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greatstormcat · 4 months

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Of Wolf And Man - Part 2

Poly TF141 x f!reader

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, monster fucking, oral f!receiving, masturbation, animal injury

AN: sorry it’s so big, this one is writing itself and I can’t stop it!

Summer

Spring rolled on into summer, and the cottage became more and more your own. Hints of Annie still remained around the place, such as her old besom over the doorway and her herb books on the kitchen shelves. Most importantly, her blanket kept its spot on the back of the sofa, and you wrapped yourself in it every night since you moved in, as though she were there hugging you still.

You even found an old silver necklace you remember your mother giving her one birthday, but never saw her wear it. It was hanging on a nail beside the old dresser in the bedroom, and you couldn’t understand why she never wore it if she liked having it around. It wasn’t the oddest thing about the old girl, but it stood out now.

You also became fond of your wolves. You don’t know when you began thinking of them as your wolves, but you began to start listening for them. The days you didn’t so much as hear them left you feeling like a part of you was missing somehow. You paid attention to the little symbols in your almanack more than usual, taking note of when the full moon was, hoping the weather would be good enough to sit out on the bench outside and maybe see them again. When the full moon shone they were a lot louder, came closer to the cottage, and you’d see them play fighting. The larger two almost always won, of course. There were also times you spotted them laying on the hillock on the far side of the meadow, sunning themselves and watching the cottage. Watching you it almost seemed.

Your thoughts also dwell on your evening with Johnny, and how he had been so close to kissing you. He hadn’t turned up on your doorstep again after that, but neither had he made any show of avoiding you when you saw him in town. In fact, his excuses for finding a reason to touch you or brush against you in the supermarket became thinner and more obvious. What was surprising though was the way the other three reacted to his actions. If Johnny touched your hip walking past you, Kyle would bump against you on the other side and then touch your arm to apologise. When you’d needed logs loading into your car for your wood burner, Price and Simon insisted on helping and you found yourself wedged between them both for a split second more than once. You’d find yourself going home with the faintest scent of them on your clothes, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a comforting smell, one your bury your face into your jacket to breath in later on, when you were alone.

On one occasion you’d got into a heated conversation, not quite an argument, with a woman who accused you of damaging her car in the carpark, which you absolutely had not done. Out of nowhere the four men had appeared behind you asking what the problem was in a way that made it clear, there was no problem happening while they were around. The woman had quickly backed down and conceded the dent was there already. Whatever was going on with them, you did nothing to discourage them, even if it left you feeling a little ashamed of yourself.

It was a common thing to lie out on your bed, the windows of the cottage open to allow the cool breeze through while you moaned, stuffing your aching pussy with your fingers and imagining it was one of them, or more than one, or all of them. You never paid any mind to how loud you were when you came, and how the sound carried into the trees, or who was listening with keen ears.

As the weather warms you decide a longer walk up into the hills was well overdue, maybe you’d even find where Johnny and the others lived finally. You’d asked about them in town after your evening with Johnny and found that people respected the hell out of the group of men, despite them being almost total recluses. They visited town even less often than you did, but had lived in their hidden home for as long as anyone could remember. They were almost revered by the local people, as much as the wolves.

As you walk along the trail, lost in your thoughts, you stumble to a halt when one of your wolves comes into view around a rocky outcrop. The animal is huge, bigger than you’d have ever expected a wolf to be having only seen them on TV or online. Its eyes lock onto yours and its teeth bare in a snarl that turns your innards to water. You freeze, too scared to move and wait to see if it’s going to attack, heart pumping at a painful rate in your chest.

That’s when you spot the metal device clamped around one of its front legs, and a frown creases your forehead in disgust.

“You’re trapped,” you say with genuine concern, and realise you're relatively safe. The animal has a tawny brown coat, with a darker stripe of thicker, shaggy fur running between its ears. After a few minutes of staring at each other, you decide you cannot leave the animal trapped like this, and you begin to edge closer.

There’s a noise above you on the rocks, a rustle of twigs, and you look up into the face of a second, even larger wolf. This one’s fur is much darker apart from silvery markings around the eyes and muzzle. It's dark eyes watch you unblinkingly as you pause in your movements towards the trapped animal before you.

“Look, don’t kill me, okay? I’m trying to help,” you babble, aware they can’t understand you but it helps control your nerves to talk out loud. The second wolf hangs back, pacing slowly but appearing content to keep its distance for now. You get down low on your hands and knees to look as unthreatening as possible, edging closer to the trapped animal but ready to roll out of the way if it lunges for you. You pay no mind to the soil and mud getting onto you jeans and hands, too focused on the huge beast infront of you.

Thankfully it doesn’t move as you get closer, and you manage to grasp the jaws of the trap in your bare hands. You pull with all your strength, straining every muscle you have with the effort needed, the metal biting into your skin painfully, hands and arms trembling as you force open the steel trap, hoping the wolf isn’t going to maul you the second it's free. You keep your head down while you pull until the feel of the animal brushing past you lets you know it's out and you let go of the mechanism, a terrifying, metallic snapping sound echoing through the trees as it shuts.

The wolf doesn’t run away though, worst still, the other one lopes over to join its friend beside you. Carefully, gently you lower yourself onto your belly hoping to look as pathetic and not worth eating as possible, your face mushed against the dirt and leaf mould on the forest floor. You’re now lying on the ground with the two huge, wild wolves standing over you, and you screw your eyes shut as they sniff at your coat and boots, trying to hold your breath. A cold nose presses inside the collar of your coat, pressing against your neck and you whimper in terror as it snuffles against you, waiting for teeth to follow the questing nose. It seems a fitting end that you’d get mauled to death helping a wild animal

You risk looking back over your shoulder and see it's the smaller of the two wolves that is sniffing at your neck, the larger one has moved back and is sitting on its haunches, watching you carefully with its head tilted slightly to one side. The smaller wolf makes a soft noise, almost a whine, and you feel the tip of its tongue touch your neck making you shudder and shut your eyes again. Your lungs begin to burn as you try not to breath too loudly, fighting against the racing of your heart. A paw starts to scratch and pull at the back of your thin jacket, as though trying to get you to turn over. The larger one barks, and the hot, wet tongue pulls away from your neck, and you watch as they bound away into the trees together, the smaller one barely limping from the injury.

You count to a hundred before you decide it's safe enough to get up off the floor, and your legs shake like mad when you stand up, your head spinning slightly. It's hard to believe what just happened and you gather your things up off the floor where you’d dropped them, before heading back to the cottage as quickly as possible.

The weekly trip into town comes around, and you find yourself thinking constantly about the encounter with the two wolves. You had taken it upon yourself to look for any more of those horrible traps and set them off with a tree branch to avoid any more animals getting injured.

“Do people still hunt wolves around here? I thought that was banned years ago,” you ask the lady in the supermarket, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“It is banned, but it’s always been frowned on around here anyway,” she explains. “It's said to be bad luck to hunt the wolves around here, bad stuff happens if you do. But it doesn’t stop everyone, people still come in and try to get the big ones you see in the forest.”

“I saw one caught in a trap the other day,” you tell her as you pick up your bags of shopping. “I actually helped it escape. Poor thing.”

“Well, you’re due some good luck then if the stories are true. Maybe it was a werewolf, there are plenty of stories about them from years gone by.” She grins at you as you carry your stuff outside and you laugh to yourself about the idea of werewolves roaming around the countryside. Like clockwork you see Johnny and the others as you head to your car, almost as though they were purposefully timing their own visits with yours now. You notice he has a bandage wrapped tightly around his wrist as they approach, and the eyes of Simon are watching you intently.

“What happened to you?” to ask with concern as the group approaches, something tickling in the back of your mind as you speak.

“Nothing serious,” Johnny says, waving the bandaged arm in front of him as if he had just noticed it. “Be right as rain in a day or two thanks to a friend helping me out.”

Without thinking you reach out and grasp the bandaged hand, turning it gently in your hands. You don’t notice that they all freeze as you do this, circled around you as you check the wrapping, until you look up into Johnny’s face and see his eyebrows raised and a silly little smile on his face. You let go of his hand with a softly mumbled apology, heat creeping up your chest and neck in embarrassment at crossing a boundary like that.

“Speaking of which,” Kyle says, clearing his throat to break the sudden tension, “we thought we’d offer to help fix up the cottage.”

“Really?” You ask with genuine surprise at their gesture. “You don’t have to but that would be really kind.”

“It’s no problem,” Simon adds. “It’s the least we can do.”

The following day the four men appear on the doorstep after breakfast as promised, toolkits getting unloaded from the back of the beat up old truck. They set to telling you what needs doing and dividing the labour between them while you work on the vegetable garden. It’s another hot day, and it’s not long before they forego their shirts, sweating in the sunshine. You can’t help but sit back on your heels and watch them as they work with skill and precision repairing the thatch and stonework.

You find yourself watching Simon as he repairs a damaged section of the thatch on the roof, the series of scars on his back shining in the bright sunlight. The marks looks so much like bites and claw marks you almost wonder if he has been attacked by a wild animal at some point. You shake your head and try to distract yourself from staring rudely by making lunch inside.

“How do you guys know how to do this stuff? I’d assumed I was going to have to spend a fortune on getting people in to do this,” you ask over lunch. You spread a hearty lunch out on the kitchen table where it’s cooler, thanks to the thick stone walls of the house, and the four men devour it happily. They fill the space, Simon having to stoop his head down to get through any of the doorways in the cottage, but they look perfectly at home and clearly know their way around the place.

“We’ve picked up some skills over the years,” Kyle explains. “We’ve lived around here a long time and it isn’t hard to learn when you’re doing things. We’d been telling Annie for ages these jobs needed doing but she was too stubborn to let us do them for her.”

“Still, it’s impressive that you can help like this. Your place must be quite something if you’re all as good as this with your hands.”

“You should come visit,” Johnny chips in with a glance at Price, as though asking his permission, and the bearded man nods.

“Yeah, I’d say we can arrange for you to come up to our place pretty soon,” he smiles. “How about tomorrow we meet you up the trail a bit and we’ll show you the way up?”

“Sound perfect,” you agree, excited to finally see where these men live.

“Fine, tomorrow afternoon then,” he declares to a series of nods from the others.

Price explains where to meet them, and its a little way up the trail from the cottage, where a small river cuts through the hills creating a steep but beautiful rocky gully. The walk is just as gorgeous as he said as you make your way along the track the next day. The drop to the river is steeper than you’d expected, but it only adds to the view.

As you amble through the forest you hear voices in the trees ahead, but not the ones you had expected. At least one of them is female and something makes you slow down as you walk, not wanting them to know you are here. As you near them, you drop low and watch, your stomach churning when you realise who they are. Poachers.

“Don’t put them too low in the ditch, they won’t walk down there. They’ll jump over it, so put it where you’ll think they’ll land,” the woman is explaining to the guy with her as he sets another steel trap on the ground ahead. “That way it’ll snap its ankle and it can’t get away.”

Fury rises in you and you march forward to confront them, forgetting you are alone as your anger takes over.

“Hey!” You shout, brandishing your stick like a club. “You shouldn’t be doing that, get out of here.” They stop and stare in confusion for a moment before looking at each other.

“What are you going to do about it?” The woman asks offhandedly.

“This is my land, you need to get off it before I report you for trespassing.” You try to sound menacing, aware it isn’t really working. The man drops the steel trap he is holding with a loud clang, and you flinch slightly. With a grim expression he walks towards you, and you hold the tree branch up in front of you.

“Don't come any closer,” you warn him. He lunges at you grabbing at your arm and twisting it so you drop your stick and you yelp loudly in pain, trying to kick him in the leg to hurt him. He’s stronger than you and soon twists you around, beginning to force you to the ground.

A growl cuts through the air and your assailant is knocked sideways with a shriek of terror. Barks and snapping jaws ring through the trees as your four furry favourites attack the poachers, sending them yelling and running through along the path and away from you.

Panicked you try to run to avoid being bitten, feet slipping on the loose ground and you tumble forward over the edge of the steep bank, managing at the last moment to grasp a tree root before you fall down to the river below. Winded you look up and see the wolves looking down at you, bright sunlight coming through the leaves above.

“Shit,” you whimper, staring up at their furry faces, realising you’re trapped. One of the larger ones walks out of sight, leaving the others staring down at you. Your grip slips and you risk looking down at the rocks and water below, trying to work out how to fall to cause the least amount of damage to yourself

“Need a hand, love?” A deep voice calls out and you look up to see a hand reaching down for you and above it, Price’s bearded handsome face.

“Yes, but watch out for the wolves!” You cry out as you take his hand and you’re pulled up as though you weigh nothing. As you reach solid ground you slump down and then blink up at him, your mind racing frantically and your heart pounding in your ears. He crouches down beside you and you suddenly focus enough to realise he is shirtless. A further glance shows him to be completely without any clothes at all.

“Um, why are you naked?” You ask weakly and avert your eyes as your face heats up, which is when you realise the three wolves are still here, looking at you. You scramble away with a scream, nearly off the edge again.

“Woah! Hang on there,” Price shouts trying to grab you but you try to avoid him, not wanting to be held by a naked weirdo walking in the forest. “Ah fuck it, show her lads,” he grunts as he backs off and you sit precariously and trembling at the edge of the drop again.

“What?! Show me what?! Who are you talking to?!” You scream hysterically at him not knowing who to be more afraid of.

Then the three wolves begin to change, standing up on their hind legs in a smooth motion as though somewhere an animator had used a special effect on the world in front of you. Fur recedes, ears change position and within seconds three half man, half wolf figures stand before you. Each with pointed ears, wickedly clawed hands and feet, and fur dusted, thickly muscled limbs.

Your skin goes cold with shock, and your mouth opens and closes wordlessly as you gawp, until your brain registers that you are looking at Kyle, Simon and Johnny.

“You okay, lass?” Johnny asks, crouching down next to you and giving you a broad grin showing his very long, sharp incisors as his tail slowly wags against the ground behind him.

“Fuck…” you whisper before you pass out.

You surface from your blackout state slowly, feeling yourself being jostled about then laying still again. A comforting smell fills your nostrils, a familiar one that relaxes your muscles, instilling a sense of safety in you as you come to. A hand runs across your forehead in a gentle gesture and you blink open your eyes, looking up into Price’s concerned face.

“Thought we’d lost you for a moment,” he says with obvious relief and helps you to sit up.

Price is wearing faded jeans now but no top, exposing his thickly haired chest. You look up and see Johnny and Kyle sat together on a sofa across the room from you, although sprawled may be a better word. Both shirtless wearing loose sweatpants and bare feet. Kyle is resting back against Johnny’s chest, his leg hooked around the other man’s shin.

The room is cosy, slightly untidy with clothes draped over the end of the sofa you have been lying on but clean and comfortably furnished much like your cottage.

“Where…. Oh bloody hell!” You squeal as Simon walks in wearing nothing at all, slamming your hands over your face to cover your eyes.

“Simon, put some fucking clothes on,” Price barks angrily, “you’re not helping the situation!”

“It’s our house, our rules,” Simon replies as you peer between your fingers, making no move to cover himself as he sits in one of the armchairs, manspreading flagrantly until Price hurls a pair of jeans at him with more force than necessary. With a sullen grumble Simon pulls them on without underwear, maintaining eye contact with you as he adjusts himself behind the button fly before sitting down again with a smirk.

“Look, I know this is a shock,” Price continues in a calming tone. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” you reply slowly, dropping your hands into your lap. “Just explain to me what is going on, because I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or have a concussion right now.”

Price huffs out a small laugh, watching as you look around, taking in the room around you. You’re sitting on a brown leather sofa, rustic furnishings and a certain man only decor abounds.

“Well, you’re in our… den,” he says, carefully weighing up how to phrase it.

“Den? Like a wolf den?” You ask.

“To be more precise, a werewolf den.” He keeps watching you, and you feel the similarity to the way the wolves in the forest have been watching you since you moved into the cottage. Gears turn in your brain, and things begin to fit together.

“Oh… its you guys… its always been you four, hasn’t it? The four wolves I mean?” You say, wide eyed with understanding. “So who did I free from the trap?”

Johnny raises his hand from where he is lounging with Kyle on the other sofa.

“That was Johnny,” Simon confirms. “I was with him and watched you do it. Pretty fuckin’ brave if you ask me.” Pride fills his words and a small smile touches his scarred face. Obviously risking your life like that for what you had assumed was a wild animal earned you their respect. “I was about to free him until you turned up and took over.”

“Yeah, Simon told us about that. You didn’t hesitate even though you didn’t realise you were perfectly safe,” Price nods, echoing Simon’s words.

“You’re all werewolves?” You ask, testing the word on your tongue cautiously.

“We’re a pack, bonded together now until death. We take care of each other and protect each other. We did so for Annie as well,” Price says with a grin.

“Wait, you mean….” Questions vie for attention in your head: how long have they lived here, how old are they, did your aunt know…

“We miss her, she was a hell of a woman,” Simon says wistfully. “A demon in the sack too.”

“Oh my gods you were shagging Annie?!” You gasp, and Simon chuckles wickedly.

“So, how old are you guys?”

“It’s hard to keep track after a while,” Price answers, scratching his chin. “I stopped counting after about two hundred.”

“You’re taking the piss,” you say, finding it too much to believe.

Kyle chuckles, disentangling himself from Johnny stalking closer to you. As he nears you his features change slowly, his ears lengthening and tufting with fur which spreads across his shoulders. His hands curl, claws tipping his thick fingers and his low slung sweatpants allow a thick tail to unfurl behind him.

“You sure about that, love?” He growls as he gets closer, and your heart rattles inside your ribcage. It’s not from fear though, you feel completely safe, they’ve been protecting you for months, looking after you and marking you as the airs, and even brought you to safety after you fainted. There’s a completely different reason for your pulse to be thundering like this, and you know why. After having fantasised about them for this long, you now know they want you the way you want them.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny groans and leans forward on the edge of his seat suddenly. “You smell that?”

“What?” You ask quietly, not taking your eyes of Kyle as he leans over Price’s shoulder. The liquid heat curling in your abdomen gets harder to ignore as he looms over you, and blossoms suddenly into an inferno when Price’s hand grips your thigh and squeezes.

“He means you,” Kyle says, placing one knee beside you on the seat and bends himself down to run his nose along your neck. “We can smell that you just got very, very turned on.”

You squirm in you seat, thighs pressing together as you look around you at the four huge men… no, not men… beasts.

“Fuckin’ hell, if she smells that good how’s she gonna taste?” Simon rumbles, palming the front of his jeans and looking uncomfortable in the harsh fabric.

“Steady lads,” Price growls, “let’s not scare her off, and absolutely not risk hurting her.” You notice they have all altered slightly like Kyle, as though their arousal has affected their ability to stay perfectly human, and they take on most wolf like characteristics once more.

“It’s okay,” you murmur to Price, placing your hand over his and he squeezes your thigh again, making you gasp softly while Kyle still nuzzles at your neck sensing you into a boneless state. Price chuckles, watching you soften.

“You trust us?” He asks and you nod, swallowing thickly when the tip of Kyle’s tongue runs along the column of your throat. “Good, we’ll take care of you. No need to stuff that pretty pussy with your fingers now to make yourself come, we’ll take care of that.” Kyle runs his hand up the front of your shirt and cups one of your breasts, a moan leaving his throat.

“Let’s take it easy for now, we’re gonna make you come on our tongues for today, get you used to us. You okay with that?” You nod again and whimper as Kyle pinches a nipple through your clothes. With your consent given, Price stands and tugs you away from Kyle who growls angrily at his prize being snatched away, but Price pays him no attention as he crushes your lips to his, one hand pressing your hips against his to grind you against his hard cock.

While you’re attention is focused on the kiss, Kyle gets up and presses his chest to your back, his hands skimming down your sides and around your middle to undo the zip to your jeans. With care he strips you bare while Price explores your mouth, and then kisses along your jawline, nipping with sharp teeth at the tender flesh of your neck.

Once you are stripped, he presses you back down against the sofa and me kneels on the floor, pushing your legs apart with his clawed hands, his human face barely recognisable as his instincts take over. His broad tongue runs up the inside of your thigh, sending shivers down your spine that flood your pussy with a fresh wave of heat as he looks up at you.

The first touch of his lips to your naked cunt makes your hips buck, and a collective growl of approval rumbles around the pack. Price licks at the seam of your pussy and your mind unravels, the hot, soft muscle slipping perfectly between your folds and flicking at your clit. You can’t hold in the whine that forms in your throat, and it’s all he needs to begin to devour you in earnest.

Sharp claws pressing into your soft thighs, pulling you against his face, his wide tongue curling and lapping inside your cunt like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your legs shake with the depth of pleasure you feel, the sharp points of his teeth only adding to the intoxication of it all.

Kyle and Johnny position themselves either side of you on the sofa, while Simon prowls behind Price, waiting to take his bite of their succulent prize. Johnny kisses you fiercely, like he is starved for your mouth, tongue seeking our yours and wrapping with it. He swallows your moans and whimpers, fueling his desperation as Price fucks you with his tongue.

“Gimme your hand,” Johnny mumbles against your lips, and guides your shaking fingers down his chest and stomach until they bump against his rock hard cock and he hisses. He takes your unresisting hand and wraps the your soft fingers around his shaft, covering it with his own firmly, and begins to rock his hips.

The sensation of Johnny grinding his leaking dick into your hand tightens the hot coil of your orgasm, and your muscles clench around the tongue in your cunt. Price takes his cue and licks mercilessly upwards, shattering you into a thousand pieces as you orgasm, gulping down your juices greedily and drawing out the spasms of your walls.

With a satisfied grunt he sits back, licking his maw and shuffles aside as Simon takes his place, wide shoulders pushing your weakened legs wide before burying his muzzled face into your twitching pussy. Before your eyes roll back into your head you see Price throw back his head, hand grasping his swollen cock and starting to pump feverishly.

Your clit throb as Simon nose bumps and grinds against it, his tongue working deeper and deeper inside you, and his hands shift your thighs up and over his shoulders.

“We’ve been listening to you make yourself come for months,” Kyle whispers into your ear, taking his lead from Johnny and taking your other hand to wrap around own needy length. “It’s about time we showed you how good it can really be.” The two werewolves either knead and pinch at the swells of your breasts as the work themselves in your palms, and Simon growls between your thighs.

By the time you’ve let each of them drive you to orgasm you can barely keep your eyes open and your limbs tremble with fatigue, but you’re floating in the clouds and kissing the heavens. You curl into Simon’s broad chest, panting and spent, while the others clear up around you. The feel of Simon’s heavy hand on your back soothes you, and it’s inevitable that you soon drift to sleep against him.

You wake up feeling better than you have in a long time, warm skin pressing against you on all sides, just a thin blanket needed to cover you over against the chill of the air. You fidget slightly, finding a soft mattress beneath you and find they've moved you to a large bed.

It's dark still, gentle snores fill your ears adding to the peaceful security of the moment, and you roll over to your side, fully intending to go back to sleep. As you shift position a heavyset arm tightens around your middle and pulls you against a solid chest, your head getting tucked under a strong jaw so you settle against his neck. It's hard to tell who it is, and you don’t rightly care. With a soft sigh, you nuzzle against him and go back to dozing.

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asumofwords · 8 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future.

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen.

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation.

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it.

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin.

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt.

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree.

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost.

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you.

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar.

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her.

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born.

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty.

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each.

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn.

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect.

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday.

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side.

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger.

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.”

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view.

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks.

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another.

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin.

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word.

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation.

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter.

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up.

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage.

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected.

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine.

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily.

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat.

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved.

But not him.

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation.

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell.

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted.

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence.

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family.

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips.

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze.

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem.

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all.

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement.

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty.

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth.

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful.

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived.

You had changed.

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change.

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more.

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were.

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you.

He never left.

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry.

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right.

There was a pull.

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you.

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought.

But you knew your answer already.

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you.

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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adaelines · 1 year

Text

price relationship hcs!

sorry for nothing longer, I've felt bad pain wise lately but I replayed mw on veteran and still spent the entire time staring at him ♡

warnings: gn reader, smut below the warning, price adores you so much!!!, he calls you a bitch but its during sex and affectionate, brat tamer price, spanking, collaring

-first proper date, following most likely months of flirting whenever possible and the biggest crush known to man, would be at the local pub. some place you can both call yourselves regular at in the near future, that he hopes you can have regular date nights at when hes home with you, with a pint of whatever on draft and a selection of pub classics. steak and ale pie, fish and chips, lasagne… he doesn't care what you order, he wants you to enjoy yourself and happily pays for it all

-he's a heater. whether it's at home cuddled in bed, on the sofa whilst you watch TV together, or anything that required close proximity, this man is so warm it practically radiates off of him. means he gives the absolute best hugs, usually reserved only for you, and is the absolute best to share a bed with at night. sleeping with this man is so comfortable, always at least one arm wrapped around you tight, he loves to be as close as physically possible

-LOVES anything domestic with you. could be standing next to each other in the bathroom, brushing your teeth whilst he takes care of his beard, showering together with nothing sexual, just intimate time together. it's his absolute favourite, nothing means more to him than being able to do this sort of stuff with you! learns your routine pretty quick and is over the moon when you start doing yours with him! spends a fair amount on his beard oils, it reminds him of home after having no time to take care of himself past the basics on deployment, will happily buy you expensive self care items too! swears he's not a sugar daddy, just loves spoiling you!

-the BEST gossip partner. not just gossip, he'll listen to you talk about your day for hours, sit next to him and let him braid your hair, or simply play with it if it's short, and tell him everything. he'll respond with little hums, "'s that so, love?", or laugh along. but he is listening, asks questions regularly, he's just quiet because he loves memorising your voice for when he's away

-has a locket with a picture of you that he wears all the time, especially when he's on duty. he's careful, wouldn't want it getting into the wrong hands, but knowing he has something of you, has your photo with him, gets him through the hardest of missions. spends nights looking at it, reminds him that beneath everything he's human with someone waiting for him at home, that he needs to get back to you. it's always beneath clothing, most don't even know it exists, but it's the most important thing to him whilst he's away

NSFW BELOW

-god. this man. the biggest brat tamer ever. when you get together, after a while of being comfortable and knowing that you're okay with it, sets out rules to follow and any boundaries, anything that's okay or not. stuff like not touching yourself without his permission, always telling him when you're needy, telling him what you're feeling at all times, and always listening to what he tells you. despite all the rules, you're always most important!

-if you're into it, will get you a necklace to wear at all times, like a collar. a pretty simple thing, in silver or gold, that's discreet enough that others wouldn't recognise what it really is. you're expected to wear it all the time, but it's a pretty little chain that means so much you really wouldn't want to take it off anyway.

-he wears a few rings, all simple gold thick bands that look incredible on his hands. loves when you suck on his fingers and pay special attention to them, wrap your lips around him and trail your tongue over the cold band, it'll send him over the edge. loves when they leave marks on you, especially when spanking you.

-speaking of spanking, he absolutely loves it! you're being extra bratty, talking back and moving away from him? you're gonna end up bent over his knee. always listens, knows when to stop, but he's gonna push you to your limit, he's gonna spank you till you cry, till you're sobbing out apologies and promises to be good for him. it's gonna be hard to sit after, the way you're bruised, and his pretty rings are gonna leave welts, deeper marks that'll stay longer.

"this is what you wanted, right? acting like such a brat, lay there and take it."

"pretty little thing… be good, won't you? stop actin' like such a bitch and ill stop treating you like one, sweetheart."

"you always look so good like this. is this why you do it? you like being marked as mine? you can just ask, love, don't have to act out all the time…"

-despite how mean he can be, how brutal, he's very very kind after. praises you for taking it so well, gives you so many kisses, rubs soothing gel anywhere he hit. brushes your hair and runs you a bath. if you're up to it, will go down on you and worship you until it's too much, he adores you and it shows.

-is VERY in tune with what you want and need. rough and brutal, hips slamming into yours, holding you down with one hand whilst the other is in your hair, roughly grabbing it? done. gently holding you close to him, whispering how perfect you are, fingers gently rubbing you, kissing your cheek and neck and absolutely spoiling you? done. he always knows what to do, pays close attention to every tell you have, he knows when to hold you tight or when to hold you down.

-the best at aftercare. does anything you need without complaint, will gently clean you up and hold you so close. he loves you more than life itself, you mean more to him than anything, he can get mean during sex but never means it, you're everything to him.

#spicy #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod #cod x reader #cod smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #price x reader #price smut #john price x reader #john price smut

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princessanonymous · 5 months

Text

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

7. 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓮

The governess had begun her tutelage several weeks ago, immersing (Y/n) in a world of etiquette, reading, writing, and history. (Y/n)'s nights unfolded like the pages of a meticulously crafted novel as the governess wove a tapestry of refinement and knowledge around her. In the vast library that echoed with the whispers of ancient books, (Y/n) delved into the intricacies of literature, guided by the cold and rigorous teacher.

To make things more intense, she had been attending dance lessons with the vampire. As twilight enveloped the mansion, (Y/n) exchanged her quill for dance shoes, stepping into a realm where elegance and danger danced in tandem. The vampire nobleman led her through a series of intricate steps under the flickering candlelight of the chandelier. Each movement was a symphony of precision. The vampire was truly a demanding instructor. After each lesson, her feet ached, and the simple act of walking became an arduous task. The nobleman had relentlessly drilled her in dance, squeezing months of instruction into mere weeks.

Before the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last golden rays upon the world, he roused (Y/n) from her slumber with an urgency that hinted at the gravity of the impending event. In the soft glow of dawn, he requested that she don her most exquisite evening gown, a garment he had purchased just for these types of occasions.They were to attend a grand ball, a rare outing that (Y/n) was looking forward to after her time of confinement within the manor's walls.

Following a soothing bath, a maid arrived to assist her in dressing. The process was notably more time-consuming tonight due to the intricate hairstyle and the numerous layers of her dress. Her gown was an exquisite blend of black and crimson, exuding an air of sophistication. She wore long gloves that extended up to her elbows, and a glistening ruby necklace adorned her neck. A red bow adorned her hair, and she completed the look with dainty satin red shoes.

"We will be departing soon, child," she heard the vampire call from the corridor outside her bedroom. "You ought to be prepa—" His sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as he stepped into the room and abruptly came to a standstill, his eyes fixated on (Y/n).

(Y/n) flinched as she wondered if she had inadvertently done something wrong, causing the vampire's sudden pause. He, however, broke the silence with an unexpected smile—a genuine one that reached the depths of his crimson-tinged eyes.

The vampire closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate yet filled with an odd warmth. A fondness colored his words as he addressed her. "Oh, my dear doll," he beamed, his voice full of fondness. "Crimson suits you impeccably. Smile for me," he gushed, his fingers delicately cupping her face, as if sculpting a moment in time.

His reaction was entirely unexpected, and she had never witnessed him being so effusive. The vampire's gaze, once intense and inscrutable, softened into something akin to paternal affection. With a subtle nod, (Y/n) complied, summoning a hesitant yet genuine smile to grace her features. She attempted to swat his hands away, but his genuine enthusiasm was uncontainable as he continued to coo and lavish her with compliments.

The vampire's smile widened, his satisfaction evident. "There, my dear, that is the spirit," he praised, his tone a melodic cadence that echoed in the room. “You look so much better when you behave.”

The vampire's outfit matched hers as he was wearing a red and black frock coat paired with a high-collared vest with silver buttons. As accessories, he wore short cream-white satin gloves and a single-layer jabot with a ruby brooch.

They eventually left the manor, once the man had stopped gushing about her clothing. As (Y/n) walked out. The moon was bright in the cloudless sky and stars shone brightly. The night was a bit chilly and she felt a cold breeze in the air.

A grand black carriage and a coachman were waiting for them by the entrance. She marveled at the beautiful horses. They were tall and imposing, one was black and the other was white. (Y/n) tried approaching them, then the vampire slapped her hand away and tutted. She glared, rubbing her hand to soothe it as they entered the carriage.

As the carriage journeyed toward their destination, (Y/n) couldn't help but confess, "I've never been to a ball before," she admitted with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, her eyes reflecting the glint of uncertainty. "I hope I won't make a fool out of myself."

"Do not concern yourself with such matters," the nobleman dismissed with a lazy, yet elegant wave of his hand. "You've learned everything you need to know, and you shall fit in perfectly."

Her gaze met his, finding solace in the conviction of his words. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a flicker of gratitude for the guidance he had provided in the weeks leading up to this momentous night. With a subtle nod, (Y/n) redirected her eyes on the road for the rest of the journey.

The carriage came to a regal halt in front of the grand estate. It loomed like a castle in the moonlit night. (Y/n), stepping out onto the cobblestone courtyard, couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu as the estate's dark and gloomy façade reminded her of the mansion where she had resided for the previous months. As she was observing the place, she wondered if all aristocratic residences were eerie.

They approached the entrance gates, where vigilant guards admitted them upon presentation of the vampire's invitation. Proceeding toward the colossal entrance doors, they were momentarily halted by a figure standing next to a butler.

"Duke de Beauvoir," he greeted politely. A subtle hush fell upon the conversation as he leaned in, adding in a voice barely above a whisper, "Madame Rossignol has been eagerly anticipating your arrival."

With the vampire's hand resting on (Y/n)'s shoulder, she only faintly registered the conversation, her mind wandering elsewhere. The duke's lips tightened as he responded, an undercurrent of frustration palpable in his tone, "This woman is quite persistent."

"As you are aware," the other nobleman continued, "with your companion's frequent absences, people are starting to inquire."

He squeezed (Y/n)'s shoulder absentmindedly. "I wasn't aware you had taken up the habit of conversing with coffee-sisters*, Marquis de Sauge," he inquired with an icy demeanor, his gaze piercing through the veil of polite exchanges.

The marquis, momentarily taken aback, appeared somewhat affronted. "Not at all," he hastily clarified. "I merely wanted to inform you that Madame Rossignol still maintains her interest."

A flicker of annoyance crossed the duke's expression. "I am not interested in that harlot," he responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Thank you for the warning, Marquis de Sauge," he stated, effectively closing the conversation and dismissing the man, who seemed to have received the unspoken message.

The butler approached, extending a red ribbon to the vampire. He declined it, squeezing (Y/n)'s shoulder once more. "She is accompanying me," he declared firmly, a possessive edge in his tone that piqued (Y/n)'s intrigue.

The butler nodded, replacing the red ribbon with a black one. The vampire graciously accepted it and turned to her. He tied it in a delicate bow around her neck, ensuring it was neither too tight nor too loose.

His face morphed into a somber expression and he said darkly : "Under no circumstances are you to remove this."

She nodded, gulping slightly. She entered beside him, taking her first steps into this breathtaking place. This place was truly a sight to behold. (Y/n) stepped through the opulent doors of the grand ballroom, her heart aflutter with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The ballroom itself was a masterpiece. Crystal chandeliers hung from the gilded ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the throngs of elegantly dressed guests. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries that told the stories of the aristocracy's history, each thread spun with tales of grandeur and wealth. The very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation, carrying the faint scent of delicate perfumes and fine wines.

The strains of a waltz filled the room, courtesy of a live orchestra that played with such precision and grace that (Y/n) felt as though she had stepped into a world of magic. The dancers, resplendent in their lavish attire, twirled and swayed in perfect harmony, their graceful movements a testament to the elegance that defined high society.

(Y/n) couldn't help but be overblown by the sheer spectacle of it all. She watched in wide-eyed wonder as the rich and powerful whirled around her, their laughter and conversation like music in itself. She, a mere peasant girl, now stood on the cusp of a life she had only ever imagined, surrounded by beauty, refinement, and the intoxicating allure of the ballroom.

Yet, (Y/n) couldn't shake a growing unease that had settled within her. After mere seconds, she understood why. The guests, who had appeared so elegant and refined, now seemed to be hiding a dark secret. Their movements, appearing graceful and enchanting, were too fluid and eerily silent, their smiles revealing an unsettling gleam in their eyes. The orchestra's melodies that had filled her heart with wonder now carried an ominous undertone, a discordant symphony that sent shivers down her spine. The red drinks were served by servants and then there were the sharp, incisive glances exchanged between the guests, a silent communication that betrayed their shared, hidden nature.

Her heart pounded with terror as the grand ballroom transformed into a surreal nightmare, the once-elegant figures now revealed as creatures of the night. (Y/n)'s grip tightened on the duke's arm, her fingers clinging to him in a desperate bid for reassurance. Trembling, she sought refuge, instinctively hiding behind him as if the vampire's presence could shield her from his kind.

"They're..." The word caught in her throat, the unspeakable truth lingering in the air.

In a hushed tone that cut through the disconcerting whispers of the undead gathering, he whispered, "They will know you are meant to be treated properly." His fingers, gentle as a whisper, traced the black ribbon around her neck. It was a silent promise of protection.

______________

*: A 19th-century term for “malignant gossipers,” according to this website.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere vampire #yandere father #obsession #yandere #vampire #platonic #x reader #female reader #reader insert #child reader #yandere x reader #kidnapping #tw kidnapping

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phoniexrose02 · 6 months

Text

NoNut

Demetri alexopoulos x Black! Reader

Smutt~ 🌰

Demetri had no Plans of Participate in no nut, Expectantly With you Walking By his Side now but When Robby Pulled out a Few Hundred after training, The Game was On.

He'd gotten about 20 Days into the Month before Your Skimpy Skirts an Shorts started to get to him, he wanted to Rip it off you-

"Demi? We still good to go for our Study Date tonight?" You asked innocently Moon and Yas at your side. Though you'd Chosen Simple Outfit it still Hugged and Showed your Curves. You'd thought the Long Black Dress would make it Easier for your Poor Boyfriend to Function, But all it was Doing was Turning him on...

"Yea, After Training of course" he Responded Making Yas Groan Loudly."I don't understand the Hype over these Karate Kids..." She Quietly Groaned out Referring to Both you and Moon, She left to her Last Period taking Moon with her.

You Wrapped your Arms around your Boyfriend Waist Gently shoving him into the Lockers, His Cheeks Began to Heat and he Could Feel His Dick harden as your Plump Tits smashed Against his Chest."Don't Train too Hard Ok?" Your soft Voice an Quiet, you Kissed his Cheek leaving a Glossy Lip Print Before Following the Girls to Class.

He'd been Bricked for the Rest of the School day an Decided to Get some Advice from his Training Pals.

" I can't Win this with Y/n around, Is it Hard with moon too?" He asked Hawk in the Middle of their Spar, He only Smirked before Putting the Young Man on his Back with a Hard Thud, Demetri Groaned the impact Knocking the Wind From him. Eli Kneeled to his Brother an Held out his hand."How Bad do you Want that 200?"

Pretty Bad...

He'd kept trying to tell himself that as he Approached your front door, it was More than Just a Bet. He wanted you to know that he wasn't Just There For your Rocking Body, but for you...

When you showed to his Door your Hugged Dress was Replaced with a pair of Shorts that Rode up your ass and a Crop top that Showed just a bit to much Cleavage.

"Hope your Ready to Study Hard~"

He'd known you enough to know what you wanted."uhm...don't you wanna start the homework!" He Sprung up from your Grasp over to his Backpack Where he Pulled out a Few Books an Paper, he Sat at his Computer Chair Turning away to Face his Desk, you'd Felt a bit Cold from his Sudden moment.

"Demi??"

You shuffled further to the edge his Bed in Suspension, an he finally Turned to you once again."Your not doin' that Stupid Bet are you?" His Face Gave you all the Confirmation you Need an you Giggled."Girls Talk Baby~" he Grumbled. He didn't want to have to Explain it...

"It's a Control thing, Plus id Get 200 out of it" he Shrugged, But the Face you Made to him Let him know you Weren't entirely sure what to say next.

"So you don't wanna Titty-Fuck me Right now??"

You Played with the edges of the your Top letting your Breast Spill from it, You Jiggled them a bit an He became a Tomato as he watched you Bouncing Boobs an Pouting face, he'd almost forgotten is Cash Money Prize."As Much as I'd Love to, I can't y/n, Please Don't make this Hard..." he Snapped his Head away from you to Whatever else he could in the Room."But I Got all Pretty for you Love~" you Mewled out slowly Descending to the Floor and to his Chair, He Watched you Crawl to him like a Predator staring down His Prey, your Breast Swallowing up any Necklace you wore.

"Well..." He Felt his Dick Harden straining in his tight Jeans." I guess when you Put it Like that...I Can't say No~" he Quickly Pawed at his Jeans to Let his Dick loose, you Sat on your Knees Waiting an licked your Lips as It Sprung Free. His Dick Stood at attention for you as He Grabbed a Small Bottle of Lube from His Desk Drawer.

"Haven't bust one in 20 days, make it Note-worthy?~" you pull off your top an bra revealing the Beauty Silver Bars, You watched his Dick Jump as the Reveal of your nipples piercings."Fuck, your Sneaky Minx" You Jerked at his Already Heated tip before stealing the Lube From his Shaking Hands, You Poured some onto your Boobs Before Slipping his Cock Snug in between.

"So Warm~" You Moved your Breast in Figure Eights, Squeezing his Dick and Pinching at your Own Piercings. He Leaned over Mouth agape, you Kissed at his Tip Making him Thrust a Bit into your Chest."Let me Fuck your Pretty Titties~" You Obeyed letting him Take Charge, He Grabbed your Breast by the hand fulls Squeezing them together tight and he leaned back an started his Wild thrust into your Sleek Breast. " Fuck! Fuck! I missed these these pretty Tits!~" Your Face Warmed at the Confession, an you began to lick at the Now Leaking Tip, the Precum warm an Salty. It's all it Took for him to Spill his Cum all over your Face and Tits, But God Damn was it a Big Load~

"God...this is really a Mess, I'll get something to Clean you with!" He Pulled up pants quickly before disappearing into the Bathroom. You huffed at the sound of running water and Grabbed your Phone, you Quickly Snap a Pic of your Cum Covered Tits. He comes back with a Warm Rag and you Quickly Toss your phone back onto the Bed. You Spent the Rest of the Night Making Sure he'd Spilled every last Drop from him, Putting him to Bed Before heading home yourself.

The Next day at school, he Shameful Made His failure known to his Buds Who Weren't too Surprised, Eli of all of his Friends Knew Full Well he wasn't getting that 200. Not only was his Girlfriend Hot but Everyone Knew How Crazy he went for you, How you two Would Magic Disappear any event and try to reappear like nothing happened. Its Obvious to the Boys he wouldn't last Long.

At the end of the school day he found you gossip with your girls in the hallway, Giggling an Whispering as he slowly Approached. Moon Quickly shoved something into your hand Before the Two Push Past Him."Better Luck Next Year..." Yas Whispers an the Girls Run off to Class Giggling. His Eyes finally laid to in Clearly a Bit Confused."What was that??" He asked quietly pointing behind him.

"Us girls made a Lil Bet too" you Smiled flashing the Money to him."It's not a Full 200 but I'm sure it's enough for a Lil Date Night~" you Branded a Beautiful Smile making him Blush a Bit.

"We can Go to my house After~" he Wiggled his Brows an you Follow up with a Pleased Giggle. He wrapped his arm around your waist Leading you to out for your Night of Fun~

More Cobra Kai 🐍

#black reader #demetri alexopoulos #demetri alexopoulos x reader #demetri alexopoulos x Black! Reader #demetri alexopoulos Smut #demetri alexopoulos x Chubby! Reader #Vanilla Brown Pound #cobra kai #cobra kai smut #cobra kai x reader #Cobra Kai x Black! Reader

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mylunajewel · 2 years

Photo

Natural Labradorite Man In The Moon Face Charm Necklace 13mm on Solid 925 Silver Pendant and Chain by My Luna Jewel - Etsy

#labradorite charm #silver charm #man in the moon charm #pendant #necklace #silver necklace #silver pendant #handmade in australia #jewellery #silver jewellery

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serotonins-stuff · 1 year

Text

Sweet love ❤︎ |

K. Bakugo

♡︎--------♡︎

Sypnosis: Bakugo is nervous about asking you to be his girlfriend.

Warnings: fluff and kisses

♡︎-------♡︎

And our favorite boom boy being the cutest romamtic ever <33

♡︎------------------------♡︎

♡︎-----------------------♡︎

"It's ok to be nervous man" Kirishima comforted.

Instead of Bakugo snapping back as he would usually do, he was unusually silent. Staring at the few fireworks in the sky as he fiddled with the gift box.

It's about to be a new year and Bakugo wanted to symbolize a new journey with you, a new beginning.

He's liked you since you were first years. And now you're all in your third year and here he is. Heart racing and palms sweating like an idiot at the thought of asking you to be his.

"Hey listen to me" Kirishima nudged him "She'll say yes no doubt about it, we all see the glances you give each other and it's obvious she likes you too."

Bakugo sucked in a deep breath and straightened his back "Let's do this"

Kirishima could still see the blonde's hands twitching so he tugged him in for a bear hug. Giving Bakugos back a hard smack in the process. "Don't overthink it ok?"

Bakugo hummed, feeling more relaxed and a bit more confident about his confession. Kiri and he spent weeks working out how it was going to go, prepping him for this day.

The day he asks you to be his girlfriend.

"I'll go get her" the read head started walking away to go and call you but a voice stopped him.

"Hey shitty hair"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you" Bakugo said genuinely.

"You're welcome" and with that Kirishima was off. Bakugo took some deep breaths, you could be here any minute now and he didn't want to seem like a nervous wreck.

Time went by so fast he thought, gazing up at the stars while he recalled the first time he met you. You annoyed him to death, but eventually he got used to you being around. The two of you would hang out together almost all the time, face-timing each other to talk about silly things and helping each other when you needed it.

You even took care of him when he was sick and patched him up whenever he got into foolish fights.

He did not doubt in his mind that you were the one.

After a few minutes of being lost in his thoughts a voice called out to him.

"Katsuki?" The sweetness of your voice ran through his ears. Warming his chest to an extent he couldn't even describe. He could listen to you ramble all day and wouldn't complain a single bit.

He turned around and his eyes met yours. Those beautiful eyes. Eyes that hold so much compassion and care.

"Hey" he uttered softly, his eyes softened while he took in your look. It wasn't like him to be this soft, but this specific moment somehow tuned him to feel calm.

Usually, people see him as this oud grumpy boy with anger issues but you saw him for who he truly was. You see him as someone caring and sweet who shows it differently. He's not the hugging type, but he is the type to take care of you when you're sick. He's the type to teach you how to improve during training. He's the manga-reading drummer boy you learned to fall for. He is Katsuki Bakugo.

"Hey" you replied with the same softness. You were only one foot away from him, inhaling the sweetness of his scent.

You could feel that something was different about him right now, but you couldn't pinpoint it exactly.

Just then he handed you something. A jewelry box. It was a necklace with a matching moon crescent to the one he wears.

"You got me jewelry?" You gasped in realization with a wide grin "Now we can match!"

He scoffed a smile at your cute reaction. "I knew you'd like it"

"Well you, know me very well then" you teased.

You urged him to put it on for you and he did. The silver material dangling from your neck.

You walked down the beach with him for a bit. Reminiscent of your old high school days, which were relatively peaceful. Although he did get upset when you mentioned how Midoriya practically beat him up in a fight once.

He felt pleased to have you with him at this moment. A familiar feeling of butterflies flutering in his stomach.

"C'mon I wanna show you something" he clutched your hand and directed you to a dock on the beach.

It was normal for him to drag you along with him at random times, but for some reason, now felt more passionate. Your hands intertwined as you strolled past the beach.

The wood was pretty creaky but he reassured you that it was safe. Now here you are with your feet dipped in the water, with a nice view of the huge ocean.

A dolphin that did a flip caught your eye and you gasped. Many other dolphins started jumping into the air and diving back in, you were witnessing harmony. You looked to Katsuki to thank him for showing something like this but he was already looking at you.

His mouth was tilted in a little frown while he thought about what to say. You could see him mentally say screw it bad just take action.

"Listen, I know I might be hotheaded, loud, and come off aggressive sometimes" he took a deep breath and you rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "But it was the only way I knew how to express my feelings... Well before I met you"

Your heart rate accelerated.

"When I met you I thought you were the most irritating person on this planet" he continued "You were always so happy and cheerful, you always knew the right things to say and hell- you were one of the bravest people I knew"

"Eventually you rubbed on me, and instead of always being so selfish and stubborn I was actually hearing people out and soon my life started being filled with light."

Bakugo wanted to cringe at himself for being so mushy. Even he had never seen this side of himself before and it was scaring him.

"Basically what I'm trying to say is that...." He looked down at his sweaty hands. You took a hold of them and held them in yours, rubbing your thumb over them softly.

"It's ok, take your time Kat" you calmed him.

"It's fine" he looked away from you "It wasn't important"

Since when was Katsuki Bakugo the one to back away from something? God, he felt pathetic right now, heart racing, palms sweaty and cheeks now beginning to flush a deep red.

Why was it so difficult to just tell you?

Maybe he's scared you'll say no. The possibility that this could ruin your friendship hits him like a trainwreck. He doesn't even know where he'd be without your dumbass.

You could tell that something was eating away at him on the inside, so in hopes to cool him down you splashed his chest with water from the sea.

He was appalled, to say the least, "Wha-"

"It's obvious you want to say something, so stop being a wuss"

"The hell?, I'm not" he yelled, splashing you whole front with water.

"Oh bring it on" you challenged with a giggle. You placed your hands on his shoulders and with all the might you could muster, you pushed him into the water. He saw behind your whole plan which is why he grabbed your arm as he fell. Bringing you with him.

You were still near shore so the water wasn't that deep. It reached just below your chin, but you occasionally had to flutter your feet so you wouldn't go under.

Bakugo on the other hand was tall enough for the water to not have touched his neck yet.

He was staring right at you-amused at your little stunt.

"Shorty" he teased and you splashed him, making him splash you back. You did this to one another back and forth until you were both a laughing mess with salty water engulfing your senses. You were panting and Bakugo could see that you were having trouble keeping yourself afloat, especially because you were now laughing excessively.

He moved closer to you, the atmosphere going silent just for a moment. "C'mere idiot" he outreached his arms. The water was freezing, and it would be a shame if got sick. "You'll get sick"

Now it was your turn to go silent. Your heart wavering every second for the blonde human in front of you. Your eyes locked and you reached your arms around his neck. He held onto your waist tightly, like he'd lose you if he let go.

The tension was so thick it was beginning to way weigh on your heart. The kind of tension that you wanted to ease with just a delicate touch from his lips.

You found yourself inching a bit closer to him and he did the same. Feeling the warmth of breath on your lips.

It was almost as if the both of you would be afraid of what would happen if your lips would make contact. Both of you have been having the same hesitant thoughts this whole time. Thoughts about ruining the friendship if one of you made a move.

Butterflies shot through you the moment his minty lips made contact with your sweet ones. It felt like a flare of lighting just trialed through you.

Your lips moved against each other sweetly, your arms never letting go of each other's embrace. showing exactly how long you've been waiting for this.

You didn't want this moment to end. Ever.

You stroked his neck and he picked you up to straddle him, the nervousness from earlier fading by the second.

You broke away from the kiss panting lightly, Katsuki still looking at you with those soft crimson eyes.

His staring was making you a bit shy, causing you to look away from I'ts intensity.

He didn't allow you to look away from him though. He pulled your chin back to face him and stared at your face. Admiring every little detail.

"Be my girlfriend....." he asked softly, his eyes pleading. "Please"

"Of course" you breathed a laugh. "I'll be your girlfriend Katsuki"

You were pulled into another sweet kiss of the night, fireworks for the new year being lit in the sky.

It's truly a warming sight to see.

---------

Requests are open!!!

#anime and manga #bakugou fluff #mha bakugo katsuki #my hero headcanons #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha kirishima #fypage #bakugou headcanons #bakugo katsuki #pro hero bakugo x reader

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sociogalaxy · 3 months

Text

Confusion~ MalleusXReader Pt2/Ending 1 (angst)

Part one here

You brushed the encounter off as Malleus having a bad day and being extra sensitive. What you didn’t expect was him ignoring you. He changed his schedule completely. No more lunches at the same spot, no more gargoyle club at the same time, hell even no more meeting up at night to see the moon together. It was if he wanted nothing to do with your existence.

Even Lilia...Sebek...Silver...It's as if you didn't exist to them. You lost your whole friend group without knowing why. It ate you up from the inside. You felt guilt over something you knew nothing about You wracked your brain for any answer you could find, but in the end in always turned to a dead end.

Not only were you confused, you were angry. Not only angry, but heartbroken once you saw Malleus with a new friend. She was laughing with him and touching his arm. Just like you used to do.. However that wasn't even the most shocking part. When he leaned down to kiss her, that's when you finally felt your heart shatter. He gave his first kiss to her, the first kiss you've always wanted for yourself because you were in love with him.

Your world was ending. Everything was crashing down, it was hard to breathe. You didn't know whether to get back at him or cry. You wanted to march over there and punch that girl away so you could be the one to kiss him...not her.

Maybe you deserved this. Maybe you did something terrible without realizing, maybe you deserved to be hated by Malleus and your Diasomnia friends. You fell into a deep depression. You stopped attending classes. You stopped interacting with your other friends, hell even with Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts.

Just when you thought you're life would get worse Crowley came with news that he found a way home. You could finally leave. Never see any of them again....never see him again. It hurt like hell, but you knew it was better than your current situation. Better than seeing the man you love look at another woman with the same love you hold for him.

Before you left you wrote a note and slid it under his dorm room door. You poured your entire broken heart and damaged soul into it. You hoped nothing more than for Malleus to read it. Maybe then he can forgive you even if you never hear his voice utter those words to your face.

Dear Malleus, I want to apologize for whatever it is I did. I'm sorry for hurting you so much and never fixing the wrongs...I may never know what I did, and it hurts but I'll be okay. Crowley found a way for me to go home. I'm leaving, by the time you've read this I'll already be long gone. I have to at least admit something. I love you. I've always loved you. I don't know when I'll stop loving you, but hopefully soon. I'm...sorry for ever loving you or allowing myself to be your friend. I can see I've caused nothing but harm. Goodbye forever Malleus. I hope you treat your girlfriend better than I ever could have treated you. Sincerely, Y/N.

It broke him. He thought you hated him. You felt the same way he did? And this is how he repaid you? How could he...He ended the relationship, isolated himself, and vowed to never love another again, especially not in the way he loved you. He held the necklace he tried giving you and cried. He cried, he wept, he bawled, he couldn't hold back anything anymore. He fucked up. He fucked up. Now you're gone forever.

Malleus will never be loved by you ever again.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus

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yourcoffeeguru · 2 years

Text

Natural Labradorite Man In The Moon Face Charm Necklace 13mm on Solid 925 Silver Pendant and Chain - by My Luna Jewel - Etsy

#man in the moon face silver charm #charm necklace #labradorite silver pendant #gemstone silver pendant #q #fashion jewelery #etsy silver pendants #etsy fashion #my luna jewel

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clazaries · 1 month

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Karma in the Form of Justice -slightlydark!Steven w/ a hint of Marc x thief!reader

Summary: An opportunist thief takes their chances stealing from the wrong tomb and has to face their karma in the form of Moon Knight. Basically, don't get on the wrong side about Egyptian matters when it comes to Steven and if he teaches you something, you better remember it. w/c: 6.9k Warnings: none really, mentions of violence and murder :) and my horrible knowledge of ancient egypt. You are the bad guy in this a/n: first fic! I kinda wrote steven slightly differently to canon steven and made him a little darker ;) ENJOY

***

It started out innocent. Because, of course, you were only 7 years old at the time. When the class was emptying out through the doorway, little, dumb Timmy left his British Museum pencil sitting freely on his desk, begging for someone to claim it. That someone was you. The urge to take it was overwhelming and you succumbed to temptation, stashing the pencil deep into your pocket when no one was looking and when no one could figure out the mystery of the disappearing pencil, it was exhilarating knowing that you were the only one who held the secret as to where it went.

The feeling followed as you got older.

It started out with a pencil. Then a pencil case. From a pencil case to a school bag. Within that school bag was a purse containing a little over £1.50, but still, it was a treasured find. From purses to watches, necklaces, rings, valuables, anything that could be pawned and make you that slightly bit richer. When you were old enough to realise about the illegalities of your little habits, guilt and paranoia began to make themselves known to you. But they were equally matched with the feeling of euphoria and the adrenaline of getting away with it, so although you did try to tone it back, you never really stopped.

By your late teens, the routine grew tiresome and you endeavoured for something bigger, better, flashier and ten times more riskier. You had to look no further than your very first pilferage.

The British Museum.

~~~~

If you ever tried to justify your actions, what sets you apart from the usual petty thieves is patience and intention. Thieves lack the former but embody the latter. They grow greedy and would plan and scheme and waste hours (the stupid ones don’t plan at all), throwing themselves into a situation that would inevitably result in handcuffs. You, on the other hand, were an opportunist, patient enough to know to pounce only when the moment presented itself on a silver platter. Why chase the thrill when you could let it find you?

On one random day during the week while your parents were enjoying their two week vacation to Italy, you decided to skip school and take a trip to the Museum. You did very little research before entering (after all, less planning means less intention means less suspicion), so you were pleasantly surprised by the museum’s ongoing exhibition of artefacts from ancient Egypt.

Your legs carried you in no certain direction, weaving in and out of the display cabinets of stone statues, plaques of hieroglyphics and crumbling pieces of sand. Despite it all being rather interesting, the artefacts weren’t the only thing your eyes were scanning for. Within the first room alone, you spotted 6 cameras and one patrol officer meandering just as casually as you were. There was no need to panic though, you were here to peruse. Not to steal.

You couldn’t promise yourself any restraint should the opportunity arise…

“Ah! I see you’ve found the Ushabti of Pa-Di-Pep.” An enthusiastic voice from your left appeared behind you. You turned to see a man with black curly hair, donning an enthusiastic smile as his eyes bounced from the ‘ushabti’ and you. “26th dynasty,” he muttered a little quieter. “Very old. Well, I guess that’s obvious. Wouldn’t be an exhibition on ancient Egypt if it was modern.” As his laughter died, your eyes caught the glint of his name tag on his jacket. Steven. You gathered he worked here.

“Oh, cool.” Your tone was rather disinterested and couldn’t be more sarcastic if you tried. “You know your stuff.”

“Oh it’s right up my alley actually. I’ve spent loads of time reading up on this kind of stuff. I could tell you anything about everything in this room. If you’d like?” The way he rolled on the balls of his feet like a child told you that he so clearly wanted to. You decided to indulge in him, only because you could get something out of it.

“Sure. It would be a great help towards my school project.” A clever lie, one that is easily bought by the sad little man beside you, lighting up his eyes and rolling his enthusiasm back to high tide. “So what about this ushabti, then? Anything else you can tell me about that?”

The man rambled on for a little while longer than you wanted, waiting for that perfect opportunity to segue onto the question that was hot on your lips. What was it worth?

“...figurines could also be inscribed with passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.”

“So not quite the ideal decoration to have in your house then?”

“Oh no, no, not at all. These are funeral artefacts, usually left buried along with a tomb.”

“Bummer. I was really looking into sprucing up my living room with one of these,” you jested, bumping a gentle elbow against his.

He elbowed back, “would really take the ‘living’ out of ‘living room’.”

“Definitely not worth it.” You began to look around the room, gambling with the idea of whether or not an opportunity could be found here. The security might’ve been too much of a risk. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t window shop. “So tell me then, out of anything in here, what would be worth having in your living room?”

“Where to begin? Oh! Here…”

Honestly, you zoned out, not having the slightest interest in anything he was saying unless it had any relevance to you. The man droned on and on about the history and the magnificence of each piece he talked about but nothing about its worth. You were about to try and cut ties until you both came across an interesting piece that gained your attention.

“And this is the bronze figure of the Egyptian God Ptah-”

“Ptah? Who’s he?”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, as if you'd just asked what day it was. “Who’s he? He’s only the Egyptian God of creation?! He was believed to have dreamt creation in his heart and gave it life with his breath.”

Spare me the poetry, pal. What’s it worth? Give me a number.

“So top shelf mantle material.” You feigned interest, smiling widely at him.

“Definitely. A very expensive one at that. Would set you back at least 37 grand.”

Interesting.

You stayed for a little while until the number of witnesses dwindled into single digits. The museum was beginning to close up, staff were outnumbering visitors with the majority of them leaving through the gift shop which conveniently sold replicas of the bronze figure ‘Steven’ showed you earlier.

You always told yourself that you never planned, but another opportunity had opened up to you and you couldn’t help but call it fate.

It went flawlessly. When no one was looking you swiftly snatched the real bronze figure, giving you the seconds you needed to make it to the gift shop before the panicked patrol officer alerted staff. The hubbub of the precious missing artefact opened up the second opportunity to swipe a replica from the shelf.

“Oh, excuse me!” You had yelled, holding the replica up in the air, the real one encased in your rucksack. “I saw some kid walking out with this, I believe it belongs here.” Your sickly smile fooled the patrol staff, knowing none the wiser, and kindly took the replica with a relieved breath, placing it back onto its pedestal.

You walked out the museum 37 grand richer.

~~~~

Whenever you pulled something off like this, you tended to keep your head low for at least a week after, limiting the amount of times you left your home, and kept communication to an absolute minimum. Within a few weeks, you were back to your normal self. However, this time the euphoria was very short-lived. It had been a day after your theft when the paranoia settled in and you had never known it to be so all-consuming. With a pilferage worth 37 grand, it meant that the stakes were far too high to wager with. Finding rest was a rare luxury for at least a week. You tried to ease your way through the days feeling conflicted and, in all honesty, petrified of the foreseeable. With each day that passed, you found it harder and harder to keep your paranoia at bay and you didn’t dare leave your home and the mental torture plagued you with restlessness; having to check locks four, fives times before you left each room.

Your home started to feel like less of a safe space. You couldn’t explain the feeling you had every morning when you woke up, itching with an unease that someone had been watching you, spying on you, observing you with resentment in their eyes with what you had chosen to do with your life. It was then you started to notice things being out of place; the ridge in your carpet had changed shape, curtains had been drawn wider than how you usually left them, a kitchen chair was facing just a degree or two out of place. That same night, you remembered standing in the middle of your bedroom with a cold breeze drafting around you, but it wasn’t the reason for your shivers. To your left a creak of the floorboards, to your right a moan of the wind. Something wasn’t right. Something definitely wasn’t right.

It could’ve been your paranoia, it could’ve been your lack of sleep, but you were certain you spotted two glowing eyes peering through your window from across the street, staring directly into your soul.

“Fuck this,” you whispered to yourself. Without a moments’ hesitation you reached for the bronze figure you had stashed within the hollows of your wall. “Time to get rid of this.”

Being quite the weasel you are, you sold the bronze figure for almost double the money on the black market and made the very bold decision to get out of the country before you were consumed by guilt.

~~~~

3 years later

“You ready?” Amon asks you, propping up his scarf over his face to fight against the sandy winds. You nod to him before following him into the entrance of the tomb that lies just beneath an alcove, hidden in the shadows of the dunes.

Amon had already scouted the entrance of the tomb a few days prior, so he takes lead on the scavenge guiding the way with a bright white torch and the moment you step into the tomb, you become his shadow. The tunnel is narrow and carries a draft only a fraction of the winds outside and it’s something you’re thankful for, otherwise you would be dripping right through your clothes with sweat. Every step is with caution, every living breath is considered your last, both you and Amon are aware of the risks that these tunnels carry.

Amon, being a local, had his reasons for entering the tunnel; he knows of the treasures and rarities of what lies inside, a conversation that caught wind and found your eavesdropping ears in the midst of a busy town outside Cairo. Not to mention, he’s as greedy for his share of the fortune if you are skillful enough to succeed. Unfortunately, being a local, he also has his reasons not to enter. On a spiritual level, this tomb is considered to be cursed, ladened with traps of an Egyptian mind that could easily kill you with one wrong step. He is too afraid to do it alone.

On a more realistic level, the structure is unsupported, tunnels weaving their way beneath tonnes and tonnes of ancient bricks, sand and rubble that could collapse at any given moment. That’s the real risk you’re more frightened of.

“How much of this did you actually scout?” You ask.

“I go until no more.” His broken English rises above the low moaning whistle which Amon claims to be the voice of the dead, warning you to turn back while you still have a chance. You don’t heed his superstitions.

You both eventually reach the point that Amon had mentioned and honestly, you were expecting it to be a lot further into the tomb and not just a few minutes into the journey. Before you, a collapsed section of the tunnel with a small point of entrance between the ground and rubble. Eyeing it up, you realise it’s big enough that you could squeeze yourself through there if you held your breath but taking a second glance at Amon, there’s no way his 5'10 well-fed body could do the same.

He gestures to the blockage, “I go until no more.”

“Right.” You heave a sigh, considering your options; ignore the risks and do it alone, or turn around and walk away from it all.

Alas, that small hole is an opportunity. And where there is an opportunity, there is possibility.

You begin to strip yourself of your equipment until you are down to a few layers of clothing. You lower yourself onto your stomach heading face first through the opening. “When I get through, pass me my equipment, okay?” Amon nods in understanding, but not without mentioning how crazy he thinks you are.

It’s an awkward shuffle through to the other side. Hands, elbows, knuckles and knees are scraping against the ground in an attempt to push your way through, aided by the breath of relief when you make it to the other side. Beams of white light shine through the cracks in the rubble and when Amon hears you made it, he passes through your equipment.

You find his eyes through one of the cracks. “Will you wait?” You reluctantly ask, suddenly feeling vulnerable now that you have been separated.

“Yes. I have walkie-talkie. Atamanaa lak al tawfiq.” You don’t know what he said, but from his tone and the way he looks at you with hope you guess that it’s along the lines of ‘good luck’.

With a final nod, you head off into the unknown, your torch shining the way.

There’s a million thoughts running through your head as you delve deeper into the tomb, but yet not one that gives you any comfort. What if there isn’t anything to find? What if you get lost? What if Amon doesn’t wait for you? What if you get trapped?

What if you die?

They remind you that you are way out of your depth here, you aren’t an adventurer nor an explorer of any sort. You’re an opportunist thief who takes their chances where they shouldn’t. What the hell are you doing here?

You force yourself to swallow your growing discomfort, clinging on to the small possibility and Amon’s knowledge that you do find something worth your while. Besides, it’s that small possibility that motivated you to crawl through that opening and continue your journey. You have to keep going.

The tunnels eventually open up into a massive hollow cavern lined with broken paths and cliff edges, hanging over a substantial drop. You take a moment to collect yourself, eyes following the paths and finding that the only way is down. Down into the pit of darkness. There isn’t a sound to be heard, and if it wasn’t for your powerful torch, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing. The breeze has calmed to nothing, not a single wisp of your hair moving upon your head and the heat starts to become more of a nuisance. Your palms sweat as you cling onto protruding rocks along the wall and your torch threatens to slip from your grasp. It’s a challenging obstacle course, manoeuvring yourself from one path to another, planning and scheming as you go.

“You there Amon?” The bleep of the walkie-talkie bounces against the walls of the cavern, its echo travelling for miles. You estimate that you’re about 50 feet down from where you started.

“Yes. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, the tomb goes deep. I don’t know if the signal will carry if I get to the bottom…” you pause, hesitant over your next words. “This might take a while. If you don’t hear from me in 4 hours, then just leave.”

“Leave you? No, no, no, I wait in car. You come back in 4 hours. Yes?”

“Okay. I’ll contact you again when I get to the--shit!!” What stops you mid-sentence is the pair of glowing white eyes at the bottom of the cavern, floating, watching, observing. You’ve seen those eyes before. It was unnerving the first time but it’s even more terrifying the second time, a new wave of fear now rattling your bones. Your heart rate picks up, your pulse almost thrumming in your ears in sheer panic. No, no, no. It can’t be…

You shine your torch towards the eyes but in its deathly white glow, they disappear, reappearing only when you avert your torch.

“Hello? You okay? Hello?!” Amon’s almost yelling through the walkie-talkie.

“I’m okay, sorry, just…” You have no idea what to say, eyes glued to the glowing ones miles below you. “Just got a fright.”

“Be careful,” is that last thing Amon says to you before the line goes dark. When all is silent, you’re left to quietly battle against the glowing pair of eyes, unmoving and unblinking. You don’t dare take a single step, adamant on keeping your gaze locked firmly below you with two hands clenched around the torch in a white-knuckled grip. You quickly become stuck in a cycle of shining your torch onto them, repeatedly watching them disappear and reappear in the hopes that they’ll eventually vanish forever.

“Fuck…just leave me alone,” you quietly murmur to yourself. When the eyes refuse to react, you bravely decide to take a single side step, closer towards your next descent where you know you will have to detach your gaze, but you know you can’t stay here forever. The eyes don’t move, they don’t blink, they just keep watching you. So you take another step, and another, and another…

Within a matter of panic-inducing seconds, you eventually reach the edge of a ridge when your torch begins flickering, the light dimming with each flicker. “No, no, no you have to be kidding me!” Stressed, you bang the torch against your palm in a nervous attempt to keep the light, it’s your only salvation right now, you can’t lose it. You could’ve sworn the batteries were fully charged. You had them charging overnight knowing you were going into a dark tomb, why aren’t they working? Fuck, why won’t they work?!

Despite your distraction, you’re hyper aware of the eyes below you, eyes that you are not currently watching and having lost your composure, your paranoia floods you with thoughts that this was what they were waiting for; their moment to pounce. They could be scaling the walls towards your position. They could have moved and you wouldn’t know. They could be inches from you and you wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. You feel it. They’re crawling closer and closer and closer…

After a few heart stopping seconds, the torch finally flashes to life and with a desperate sob you shine the bright beam towards the eyes as if the light is your shield. Like before they disappear, but unlike before, they don’t reappear. They’re gone. You can’t see them anywhere. Not above, not below. Gone.

The stress overwhelms you and you drop to your knees, passing a strangled whimper and letting your heart rate slow to an easy beat. Fuck. You’re still a long way to go, how are you going to manage?

Against your better judgement, you continue at a slow and agonising pace, still very aware of your surroundings as if you’re expecting the eyes to appear again. Thankfully, about an hour and a half of descending down the multiple jumps and hazardous steps, you reach an opening. Finding another narrow tunnel that leads you away from the cavern seems like a saving-grace and you don’t give the glowing eyes another opportunity to appear before you follow the trail.

“Amon, can you hear me?” Your walkie-talkie hisses a low frequency back at you. “Amon, are you there?”

No response. You are truly on your own now.

You readjust your rucksack straps, retie your bootlaces, wipe the sweat from your brow, and with feigned determination, you set off through yet another dark, narrow tunnel with your untrustworthy torch in hand.

You quickly find that this one isn’t like the one you and Amon travelled through at the entrance, this one feels like a maze. Despite it having only one path and being completely linear, there is a tight 90 degree corner every 5 or 6 steps. Left, right, left, left, right, left, right, right, left. It’s unnerving because even though you know you can’t get lost and you know exactly where you came from, there’s no way of telling what lies ahead of you, no way of telling what lurks just around the corner, waiting for you in the darkness. What’s worse is that there’s no way of telling if anything is following you until it’s exactly five steps behind you which, by that point, there’s no outrunning it. You’ve never felt paranoia like it and the deeper you trail, the more anxious you become.

After fifteen minutes, you feel you’re going in circles. Logically, you know it isn’t possible but the disorientation you feel convinces you otherwise. You’ve taken so many left and right-hand turns that you’ve lost count and you just can’t map it out in your head. There has to be an end, this can’t go on for much longer.

After another five minutes, you stop to gather your sanity tucked neatly into one of the many corners of the tunnel, keeping track of where you came from and where you intend to go. You cleanse your mind with a refreshing drink of cold water, splashing some sparingly across your forehead and the back of your neck, revelling in the small relief it brings you. The droplets on the ground are the only evidence of your travels and you figure it would be a good indication should you succeed in making it back. Just a couple of more hours, you tell yourself. You can do it.

Composed, you rise to your feet ready to take another step but before you do, your torch flickers again, subjecting you to intermittent seconds of pure darkness. Your heart stops dead in your chest. The last time that happened the eyes were watching you and you can’t bear to think that time is repeating itself.

Your strategy from last time fails you and no matter how hard you hit the flashlight against your palm, this time it doesn’t come back to life. Flicking the switch off and on again does it no good either and your breathing becomes panicked. Crouched in the corner, you’re enveloped in darkness. It’s so dark that you begin to see swirls of your imagination floating in front of your eyes, so dark that you can’t even see your hand inches from your face, yet still your eyes flicker around frantically as if you could see.

Helpless, you turn to your other senses, feeling around the rocky sandy ground in search of your rucksack where you know you packed emergency flares. It’s a struggle to rummage for them and until you do, you keep on high alert, listening out for anything out of the ordinary.

That’s when you hear it; the crumbling of sand, the crunching of footsteps and the soft ruffle of fabric. Someone’s here. There’s no doubt about it. Everything in you is screaming to just abandon the flare and just run but fear keeps you rooted with your hand deep into your rucksack. Your heart feels like a weight in your chest, banging against your rib cage to escape the situation you’re in but your brain tells you to stay, hoping that whoever, whatever, is here is just as blinded by the darkness as you are. If you move, it’ll hear you.

Your hand eventually knocks against the flare, feeling the familiar cylinder encased in your hand. Alarmed, you pull it out and set it alight, its red flare bursting to life. It gives light to the corridors to your right and to your left…where a tall, daunting mummified figure in white stands, glaring its glowing white eyes on you. Its sudden presence kick starts your reflexes and adrenaline pumps through your veins, pushing you to your feet with a hysterical whimper escaping your throat, and before you even know it, you’re running almost blindly through the tunnel. There isn’t a second thought spared to the broken flashlight and the rucksack full of equipment you mistakenly left behind, running further and further away from whatever is stalking behind you. With the flare outstretched, red walls zoom by you as you try to cut every corner, scraping shoulders and elbows against the walls in a desperate attempt to increase the distance between you and that thing.

You can hear it behind you, marching at a quick pace, its footsteps drumming into your ears gradually getting closer and louder. Oh God. It’s right behind you. Keep running, keep running, fuck just don’t stop running!

Tears and sweat glide down your cheeks and you begin to worry that it’ll be the last thing you feel before this being captures you. However, you're granted one last chance of salvation when you turn a corner and see that the tunnel stretches out into a long, straight, narrow path, giving your legs a chance to break into a full uninterrupted sprint. Towards the end you see an archway leading you into the heart of the tomb where a sarcophagus lies in the centre of the room; the very one Amon described as being a goldmine of treasuries. If you can just make it there…

You pick up speed at the moment the tunnel surrounding you begins to rumble, tremors setting your feet off course and pushing you off balance. Little stones and flecks of dust fall from above you and land in your eyes but you know you can’t afford to stop, knowing that that being is still behind you. Little did you know that you had set off a trap, stepping on a plate that triggers the corridor to collapse, no doubt a preventative measure to stop people like you from pilfering the tomb within. But you had been running so quickly, you barely even noticed. Perhaps if you keep running just as fast, you might be able to escape from being crushed to death…

The rumbling becomes so loud that it drowns out the footsteps from behind you and you put all of your remaining strength into sprinting as fast as you can, pumping blood and adrenaline to your legs as they carry you closer and closer to the tomb. Every step is paired with an exhausted pant, your own voice crying out with exhaustion and fear. You have to make it. You can do it.

You dive into the tomb just milliseconds before a large solid rock closes off the entrance, separating you and the being.

All is silent in the tomb. The rumbling ceases and the footsteps are long forgotten. When a shred of sense returns to you, you take the dying light of the burning flare to the wooden torches dotted around the tomb, not only giving light to the room but giving light to the very, very fucked up realisation you’ve just had. Four solid walls surround you.

There’s no relief to be had, because although you had just escaped being crushed to death, you now face death in a far more morbid way. There isn’t another way out. You’re beginning to think that you’ve made yet another mistake; being crushed would’ve been a quick and painless death. Now, with no other means of escape, you’ll be subjected to a long, agonising, painful torment, forever waiting for the moment that starvation, thirst, suffocation and time consumes you.

You didn’t just enter any tomb, you entered your own tomb.

“Fuck!” You scream, falling to your knees, already bloody, bruised and scraped but the pain doesn’t translate when you’re deep in despair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The walls swallow your cries, accepting your defeat.

If it wasn’t for the situation you find yourself in, you would be revelling in the numerous pieces of ancient artefacts around you, gushing over the rusted gold that shines on the mantles on the walls, laughing with hysteria about how your discovery had just made you a thousand times richer. But no, all you can think about is how claustrophobic you feel, how your lungs burn in your chest and how you will never see the light of day again.

You spare a thought to your parents whom you had failed to keep in contact with. For the first few months you kept it to just once a week; a picture of your face with an unidentifiable background and a message telling them you were safe. They learned pretty quickly after your sudden disappearance that you weren’t going to answer any of their questions and soon accepted that your weekly message would have to suffice. It was all they needed to know; you were okay and you were safe. Despite the numerous ‘how’s, ‘where’s, ‘what’s, and ‘when’s, there was only ever one ‘why’.

‘Why did you do it?’

Your parents knew exactly why you fled on the day the British Museum had reported a missing bronze figure alongside a grainy picture of your profile captioned ‘number one suspect’, but the one little detail that left them mentally spiralling over their own parenting techniques, wondering where they went so wrong was…why?

Why did you do it?

Why indeed.

The pencil, the pencil case, the rucksack, the purse, the £1.50, watches, jewellery, everything you had ever snagged in your life, was it all worth it? Was this your karma?

You aren’t sure how much time has passed before you have no more tears left to cry. Completely numb from crying you come to a stand, quickly arriving at the anger stage in the five stages of grief over your own inevitable death. You begin kicking the sarcophagus, knocking things off the mantles and punching anything your fist can connect with with reckless abandon that you don’t even care for how much your temper tantrum is costing you. Everything hurts but you just. Don’t. Care.

Hours later, exhaustion begins to creep up on you just when the fire of the torches begins to flicker to nothing and before they completely die out, you take one last look around your tomb. You think it’s been more than four hours now which means Amon will be long gone. You are all alone.

Lying in the corner surrounded by the remains of your temper tantrum with all hope lost, you close your eyes.

~~~~

“Tut tut tut.” A male voice murmurs, arousing you from your slumber. The room is dark when your eyes flicker open, so it’s impossible to miss those glowing white eyes standing at the far end of the room. Fuck. Not again. They startle you so much they jolt your body to full attention, your chest feeling heavy as if you had been defibrillated back to life. “What a waste.” The footsteps lurk around the sarcophagus, scuffing against the shards of the ceramic artefacts you smashed earlier. How he can see, you have no idea. Yet, you still feel the need to push yourself further back against the wall.

You take a shaky breath, mustering the courage to speak. “Please…” The eyes sway casually as the being walks nearer, standing over you cowering in the corner. Before either of you say another word, something drops at your feet. It’s your rucksack.

“Open it,” he instructs smoothly, a hint of an American twang interlacing his words. “It’s much too dark in here, and I’d prefer to see the fear in your eyes when you get what you deserve.”

Keeping your eyes rooted to the being in front of you, deja vu runs coldly through your veins as your hand sneaks into your rucksack to find the flare. However unlike last time, you’d rather face him in the dark, not a single cell in your body wishes to greet the mummified adonis standing inches before you, threatening you.

“Go on,” he encourages, eyes flitting to your bag. He knows you don’t want to. It’s pitiful how much you don’t want to.

When the red glow illuminates there you see him, in fact it’s all you can see. The intimidating being you had only seen for a split second before in full display. His silhouette is so all-encompassing, the red glow doesn’t reach far past him. He’s wrapped neatly in white bandages with gold embellishments on his chest with a flowing cape cascading down his back, resembling warrior regalia. Shadows flicker behind the contours of his hood that hangs over his masked face, giving away no emotion. Everything about him is a mystery and you can’t help but feel vulnerable knowing he can see everything about you, reading the terror in your eyes as if it was written out for him.

You pull your legs to your chest as he crouches down, levelling with you.

“I usually don’t deal with petty thieves until they start messing with things that shouldn’t be messed with.”

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

He chuckles menacingly, tilting his head. “Looking for an escape? Don’t bother. You won’t be leaving here. At least not until I’m done with you.”

“What…” Your voice scrapes against your dry throat. It’s been hours since you last had a drop of water. “What are you going to do to me?”

He doesn’t immediately respond, but instead looks into his own reflection in the gold plating of an artefact you smashed, muttering a tense “not now, Steven.” Steven? What?

He turns back to you. “The same thing I did to your partner on the surface.” Amon. Shit!

“Is…is he dead?”

“Almost. I left him with just enough of a heartbeat to keep him alive, enough to teach him a lesson I know he will learn. You - however - I have no hope for.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, “I was only exploring.”

“Hmm, I highly doubt that - shut up Steven!” Your brows furrow with confusion, who the hell is Steven? Looking around, you can’t seem to see anyone else here in the room with you and this being. He doesn't give you a second to question his weird antics, coming very quickly to a stand with a grunt and pulling what looks like a gold, crescent shaped weapon from his chest and into his hand. “You’ve been thieving from the moment you knew you could. You know yourself you’re never going to change, so I’m here to put an end to it, to make sure you never get away with something like this again - dammit Steven, fine! But don’t let her get away. She’s mine.”

“What the fuck-” Before another word leaves your lips, the being morphs, or rather, his regalia does. The bandages unravel, withering away to reveal a white tux, donned by the same glowing eyes peering down at you.

“Exploring, eh?”

You’re taken aback by the minor change in his voice, his inflection. All Americanisms smoothly disappear and in place a British accent shapes his words. One that seems far too familiar for your liking…

“What…”

“Gathering research for your school project?” He crouches down again, leaning closer and invading your space. “Or scouting the place out for a heist.” His tone isn't questioning anymore. They’re words of a statement, of a fact he knows is true. It’s really starting to shake your nerves. Something about all of this feels disconcerting.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“It’s a shame, really.” He stubbornly ignores your question, picking up a fractured piece of artefact. “This statue would’ve looked really nice on a living room mantle. Really would’ve spruced up the place.”

Your heart stops and your breath catches in the back of your throat. The conversation throws you back into your memories, images of the British Museum flashes through your mind. The Egyptian exhibition. The bronze figure. The bumbling staff member who showed you it all. The name on his badge was…

“Steven.”

“Ah, so you do remember. See, you’re smarter than you look. That’s what fooled me all those years ago when you manipulated me into thinking you were just an innocent student looking to learn. You bloody well used me, didn’t you? Cost me my job.”

“Look, Steven, I’m sorry, o-okay? I was young and stupid, I didn’t know-”

“Young, yes. Stupid? No. You knew exactly what you were doing when you walked out with that figure. You knew exactly what you were doing when you stashed it in your bedroom walls. I looked everywhere for that statue, waiting for you to reveal where you hid it. And you fucking sold it!” So you weren’t seeing things that night. You know that feeling of being watched wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, it was Steven. “You knew what you were doing when you walked into this tomb. But I bet you don’t know whose tomb you walked into, or what ancient artefacts you recklessly broke. Still ‘willing to learn’? I hope so, ‘cos I think it’s fucking hilarious.”

Steven comes to a stand and begins marching over to inspect the side of the sarcophagus. At that moment, the light of the flare illuminates the rest of the room and your eyes dart to the entrance where the stone that locked you in here no longer exists. How? Never mind. Survival first, question later. As ever, you take the opportunity and make a dash for the entrance, your legs a little lethargic from your lack of sustenance.

Sadly, you only get so far. A broad arm wraps around your neck and pulls you flush against Steven’s body. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” His crushing strength borders dangerously between cutting off your oxygen but keeping you conscious enough to hear the words as he mutters them down your ear. “See this sarcophagus here? Do you know who it belongs to?

“No!” You ball, kicking up a fight. You barely push him off-balance. “I don’t give a fuck, let me go!”

“See this is why I find the irony of this hilarious. Go on, have a guess. I’m intrigued to see if you’re capable of learning a lesson.”

Steven man-handles you, gripping your jaw to fore to look at the large sarcophagus in front of you littered with inscriptions of a language you can’t translate and decorated with hieroglyphics you don’t understand. You get the feeling it’s something that Steven had already told you about during his ramblings at the museum. But he talked so much about shit you didn’t care for and you didn’t retain any information unless it had to do with its price. Fuck, whose sarcophagus is this?

“I…I don’t know. Please, just let me go, I promise I won’t steal anymore.” You’re sobbing now, your tears rolling down your cheeks to be absorbed by Steven’s white suit. Frustrated, Steven tightens his hold on you.

“No, come on. Focus. I need to know that you didn’t just use me, I need to know I taught you something. Now what was it? I’ll give you a clue, it was one of the first things we talked about.”

Fuck. It was about some Ushabti thing, right?

“The Ushabti?”

“God, you butcher the pronunciation. But well done. The Ushabti of who?”

You really can’t remember, and you feel it will be the death of you if you don’t. So overrun with hopelessness, you completely give in to defeat and fall weak in Steven’s arm. “I just want to go home.”

“No, not the Ushabti of I-just-want-to-go-home. Who. Was. It?”

Come on, think! Who was it? Da…Fa…Pa-something. Pa…Pa…

“I’m going to be reeaalllyyy disappointed if you don’t get this.” Steven’s harsh voice vibrates down your ear, his mask pressing firmly against the side of your ear.

“Pa…”

“Yes?”

“Pa-Di…”

“Almost there, darlin’”

Finally, the knowledge springs to life and the syllables roll off your tongue. “Pa-Di-Pep?”

“See? You did know it, which means you’ll know what these inscriptions are on the side of this sarcophagus and on all the relics in this tomb, which means you know why I find this so funny.”

If you had the breath to sigh, you would. He’s right. You do know why. The scraps of information he fed you come whizzing back with a stab of irony. You understand it now.

“Passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.” You relay his words back in your voice, Steven chuckling maniacally behind you.

“And you just broke them all. Bad luck, eh? No safe passage to the afterlife for you. My buddy Marc will make sure of it. If you haven’t already realised, I’m the brains of this body. Marc is the brawn. Never misses a kill that one. Do you, Marc?”

Steven suddenly shuffles behind you, maintaining that iron steel grip he has around your throat. When the material of the mask traces the shell of your ear and his voice returns, his tone has changed. Deeper, lower, threatening.

American.

“Kind of you to say, Steven. Y’know, it’s a shame Steven isn’t kind enough to let you live. So, little thief, what’ll it be? Shall I kill you where you stand, or do you want to join Pa-Di-Pep in his sarcophagus?”

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