yn walked Sydney to school, holding her hand tightly the whole way. It took them ten minutes to arrive at her preschool.

Upon entering the school gate, Yn crouched down in front of Sydney and adjusted her clothing before saying with the same eye level as the young girl, "Alright, Syd. Be careful, okay? Don't be a mess and don't be naughty. Don't run around."

"Okay, Yn," replied Sydney, "Will you be back home early?"

Yn went quiet, staring at the little girl before her and perceiving the longing in her eyes. Yn did not tell anyone about her job as a bunny-girl in the casino. No one in her family knew, including Barbara. Such a job would stagger them all, especially her sick mom who would undoubtedly feel guilty for causing her daughter to work like that.

The pay as the bunny-girl in the casino was surprisingly tremendous and she got tips from the customers daily, despite having worn the mask the whole time. It helped her a lot in saving up enough money for her mother's treatment in the hospital. But the downside was that she had to return home past midnight. She couldn't spend much time with Sydney and the little girl evidently began to feel lonely despite being accompanied by Barbara.

Yn wished she could rest and be with Sydney, but the job at the casino provided her with an essential financial grounding. She needed it to survive, yet it left her feeling guilty for not spending enough time with her stepsister.

But with the way things were going, Yn knew it would take a while before she could finish paying the overall bill for her mother's medication. It pained her to think of deceiving Sydney, but she couldn't bear the thought of not being able to provide for her family. She felt emotionally torn and in the end, she knew her decision remained the same.

"I'll try to be back as soon as I can, okay?" Yn finally answered, brushing Sydney's hair away from her face, "But if I'm not, Barbara will be there."

Sydney pouted her lips in dejection and nodded, her eyes still pleading for Yn to come back early. But Yn merely frowned ruefully, knowing she had to go to the casino again tonight, just like every night, to earn the money she needed for her mother's treatments.

As Sydney walked into the school building, Yn stood outside, watching her step-sister disappear out of sight. She couldn't help but feel another pang of guilt for having to disappoint her stepsister like that. But she had to stay strong for her family. Everything was riding on her shoulder.

As she turned and waited for a bus, Yn couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. She was tired of deceiving her family, tired of returning home late past midnight, and tired of carrying the burden all by herself. But she reminded herself that she was doing it all for her mother. That thought alone gave her the strength to keep going.

In only a fraction of an hour, she had alighted from the bus and walked toward the cafe. Here, she was working a morning shift, since taking two jobs in one day was required for her to make enough money to stay afloat and pay her mother's medical expenses.

Yn made her way inside the building, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. There were only a few customers present at the moment, and she could see her co-workers bustling around in the kitchen and behind the counter.

After greeting her fellow coworkers, she made her way to the back of the cafe where the employees kept their belongings. She stripped off her coat and hung it up and wore the cafe company's apron over her casual clothing.

As Yn made her way to her assigned station, she couldn't help but feel a sense of numbness wash over her. She had been working non-stop for weeks and the exhaustion was starting to take its toll.

The day started busy as the morning rush began. She busied herself with serving the customers as a waitress, wiping down tables, and filling up condiment containers. She had been working as a waitress for a while now and she could say she was good at it. She was familiar with all the regular customers and knew exactly how they liked their coffee.

Eventually, the morning rush ended and the flow of customers coming in and out of the cafe since then had been slow. Yn's mind started to wander, thinking about her mother's treatments and the mounting bills that needed to be paid, feeling the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders.

As she was lost in thought, Yn felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Edric, one of her coworkers standing behind her. Edric had always had a crush on her and despite her polite rejections, he continued to care for her at work. She was grateful for his worry, but she didn't want to give him false hope.

"Hey, Yn. You okay?" Edric asked with a concerned look on his face.

Yn forced a smile, "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a little tired, that's all."

Edric nodded, "Why don't you take a break? I'll cover for you."

Yn was hesitant. She was about to deny the offer when she remembered that she had another shift that night. She didn't get enough sleep too. So this offer was an opportunity for her to rest and have some shut-eye. She finally nodded to him, "Thanks, Edric. Tell me when the boss comes back, okay?"

Edric chuckled, "Trust me. Big boss won't come back anytime today. He is with his mistress in Thailand."

She walked to the back of the cafe and sat down on a chair. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

But as she sat there in silence, finally resting up her mind, body, and spirit, she took the time to encourage herself. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was willing to do whatever it takes to provide for her family. Plus, she was close to collecting the overall payment of her mother's treatment bills. She was so close. All she had to do was endure for one or two months.

As she sat there, she couldn't help but let her thoughts drift to the possibility of a better life. What if she didn't have to work herself to the bone every day? What if she had someone to lean on? Someone to share the burden with? Someone who could provide for her and her family?

That's when the face of a certain Frenchman entered her mind.

She laughed at herself for considering such an idea, as she must have been quite tired. Plus, the Marquis de Gramont appeared to be arrogant and unapproachable. It would have been a disaster to pair with someone like him. Yn was thankful that it was only a fleeting thought.

Once she had enough rest, she went outside to clock in for the day and complete her job until her shift was over. With a friendly farewell to her coworkers, she then left the cafe and hopped on a bus bound for Sydney's preschool to pick her up.

As she stepped off the bus, Yn spotted Sydney playing with the other kids in the playground. The little girl's face lit up as soon as she saw her big sister walking towards her and she immediately rushed off. With a big smile, Yn held her hand and asked, "Hey, Syd. Do you want to visit mom in the hospital?"

"Yes, I want!" enthused Sydney.

Yn smiled, happy to see her sister excited. She knew that visiting their mother would lift their spirits and give them the strength they needed to keep going.

Together, they made their way to the hospital. Yn held Sydney's hand tightly, guiding her through the busy corridors until they reached their mother's room. Their mother looked weak and frail, but her eyes lit up when she saw her daughters. Yn took a seat beside her mother while Sydney sat down on the bed next to her mother's thigh.

"Mom!" crowed Sydney, "Are you okay, mom?"

Their mother beamed radiantly and nodded, "I'm as okay as I can be."

"How are you feeling, Mom?" Yn asked, concern etched on her face.

"I'm okay, dear. Just a little bored of staying in bed for so long," her mother replied, "I bet I couldn't feel my legs if I ever get out of this bed."

"Why can't you get out of bed, mom?" asked Sydney.

Their mom leaned forward to gently comb the little girl's hair with her fingers, "Because I need to rest, my dearie. Anyway, how's school?"

Sydney's face lit up at the mention of school, "It's great, mom! We learned about space today. Did you know that there are billions of stars in the universe?"

Their mother smiled, happy to see her daughter's enthusiasm for learning, "That's amazing, sweetie. How many planets are there?"

Yn smiled at the exchange between her mother and sister, grateful for the moment of joy amidst the hardships. Sydney chattered away about her day as her mother listened with a smile. Yn watched them both with a sense of bittersweet longing, knowing that their time together in the hospital was limited. But she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present moment, enjoying the simple joy of being together with her family.

"Oh, but Yn," her mom suddenly addressed her, "Why do you look so tired? You got them bags under your eyes."

A fake smile etched Yn's lips as she replied, "It's nothing, mom."

Her mom's face was filled with worry and concern as a small frown creased her forehead. She could tell that her daughter was exhausted. It was obvious. She could even feel the exhaustion radiating from Yn. The latter did apprise her about having two jobs daily. She knew her job as a waitress in a cafe, but she was clueless about her night shift. It was a mystery to her - one that Yn refused to tell her till now.

"Yn, there's something you're not telling me. Please, tell me what's going on," her mother urged with a gentle tone.

Sydney's mood fell as she observed the two grown women conversing. Yn averted her gaze from her mother and said with a fake facade, "I'm just tired, mom. But I'm so close to collecting the full payment of your medical bills, mom. I just have to endure this for one or two months."

"That's great and all but please don't do anything degrading because of me," said the mother, "It would kill me."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," smiled Yn and this time it was genuine, "I found a job with a night shift that doesn't make me do bad stuff. All I have to do is just be a waitress for the night. It'll be okay, mom."

Her mother sighed, "Okay then. You can skip a day or two to get enough rest too. Don't overwork yourself."

Yn's smile nearly reached her eyes, and her nodding was subtle but sure. Her mother watched her quietly for a moment, perceiving the stubborn look on Yn's face that showed she would not rest until she had collected enough money to pay off the hospital bills.

Then her mother suddenly spoke, "If only there is a rich man who loves you and could provide for you. You wouldn't have to work two jobs and tire yourself out like this."

Yn was taken aback to hear her mother bring up a subject like this. Immediately, the tall frame and face of the Marquis de Gramont resounded in her mind. She bashfully glanced away and chuckled to herself in incredulity as it was quite a coincidence that she had met one of the wealthiest men in France just the night before and now her mother was talking about finding someone like that.

Yn chuckled, "Mom, I can take care of myself and you two just fine. And love doesn't just come from money."

"I know that, dear," her mother replied with a smile, "I just want you to be happy and not have to work so hard."

Yn nodded, appreciating her mother's concern. She knew that her mother only wanted the best for her, but finding a rich man to take care of her wasn't exactly a priority. Her focus was on taking care of her family and making sure they were okay.

"I'll be okay, Mom. Don't worry," Yn reassured her mother with a small smile.

As the visit came to an end, Yn and Sydney hugged their mother tightly and promised to visit again soon. The both of them then made their way out of the hospital, hand in hand, and boarded a bus together to their apartment.

Once inside the apartment, Rosie greeted them with a pur. Yn checked the wall clock and realized she had two hours left to prepare before her night shift at the casino at eight o'clock in the evening. She had to call up Barbara again to take care of Sydney who was eating the donuts Yn brought from the cafe she worked the morning shift at.

She headed to her bedroom and shut the door, not wanting the little girl to overhear her. She then made the call and informed Barbara about the situation and needed her help once more. Barbara agreed to babysit Sydney again and would come by in a matter of minutes. With their conversation done, Yn went to her room to change and get ready for her night shift.

Yn was finally dressed and ready to leave in her long trench coat, but she decided to stay for a little while longer and watched a movie with Sydney. When Barbara showed up, Yn kissed Sydney on the forehead as a farewell and left, trying to ignore the guilt that bubbled up inside her upon seeing Sydney's despondent face at being babysat again.

As she entered the casino, Yn felt a sense of familiarity wash over her. She had been working there for months now, and it was her only source of income, apart from the café job. The casino was bustling with activity and she could hear the sound of slot machines in the background.

She went straight for the staff's changing room and met with her fellow bunny-girls. All of them seemed chaotic. More murmurs and chatters filled the room than usual. Just as Yn reached her makeup table, Emily rushed towards her and said, "Oh my God, Yn! Everyone knows now!"

"Know what?" quizzed Yn with wide eyes in curiosity and puzzlement.

"About the Marquis being our owner," Emily took a deep breath as if she had run a marathon to get to her makeup table, "Mr. Malone told some of us to be fast and gather at the lobby so we have to get ready early. He hasn't told us but the staff have already heard about the rumors."

Yn was probably the first person to know about that so she wasn't all that surprised. Though, she hadn't known about another assembly soon so she hurriedly started her skincare routine and makeup. Emily once again helped her by hanging her bunny costume next to her table.

Once their makeup and hair were done, Yn and the other bunny-girls headed out to the lobby to meet with Mr. Malone and the other staff members such as the bouncers, the kitchen staffs, and the cleaning service staffs. The lobby was already packed with customers since the casino had never closed since Yn finished her shift. As she advanced towards Mr. Malone, who was already standing there awaiting them, the woman couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive.

"Alright," Mr. Malone began, "Good evening, everyone."

"Good evening," chorused the rest of the staffs.

"I have very exciting news for all of you," he stated with a beam, "Some of you may have heard it. Well, let me say this. It's all true. From now on, the Marquis de Gramont from France will be our owner and I will remain as the managing director. He will bring our casino to a whole new level with his resources and influence."

Some of the staffs glanced at one another, each one having their own opinion about having a new boss or having a question such as what kind of person he was. Mr. Malone continued, surveying the reaction of the employees, "I know some of you may have reservations or questions, but I assure you that he is a great man who cares for those under him. He has even given me a huge amount of money to be distributed to each and every one of you as a bonus."

There were gasps and cheers from the staff as they heard about the bonus. An applause resounded throughout the casino as they all were evidently jubilant upon hearing it. Yn also felt relieved about the bonus she's getting as she would need it so much for her mother's hospital bills.

"Also," added Mr. Malone, "One more thing. The VIP room will no longer be open to anyone. The Marquis wants to turn it into his office. Well, because..."

"Because I like the room."

A male voice, thick with a French accent, suddenly enacted from behind all of the staffs. All eyes were thrown in that direction and those who knew him were astounded to see it was the Marquis de Gramont in the flesh, striding towards them from the entrance door with his hands in his pants pocket. His bodyguard was following behind him. He was donning a three-piece suit again; this time the suit jacket was sparkly black, the waistcoat was black with glinting checkered texture, and his tie and shirt were both gray.

He was obviously the tallest person among them all as he reached them and stood behind the employees. He continued speaking, "And... the abstract painting inside it is what I want to see every day."

Yn couldn't help but be mesmerized by his striking appearance, admiring how the suit hugged his body in all the right places. Apparently, the others were feeling the same way too as they were nonplussed to see him among them. He stood out the most, even among the rich patrons of the casino.

"Sir!" Mr. Malone was startled as well upon seeing him, "I didn't know you were here already. You told me you would be late tonight."

The Marquis started advancing forward and the employees began to part a path for him like the Red Sea for Moses. With his hands in his pockets, he proceeded to the front, moving towards Mr. Malone when suddenly, his gaze shifted to the side and looked straight at Yn. He did not even scan through the staffs and look for her. It's as if he knew where exactly she was. It's like he had already looked for her beforehand.

Yn's heart skipped a beat as the Marquis's eyes met hers. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her revealing bunny costume. The Marquis' gaze was intense, almost as if he could see right through her. His eyes were an icy green, framed by dark lashes that made them appear even more piercing than usual. His expression was unreadable yet powerful. She felt as though he could see right through her as if he knew every thought that ran through her mind.

The Marquis' gaze lingered on her for a moment before he cast his eyes away and addressed Mr. Malone while striding at a slow pace towards him, "I did. But I finished it up as soon as possible to attend your assembly."

Mr. Malone coughed nervously, "Glad to hear it, sir. I was just telling the staff about you. It's great that you could make it here."

The Marquis stood next to Mr. Malone, facing the staffs around them, and said, "Of course. I would hate to miss this. Good evening."

"Good evening," all of the staffs answered back simultaneously.

"A pleasure to meet all of you," the Marquis said, his voice was spoken slowly yet with great charisma and smoothness that attracted everyone's attention. His French accent was thick as he added, "I am excited to work alongside all of you. I have a vision for this establishment, and I believe that together we can accomplish great things."

Yn couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine as the Marquis's gaze swept over her once more. There was something about him that made her feel nervous and intimidated.

"Great!" Mr. Malone spoke up, "Now, allow me to introduce each of the staff to you, sir."

As the Marquis and Mr. Malone walked around and got to know the workers, Yn observed how the bunny-girls behaved towards them as they were being introduced to the Frenchman.

"This is Sabrina, one of our most popular bunny-girls here," said Mr. Malone, gesturing to the busty lady in a bunny costume as he and the Marquis moved along the staffs' line.

Sabrina smiled flirtatiously and extended one hand out towards the Marquis, "I'm Sabrina. It's a pleasure to meet you, monsieur beau."

The Marquis raised an eyebrow, even glancing at her hand for a second or two, before taking her hand. His other hand was placed inside his pants pocket. The two of them exchanged handshakes and he replied with a smile, "Likewise."

The Marquis and Mr. Malone then moved to the next bunny-girl and the managing director spoke up, "This is Rachel. She is a very quiet girl."

Just like how he did with the other staffs, the Marquis shook hands again with Rachel who refused to make eye contact with him. His free left hand was still hidden in his pocket. The same thing happened to the other employees until both of them finally reached Yn.

Once the two of them stood before Yn, Mr. Malone began, "And this is-"

"Yn Ln," the Marquis uttered her full name out of the blue, cutting off Mr. Malone. The Marquis took a step closer to Yn and said with a cunning smile as he looked down at her, "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"It's nice to meet you too, sir," replied the anxious Yn as she grasped his hand which was reaching out to her. She then shook hands with the Frenchman, ignoring the way his hand felt huge against hers.

Suddenly, his free left hand was brought out of his pocket and he placed it atop Yn's hand which was still shaking with his right one. Both of his hands were covering hers and it filled her skin with warmth which she was uncertain if she liked it or not. His action caught her off guard and baffled her as he didn't do this to anyone before her. It seemed extra and unnecessary.

She felt every burning eye on them, watching their interaction. That made her feel all the more insecure. She didn't want to attract any attention, but the Marquis made it impossible. For a second she thought about running away to hide but she knew that would make her seem all the more embarrassing.

The Marquis' smirk widened as he kept a watchful stare on her. His fingers, which were on top of the back of her hand, then gave a few pats to her skin and he nodded at her while saying, "Let's work together."

Yn nodded her head with uncertainty, "Yeah..."

The Marquis' smile widened in satisfaction before he let her hand go. With a last piercing stare at her, the Marquis walked to the next bunny-girl and Mr. Malone introduced Emily to him. This time, the Frenchman shook hands with her normally, with his other hand hidden in his pocket.

As the Marquis continued to get to know the casino workers personally, Yn observed him quietly. She couldn't shake off the strange feeling that he gave her. There was something about him, something dark and mysterious that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, his confidence and charisma drawing everyone towards him.

"Where's Amelia?" asked Sophia to the bunny-girls nearby.

"She texted me," answered Emma, "She said she's going to take a break today."

Emily spoke up, "Does she know about the Marquis being our owner now?"

"Yes, and she was so shocked she burnt herself while cooking," clarified Emma, "We were calling when I told her about it."

The Marquis and Mr. Malone then stood on the previous spot after having the former get to know the employees personally. The Marquis put on a friendly smile and said, "Thank you, everyone, for the warm welcome. I can tell that this is going to be a successful collaboration between us."

The staff members all smiled and nodded, some more enthusiastic than others. Yn couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety wash over her as she realized that the Marquis would be her new boss - and she didn't know anything about him.

"Is there anything else you would like to do, sir?" asked Mr. Malone, "Before I dismiss them?"

"No, that would be all," replied the Marquis.

"Very well," Mr. Malone then turned to the employees and announced, "You heard him, everyone. You are dismissed. Now, chop chop! Give them two hundred percent! And don't forget your mask, ladies."

The staff members of the casino dispersed in an instant, each one headed straight for their station or their next task. Yn immediately walked off to grab a mask for herself. She had just put on a mask when Emily grabbed her arm and inquired her with wide eyes full of curiosity, "Hey, what was that about?"

Yn knew what she was implying but she still asked, "What was what?"

"You and the Marquis," pointed out Emily. Her black eyes looked deep into Yn's eyes as the former said, "The way he talked with you was so different."

"Em," Yn answered, "It was nothing. He was just being friendly."

Emily retaliated, "Being friendly is not like that! You know that trend on Tiktalk with the words, 'Stop looking at me with those eyes'? That's how he looked at you!"

"That's absurd," responded Yn as she walked towards the roulette table to tend to it, seeing the customers were already flocking around it.

"No, I saw it!" pressed Emily, "He was practically undressing you with his eyes!"

Yn couldn't deny the shiver that ran down her spine at the thought, but she brushed it off and focused on her job. She had to put the Marquis out of her mind as it was time for work.

She greeted the customers politely, even smiling although her mouth was concealed by the black mask she was donning, and announced she would be the dealer of the roulette table. Once the customers had placed their bets and chips, she began spinning the roulette wheel, calling out the numbers as they landed.

At one point, she had to wait for a customer to count his remaining chips and she looked around the casino, noting the busy yet fun atmosphere around them as the patrons gambled their savings away. That was when her eyes landed on the door of the VIP room.

The Marquis de Gramont stood tall and imposing with an air of authority and power as he commanded several foreign workers renovating the room as his office. She could see the paintings being brought in, framed in ornate gold frames, ready to be hung on the wall. He stood there silently, observing the workers around him as they went about their work. Then he chanced a glance in her direction and stared directly at her.

His gaze was intense, almost as if she was a painting and he was studying her from afar. She quickly tore her eyes away and resumed dealing with the game, trying to ignore the burning sensation in her cheeks. She could feel the Marquis' gaze on her, watching her every move. She tried to ignore it, but it was impossible.

As the night progressed, more customers came in, and Yn found herself getting busier by the minute. She barely had time to take a break, and when she did, it was only for a few minutes to catch her breath and drink some water.

After a few hours of work, Yn's shift ended. She was exhausted and eager to go home. Still in her revealing bunny costume and donning a black mask over her nose and mouth, she headed towards the staff's changing room when she realized there was a certain, noticeable change in her pathway.

A massive abstract painting hung on the wall of the open hallway leading to the changing room, easily visible from the main hall of the casino. Some of the patrons stood and chatted in front of it. The people around the painting whispered in awe and admiration, their hushed tones muffled by the sound of slot machines and other games in the casino.

Yn slowed down to a stop in front of the abstract art. With a pair of wide eyes of surprise, she stared up at the painting. Her entire body was facing it as she quietly admired it, mesmerized by the colors and shapes that seemed to dance before her eyes. As she stood there, she felt a presence behind her and turned to see the Marquis de Gramont standing tall, his eyes locked on her.

"Caught your eye?" he said, his voice low and smooth.

"Yeah..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

That's when the Marquis moved from behind Yn, slowly circling her and scanning her up close with his eyes. His eyes were unblinking as he slowly walked around her in a slow, counter-clockwise circle. He moved gracefully and with purpose, like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze seemed to be studying her from all angles as if she was a prized possession.

Yn felt on edge as his eyes scanned her upside down and could almost feel the intensity of his gaze as if she was an art piece admired by him. His presence felt oppressive and overwhelming, and it was at that moment she truly felt what Emily had told her.

"He was practically undressing you with his eyes!"

"I bought it hours ago from a very talented artist," the Marquis said as he was still circling around her. His heavy French accent added a touch of sophistication to his words.

At some point, he tore his gaze away from Yn. His eyes became dark and cold as he glanced at the men nearby. His stare was ominous and serious, radiating an aura of power that commanded respect and screamed murder as if he was wordlessly telling them to scram. His presence was intimidating and oppressive and it made Yn feel smothered despite how huge the space was.

With his dark eyes locked on the people surrounding them, he continued speaking to the lady he ensnared and circled around on, "It represents the chaos and unpredictability of life. I find it quite fitting for a casino."

As Yn absorbed the Marquis's words, she couldn't help but feel a chill creep up her spine. The juxtaposition of his suave demeanor and the underlying sense of danger in his presence left her feeling trapped, like prey caught in a predator's snare.

Yn's voice trembled slightly as she responded with uncertainty, "It does look... nice..."

The Marquis's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile as he glanced back at Yn, still circling around her leisurely and invading her personal space.

His voice, still low and smooth, resonated in her ears like a whisper laced with hidden intentions, "Yes, chaos has a certain charm, wouldn't you say? It pulls people in and seduces them with its tempting nature. And in this building of gamblers and dreamers, chaos reigns supreme."

Yn felt a surge of unease ripple through her as the Marquis' words echoed in her mind. There was something unnerving about what he said. It's as if he was hinting at something to her. Something so obvious to him yet so obscure to her. If she pondered about it so simply, only one thing crossed her mind. And it's downright sinful and filthy. There’s no way he was implying that, she thought.

As Yn stood there, enveloped in the Marquis' aura, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to him than met the eye. The art, the chaos, the intensity of his gaze - all seemed to be pieces of a larger puzzle, one she wasn't sure she was ready to unravel.

While circling her and arriving behind her, the Marquis leaned in even closer to Yn, his hot breath tickling the back of her neck. She could feel his body heat radiating off of him, and her heart raced as his lips brushed against her ear.

"Tell me, ma lapine," he whispered as he looked from her seductive bunny costume to her eyes, "Do you like to take risks?"

Yn's heart pounded in her chest. She did not understand what 'ma lapine' meant. Her voice was barely audible as she responded, "I don’t..."

Her response hung in the air, her voice filled with trepidation. The Marquis pulled back slightly, his intense gaze still fixed on her.

"Don't what?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

Yn hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. She felt trapped in the Marquis' web of intrigue, unsure of his intentions and the risks that lay ahead. Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage and decided to respond honestly.

"I don't know if I like to take risks," Yn admitted, her voice wavering. "I've always been cautious."

The Marquis, just arriving in front of her while circling, regarded her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, a small smile played at the corners of his lips.

"I can see you like to play it safe. But it can be tiresome," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. "Sometimes, the most exhilarating moments in life come when we dare to step out of our comfort zones."

Yn stayed quiet, knowing that he was somewhat right, but she could not find it in herself to take any risk. Not when the consequence of her failure may result in her mother’s fall to her illness. No. She had to remain cautious, even if she was so close to earning enough money for the full payment for her mother’s medical treatment.

Yn responded, her voice clearly laced with wariness, "But it's also important to consider the consequences.”

The Marquis chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Ah, consequences," he mused, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "They are indeed part of the equation. But sometimes, the rewards outweigh the risks. It all depends on how far you're willing to go."

He stopped his circle around Yn and stood beside her. He inched closer to her and whispered, “Don’t worry. I will help you know the pleasure of taking a risk.”

That was when she felt warm skin touch her back. She did not have to look to know it was the Marquis’ hand. He slowly moved the aforementioned limb to her waist and grasped it, sensing that his hand fit there perfectly. The Marquis chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down Yn's spine.

"Tonight is the perfect night to find out," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Yn's eyes gradually widened in terror as she registered his words. She took a step away from him, feeling a surge of fear coursing through her veins, and his hand was released from her waist. At that moment, she felt a deep sense of unease and danger. She was now certain that the Marquis de Gramont's intentions were far from innocent, and she realized she had unknowingly stumbled into a precarious situation.

Fear gripped Yn as she realized she was alone with this mysterious man in a secluded open hallway of the casino. The art viewers surrounding them moments ago had disappeared without her notice. She glanced around, hoping to find an escape route or someone who could help her, but the casino seemed to be engulfed in its own world of oblivious gamblers.

Knowing that she had to do something to save herself, Yn mustered her strength and replied, her voice shaky but determined, "I... I'm sorry, but I have to go."

The Marquis smirked as if he found her denial funny, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something far more lustful and sinister. His voice was laced with a subtle threat as he said, "Oh, but the night is young."

Yn's instincts screamed at her to leave, to escape from this unsettling encounter. She glanced around, searching for an exit, but the Marquis positioned himself between her and the nearest door. Panic began to take hold as she realized the gravity of her situation.

"Please, I need to go," she said, her voice a tad stronger now, though it trembled slightly.

Not waiting for any response, Yn swiftly sidestepped the Marquis and briskly walked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't shake off the feeling of his eyes burning into her back as she hurried towards the staff's changing room.

Just as she opened the door, the Marquis' voice, thick with his French accent, spoke up, "Cherish this moment, ma lapine. It may be the last time you can escape."

Yn's hand froze on the doorknob, and she slowly turned her head to look back at the Marquis. He was standing with his whole body facing her, his hands on his hips, exuding an aura of ominous confidence as if he knew everything would go his way eventually. His gaze pierced through her, and a chill ran down her spine. She could sense a dark and malevolent undertone in his words as if he was hinting at something far more sinister than she could comprehend.

Without uttering another word, Yn quickly entered the changing room and closed the door behind her. Once safely inside, she locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her breathing heavy and rapid. She was relieved that the room was devoid of anyone. The encounter had left her shaken and wary, but she knew she needed to act fast.

Yn quickly changed out of her bunny costume, discarding it and the black mask. She retrieved her belongings and decided it was best to leave the casino immediately. As she stepped out onto the bustling streets, she couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, as if the Marquis's intense gaze was still fixed upon her.

Determined to put the encounter behind her, Yn hastened her steps to make it back home. She hopped onto the bus that she normally took and plopped down on one of its seats. Despite her efforts, thoughts of her earlier encounter with the Marquis de Gramont filled her mind: his piercing gaze and sinister words refused to go away. To take her mind off things, Yn shifted her gaze out the window where the city lights streaked past in a colorful blur.

The bus ride felt longer than usual, and Yn's unease only grew with each passing moment. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if the Marquis was somehow still present, his presence lingering in the shadows. Soon enough, in minutes, the bus finally arrived at her stop and Yn hastily got off.

Walking briskly through the dimly lit streets, Yn couldn't help but glance over her shoulder every now and then, her senses on high alert. The night seemed eerily quiet, and she couldn't shake off the feeling of being followed. Her footsteps quickened as she made her way toward her apartment building, her heart pounding in her chest.

Finally reaching the safety of her building, Yn loosened up a bit as she stepped into the well-lit lobby. She greeted the security guard with a tense smile, trying to appear calm and composed despite the fear gnawing at her insides. She hurriedly made her way to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly, urging it to arrive faster.

As the elevator doors closed and she ascended to her floor, Yn's mind was still consumed by thoughts of the Marquis. She wondered what he had meant by his parting words and what kind of situation she had unwittingly walked into. The encounter had left her shaken and wary of everything that moved, and she couldn't help but question her own safety.

Finally reaching her apartment, Yn quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately feeling a sense of relief as she closed and locked it behind her. She leaned against the door, taking a moment to catch her breath and calm her racing thoughts. It was in the safety of her own space that she could begin to process the events of the night.

Suddenly, a meow was heard in the silence of the apartment and Yn jumped in complete fright, yelping quietly, before she glanced down and realized it was her cat, Rosie. She was innocently moving closer to the spooked owner and brushed her body against Yn's legs.

"Yn?"

Yn brought her eyes up from the floor and looked to see it was Barbara. The latter stared at her in bewilderment and curiosity and quizzed her, "What's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost."

Yn took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and regain composure. She realized that she must have appeared quite shaken to Barbara, and she didn't want to alarm her cousin unnecessarily.

"It's... it's nothing," Yn replied, forcing a smile onto her face. "I just had a strange encounter at work."

Barbara's eyebrows furrowed with concern. "What happened?"

Yn faked a smile and shook her head as if wordlessly indicating to not ask any questions. She said, "Nothing. Where is Sydney?"

Barbara gestured to the little girl's bedroom and replied, "Asleep in her bedroom..."

Yn let out a sigh and told, "Okay. Thanks, Barbara."

The cousin stared at her quietly, clearly getting the message that Yn did not want to talk about whatever it was that bothered her.

"Alright," Barbara grabbed her belongings and went to the door. She turned to Yn and said with a stretched smile, "Just call me if you ever need help or a friend. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Yn smiled gratefully at Barbara's offer of support, "Okay. Thank you again, Bar."

Barbara nodded and exited the apartment, leaving Yn alone with her thoughts. After ensuring that Sydney was sound asleep, Yn decided to pour herself a glass of water in the kitchen. As she stood by the sink, she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

As she sipped her water, Yn pondered for a long while in the safety of her humble abode. She knew that no matter what, she had to return to the casino the following evening. Much as she disliked it, she needed the job more than she wanted to admit, even though the Marquis was her boss.

After a long contemplation, she arrived to a conclusion. Her plan was simple: stay away from him. Avoid being in close proximity with him and avoid any chance of having to talk to with him at all. Make sure she never found herself alone inside the casino walls. She would do whatever it took to keep her distance from him, no matter the cost.

Once she got enough money for the payment of her mother's medical bills, she would quit and leave the casino without looking back.

PREV : Chapter 01

NEXT : Chapter 03

Story Masterlist

Leave a comment and like! I would love to know what you think!

If you’re interested in being on my taglist to be tagged in the next chapters, please leave a comment and mention the taglist.

#tw dubcon #tw noncon #female reader #john wick chapter 4 #marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis vincent de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #marquis x reader #reader insert #vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont x reader

416 notes · View notes

221bshrlocked · 18 days

Text

Broken and Grazed, Loved and Saved

Pairing: Crosshair x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 4724

Warnings: Mutual Pining. Mentions of violence and blood. Touching Confessions! Angst to fluff because you know it. Crosshair being a tiny bit soft...just a tiny bit.

Summary: You get shot while trying to save Crosshair. He's shocked and confused as to why you would do such a thing. You both slowly reveal your feelings for each other as he patches you up.

A/N: I crawled back from my writer's block hell hole to post this. This is during The Clone Wars series folks, hence the Jedi insert. Once again, thank you so much to @cloneficgiftexchange for holding this event and single-handedly getting me to write every once in a while. This is for the lovely @arctrooper69 who inadvertently gave me a challenge with Crosshair. I hope you enjoy it babes and I hope I got his character down correctly. This is the first time I write for him. As always, let me know how I am doing in the comments please and thank you.

When Obi-Wan informed you that you’d be accompanying Clone Force 99 on another mission, you tried your best to not let your excitement come through. But one look at your old friend and the smirk on his face made you realize you may not have been as subtle as you originally thought.

“Shut it Kenobi,” you walk past him, shaking your head when you briefly glanced to the side and saw him raising an eyebrow at you. He chuckles at your embarrassment, and you’re torn between making fun of him and letting him be. It was rare to see him display such an elated emotion, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him when finally caught up with you and patted you on the back.

“In all seriousness, do be careful out there.” A worried expression breaks through the smile and you nod at him, knowing that the sentiment wasn’t one of warning but deep concern for your safety.

“As weird as it is to admit this, I feel like I might potentially be safest with them.” You come to a stop once you reach the door of the Temple, looking around the awfully quiet space before returning your attention to Obi-Wan once more.

“I would have to disagree with you there. The rate at which they use explosives is severely higher than any other force I have fought alongside. Nevertheless, I trust your judgment. Do keep me updated, yes?” When you don’t respond right away, Obi-Wan follows your line of sight and notices where your attention suddenly lies. He groans to himself and wishes he wasn’t the keeper of so many secrets.

“Young one!?” You snap out of your momentary haze when Obi-Wan quite literally yells at you, his voice carrying across the grounds and catching the curiosity of none other than the man you found yourself barely able to stop thinking of.

“Sorry, yes?” You feign ignorance, giggling like a young padawan when Obi-Wan rubs his temples and swears beneath his breath.

“I’m only joking. Yes I will be careful, sure I’ll try my best not to get into trouble, and of course I won’t partake in Wrecker’s booming tactics. Satisfied?” You don’t wait for him to respond, already walking towards the Marauder and praying to the Force that the introvert of the group is less hostile towards you this time around. When you grow near to the clones standing at the foot of the ramp, you turn around one last time and wave goodbye to Obi-Wan, laughing when he rolls his eyes at you and heads back into the Temple. As soon as you turn around, you’re met with an incredibly energetic Wrecker, your shock turning into hysterical laughter as soon as he wraps his arms around you and picks you up.

“Heyyy, it’s our favorite Jedi!” His grip on you remains gentle even though he’s lifted you off of the ground a good bit.

“Hey Wrecker, I see you missed me as much as I missed you.” You gently tap him on his shoulder, hoping he’d put you down before any other Jedi sees how familiar you are with him.

“Wreck, put the General down.” You glance to the side and see Hunter standing with his hands on his hips, his facial expression a bit unreadable. You laugh nervously at the leader of the Bad Batch, hoping Wrecker wouldn’t get in trouble because of your friendliness.

To his chagrin, Wrecker puts you down and backs away, whispering a few apologies before returning to stand next to Tech.

“Sorry, I know I shouldn’t encourage it.” You tell Hunter as the two of you walk away from the rest of the Batch, your eyes unintentionally remaining on your favorite member of the group. If Hunter notices how you pay more attention to Crosshair, he says nothing of it and pretends you weren’t watching him like a hawk.

“No need for any apologies, General. I don’t particularly care but I know how things are on Coruscant. Wouldn’t want him to be misunderstood.” Hunter points towards the Clones standing around the Temple with other Jedi Masters, smiling nervously at you when you sigh anxiously at the prospect of being the reason behind Wrecker potentially getting in trouble.

“I promise to talk to him. And I’ll make sure to only be friendly when we’re not surrounded by…you know.” You try to laugh off the circumstances you find yourself in, only for Hunter’s body language to shift at the implications behind your words.

“I’d be careful if I were you. Even if they aren’t around, others tend to misunderstand and- well, let’s just say that things get a little heated when we finish a mission and you aren’t on-board anymore.” You furrow your eyebrows at Hunter’s response, only to follow his line of sight and see who he’s staring at. When you’re met with Crosshair’s narrowed, irritated eyes shifting between you and Wrecker, you realize that Hunter may know more than he let on.

“I- I don’t think you-” You trip over your words, unsure of how to respond now that Hunter knew of your inclinations as well.

“Save it, I’m not judging…just giving you a heads up.” He excuses himself, saying something or other to Tech as the two of them ascend the Marauder. You look to the ground as you make your way to the ship, afraid of making eye contact with any of the others out of fear of making things more awkward. Even as you walk past Crosshair, you ignore him completely, pretending to fix the lightsaber hanging from your belt so you don’t have to deal with him now. As soon as you go to the cockpit, you throw a quick hello to Echo and walk back, pushing through the supplies scattered around so you can sit in the small space at the end of the ship.

Even though you want to sit near Crosshair, you decide against it, knowing that you don’t have the capacity to deal with his passive aggressive comments now. You haven’t seen him in a long while, and there’s nothing you wish to do more than be near him, even if the two of you were to remain silent. But if the conversation with Hunter proved anything, it’s the fact that Crosshair was begging to pick a fight right now. You just didn’t want it to be with you.

Taking a deep breath, you do your best to center yourself and ignore the whispers and murmurs traveling from the cockpit. You manage a fair job for most of the flight, but the closer you get to the Outer Rim planet, you vaguely hear your name thrown around between Hunter, Tech and Wrecker. You know better than to listen to what they’re saying, and before you can decide on whether or not you should ignore them, Wrecker stands up and grumbles something louder than the others would have preferred.

“She doesn’t mind! You’re just telling me what to do because Crosshair won’t listen to you and talk to her.” Your eyes shoot wide open at his words, and as you turn around to face them, you see all of their expressions turn blank. Wrecker only recognizes just how loud he is when he faces you and sees a quizzical look on your features. He chuckles nervously and sits down as Echo makes his way towards you.

“Sorry about that, we know how much you like to meditate.” He sits down beside you, glaring quickly at Wrecker so he doesn’t accidentally give anything else away.

“It’s okay, it’s not like I was getting much meditation done anyway. You guys whisper pretty loudly.”

“You mean you- could you hear us this whole time?” Echo asks, the direct gaze you offer him letting him know that yes, you could certainly hear what they were going on about this whole time.

“You know then.” It was more of a comment than a question, but you shrug your shoulders at him regardless, unsure of whether they were telling the truth or just reading into the interactions between you and Crosshair. Before you can respond however, you feel the ship drop out of hyperspace and into the atmosphere of the planet.

“Another time Echo,” you ignore the pleading look on Echo’s face, not wanting to continue this conversation now that the mission officially commenced. Making your way to the front of the ship, you look across the yellow planet below you and sigh in irritation when you notice the storms forming just above the surface.

“Did you know that Eshil is one of three desert planets that receives frequent rain? Rain storms are often violent here, delivering up to seven millimeters per minute. It is more likely for one to drown down there than to die of thirst.” The ease with which Tech spoke made you giggle, and you couldn’t help but thank him politely for the unsolicited knowledge when you saw Wrecker and Echo glare at him worryingly.

“Don’t worry big guy, nothing will happen to you on my watch.” You pat Wrecker on the back as you begin your descent onto Eshil, and before you can attempt to calm him down a little, the Marauder begins to shake violently due to the rain and thunderstorms. In a moment of distraction, you lose your balance and fly backward, suddenly feeling a pair of slim fingers grab onto your waist to prevent you from falling. Thinking it’s Hunter who just saved you, you turn around to thank him, only to find a pair of steel, hazel eyes staring dead at you.

The faint gasp doesn’t go unnoticed by Crosshair, nor does the disappointed look you throw at him when he lets go so he can push you into one of the seats.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Jedi.” His tone is mocking in a way, but you don’t dwell too much on it and instead look around to see if anyone noticed the little interaction. Everyone is blissfully unaware of the tense moment you shared with Crosshair, and even though you can feel his eyes on you, you choose to avoid his gaze, afraid he would see how much of an effect he has on you.

It takes too long to your liking to land, not because you didn’t like the turbulence, but because you couldn’t stand being in close proximity with Crosshair any longer. An hour ago, you were excited to join the team, wanting nothing more than to try and get closer to Crosshair, or at the very least, figure out why he’s always more passive aggressive with you than with anyone else. But after the not-so-subtle comment from Hunter, and the rather awkward conversation you overheard, you couldn’t finish this mission and be back on Coruscant fast enough. Somehow, knowing that the animosity was a product of mutual feelings made things worse.

No, not worse. That wasn’t the right word.

Real. It made things real. It made things more accessible, which meant that the probability of anything happening was simultaneously high and low.

“We’re here,” Hunter’s announcement is a welcomed distraction, and you wait until everyone stands aside to review the plan before jumping out of the Marauder. The rain comes down harsher than you’ve anticipated but you take a few seconds to appreciate it regardless, knowing that it wasn’t everyday you experienced rain caused by clean, natural clouds. It was so much different than Coruscant, strangely soothing as it seeped through your clothes and kissed your cheeks.

The cool sensation suddenly shifts into a warmer breeze, causing your eye muscles to clench tightly in confusion. The feeling engulfs you almost like a hug, and you’re not sure how or why it becomes hotter with each passing second. It’s only when you open your eyes and glance to the side that you finally understand why you were being flooded with such intensity. You quickly avert your gaze as soon as you notice Crosshair’s embarrassment when he realizes that you’ve caught him staring at you.

“Alright fellas, listen up. Our mission is simple: infiltrate the base undetected, retrieve the classified intel from their innermost vaults, exfiltrate before they even know we’re there. Stay sharp and Wrecker…no explosives unless I say so.” Hunter points firmly at the bigger clone, and you almost giggle when you see the hint of a grin appearing on his face.

“Awww man!” Wrecker throws his hands up in the air, walking away and crossing his arms when he sees you approaching him.

“Don’t worry big guy, there’s always a next time.” You pat him on the back, laughing to yourself when he retorts at you like a child.

“That’s what you said last time.”

“But I really mean it this time,” you twist your head down until you can get a better look at him, and when you meet his eyes, you watch as he tries his best to not crack a smile in return. When he does, you walk past him and stay behind Hunter as he slowly moves through the barren land. The closer you get to the compound though, the more you become uneasy at your lack of cover, but before you can say anything, the rain begins to come down harder than you thought it possible, making you squint to try and see where everyone is.

“I guess that should do the trick!” You hear Echo scream from behind you, but the sentiment makes you uncomfortable. The idea of losing the rest of them before you even make it to the enemy line is disconcerting, and you make your way towards Hunter quickly. When he sees you approaching him, he stops and waits for you to catch up.

“Follow my lead and make sure everyone keeps their helmets on so they can see.” You throw the hood of your cloak over your head a little further, the action not helping one bit as the water continues to crash down on you like a waterfall.

“When we get there-”

“I’ll signal for Echo so he can unlock the doors.” Waiting until he nods in agreement, you continue your journey towards the compound, praying to the maker that the enemy’s visibility is as bad as yours. The trek to the compound takes longer than you like, but when you finally have it in sight, you turn around and wait for the others to reach you. Hunter and Tech are ahead of everyone, and you squint hard until you can see Echo and Wrecker behind them. When Crosshair doesn’t show right away, you begin to worry, afraid that the rain became less of an inconvenience and more of a trigger to him. You’re about to run past the guys when you finally see him walking through the heavy downfall, no longer holding his firearm in his hands and instead taking his time as he walks towards the rest of the team. Even though you can’t see his expression, you know for a fact that Hunter is smirking beneath his mask, and you choose to ignore him as you go back to the front of the Batch and walk closer to the compound.

“There aren’t any guards posted outside. The storm must have sent everyone back inside.” You make a note, signaling for Echo to move ahead of you while the others wait a little farther away in case things don’t go according to plan. Anxiety washes over you all of a sudden, and you glance at the only member of the Batch you know dislikes the rain more than anyone. If Crosshair notices the way you’re staring at him worryingly, he says nothing and keeps his attention on your surroundings, ready to fire at anyone who comes in the way.

When Echo unlocks the door, Tech follows after and heads straight towards the secured vaults at the heart of the compound. It’s quieter than you expect, but you figure it’s only because the storm continues to rage outside and grow louder by the second. As you move towards the vault however, you find the silence nearly deafening, and you wonder briefly if this entire mission could be a set-up. Before you can voice your concerns to Hunter, Tech gains access to the room with ease, already getting to work for the intel with Echo. You stand guard outside while Hunter and Wrecker scout the hallways and ensure you don’t have any visitors.

Using the distraction to your advantage, you slowly make your way to Crosshair and stand beside him, waiting until he acknowledges your presence with a glance before attempting to break the awkward air around the two of you.

“I hope the rain isn’t too much of a bother.” You’re not sure what else to say, and as you realize he won’t be responding any time soon, you figure it’s best to not try and fix whatever it is between the two of you now. Knowing that it will be even more uncomfortable if you walk away from him, you remain standing where you are, turning your attention to Tech and Echo to see if they’re almost done.

The abrupt sound of guns firing pushes you forward immediately, and you watch as several weapons descend from the ceiling and the walls, instantly firing at everyone in the room. You make your way to the nearest wall and burn through the small firearms with your lightsaber, watching as Crosshair hits several more on the opposite side of the wall while Tech and Echo extract the intel.

“I knew it was too quiet.” You mutter to yourself, running as fast as you can across the space to get as many of the little suckers as possible. When there aren’t any left, you sheath your weapon again and move towards the door.

“Time to head out,” Hunter screams across the hallway and as you file out, you sense movement at one of the corners of the room. It’s instinctive the way you run towards Crosshair and shield him with your body, and your curse at yourself for not ensuring that all of them were taken down. Anger seeps through your mind at what could have been a fatal mistake and you ignite your saber instantly, propelling it towards the small object and bringing it back into the palm of your hand as more smoke fills the room.

“We need to leave, now.” Your voice is stern, and even though you can see Crosshair staring at where you’ve just been shot, you don’t pay him any mind as you run through the winding hallways and make your way out of the compound. It’s somehow raining even harder than earlier, and you feel your body grow more faint with each step you take. The faster you try to run, the more unbearable the pain becomes, and it occurs to you that you would be no good to any of them if you slowed them down.

You come to a stop and haunch over, applying pressure against your stomach and wincing in pain when more blood oozes through your fingers. Thinking that they’re all ahead of you, you kneel down and allow the rain to become less of an inconvenience and more of a calming presence.

“What are you doing?” Crosshair hisses as he comes up behind you, and when you lock contact with his eyes, you regret not pushing yourself harder.

“I’m fine…go!” You hope your voice isn’t as wavering to his ears as it is to your own, and when he shakes his head, you attempt to stand to confront him, only to fall back to the ground again.

“Tech, bring the ship to my position.” You cruse yet again as Crosshair pushes a button on the side of his helmet while speaking to Tech.

“Why have you stopped?” You can hear Hunter ask through the comms, and you look at Crosshair again, silently begging him to leave so he doesn’t get hurt.

“The General’s been compromised.” He leans down and pushes your hands aside to inspect the wound, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he was angry at you for getting shot…for saving him.

“You need to go to the Marauder. That’s an order.” You hiss in pain when you feel him bring your hand back to your stomach and push on it harder than before.

“You’re currently bleeding all over the floor. You’re in no shape to give me orders…General.” He’s pushing your buttons, but unlike before, when he smirked at every snarky comment he threw your way and chuckled when you retorted in likeness, his voice is laced with unspoken feelings now, as if he was silently thanking you for what you did for him.

Before you can dwell too much on the change in his behavior, the Marauder lands right beside you, allowing you a moment of respite before Wrecker comes down the ramp and takes you in his arms. The jolting movements make you cough as your stomach throbs in pain, and you take one last look at Crosshair, finding his expression as irritated as when you were on your way here.

To his credit, Wrecker does try to be more slow and soft with his movements, but when he lays you down, you can’t help but scream in agony at the wound tearing through your skin.

“S-sorry.” You shake your head at Wrecker and assure him with a smile, only to drop it when Tech comes with a medkit and asks his brother to give you some privacy.

“I do apologize General but I must cut your robe to administer the bacta spray and patches properly.” Ever the gentleman, Tech waits for your consent before taking out a pair of scissors. He’s about to cut through your robes when Crosshair walks in and stands behind him.

“If you can wait out-”

“I’ll do it.” Crosshair doesn’t give Tech a chance to finish his request, and when he stands up to argue with him, you reach for Tech’s hand and nod at him, waiting until he places everything down before moving towards the front of the ship.

You’re sure Crosshair didn’t think this far ahead because he remains standing and doesn’t once turn his sight away from your wound.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You break the silence and push your head back as the wound continues to burn. It must be all Crosshair needs to hear because he gets right to business, not once saying anything to you as he rips through your robes and begins to disinfect the flesh around the gash. You hiss and instantly slam your hand against his thigh, digging your nails into the plastoid covering him as he sterilizes the laceration to prevent any infection.

“What were you thinking?” It’s the first time he’s ever spoken to you so softly, and you figure it’s because you’re hurt and can’t respond in likeness. But when you open your eyes and look at him, you’re shocked to find worry and fear swimming in his hazel brown orbs. It throws you off a little, and you shake the thoughts aside, knowing that you may just be reading too much into his behavior.

“At the time, I thought it was a great idea!” You chuckle only to curse out loud when he begins to apply the bacta spray on top of the wound. You think he’ll smile at catching you off guard, but when you look at him again, he’s as somber as a few seconds ago.

“And now?” Crosshair growls at you, actually growls, the sound coming as a shock to you. It occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, he was attempting to show you that he cares, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. When he stops what he’s doing and continues to keep his gaze on you, you lay your head back down and allow the subsiding pain to calm you a little.

“Maybe…maybe not so much.” He narrows his eyes at you then, the expression becoming a little too intense for you and making you turn away to face the wall. Not another word is exchanged between you and him, and as he finally places the bacta patches on your stomach, you turn to face him again, no longer able to keep playing whatever game he started.

“Thank you, for not leaving…for staying with me.” Crosshair continues to remain silent, his focus completely on the wound he was dressing.

“And thank you for patching me up.” Again, he doesn’t acknowledge any of your words, waiting until he’s sure the wound is perfectly protected before throwing everything back into the medkit. You think he’s about to leave but when he finally looks up, you notice his eyebrows relax as he lets out a deep breath.

“Why would you do that?”

The question catches you off guard, and you figure you may as well tell him how you feel because you’re not sure what will happen tomorrow.

“You know why.” The simple whisper holds a thousand confessions, and Crosshair clenches his jaw tightly as he reaches for your hand. You gasp at the warmth of his skin, and swallow the lump in your throat when he grabs a wet towel and begins to clean the dried blood. You’re not sure how long you hold your breath, but when he’s done, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he does the opposite, bringing both of his rough palms around your own and keeping it as close to him as possible.

“I- I’m not worth your-” The sentiment breaks your heart and you furrow your eyebrows at him as you attempt to sit up, not wanting him to finish whatever he was about to say. The stinging returns a thousandfold but you ignore the shooting pain and pull Crosshair towards you.

“Don’t ever say that.” You want to say more. You want to tell him that you’d gladly do it again to ensure his safety, that you wouldn’t give it a second thought because you care for him more than you’re allowed, more than he’ll ever know. But the way he looks at you makes it difficult to say anything else, and you lay back down again when your muscles beg you for some respite. Crosshair doesn’t let go of your hand. If anything, his hold on you tightens as he moves to sit closer to you.

“It was annoying.” Whatever you thought he was going to say is certainly not those three words, and the confusion etched on your face makes him crack a smile before finally looking from your hand to you.

“The rain.” You look at him for what feels like hours before you finally register what he was trying to tell you.

“Wow, it took me getting shot at for you to finally answer my question…an hour later?” The joke doesn’t sit too well with him and you apologize quickly, afraid he’d get up and leave you all alone.

“I- I didn’t think you’d…” The words die in his throat, and you look down at where your hands are intertwined, wanting to give him some privacy as he comes to terms with what he was feeling, what he was oversharing with you.

“Remember?” You finish for him, smiling when he nods quietly and begins to trace the lines across the back of your hand.

“I remember everything you tell me, Crosshair.” Once again, the simple response is laced with too many revelations to your liking, but you know you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t use this moment to show him how much you care.

How much you love him.

He looks at you then, about to say something when he sees your face twist at the returning stinging sensations.

“You need to rest.” His voice is firm, making you wish you weren’t hurt and could actually make whatever this is last longer.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Before, you would have been annoyed with yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him, but the question must be the one thing he needed to hear because he smiles softly at you before nodding in silence, bringing his chair a little closer to you can rest your arm better as you keep holding his hands.

“Sleep, cyare. I’ll protect you.”

#crosshair tbb #crosshair bad batch #crosshair x reader #crosshair x jedi!reader #crosshair tbb x reader #crosshair tbb x jedi!reader #crosshair the bad batch #fluffy crosshair #angsty crosshair #TBBE24

139 notes · View notes