#seething. he then grabs him and asks where his husband is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paleprincessturtle · 5 months

Note

i heard you’re taking requests for harvey specter and angst with him would be so good !!!! i just finished reading the sorrow of tomorrow and you write him so well like i can’t wait for the next part, your writing is awesome. so i was wondering if you could write some sort of angst with a happy ending with him, like maybe they get into an argument and harvey being harvey says something to take it too far but they make up later somehow. just a suggestion, u don’t need to write it if you don’t want to!!

Thank you so much for the kind words and the request! Hope you enjoy this one 😊 And bear with me, this is a looooong one. I seriously got carried away writing this.

GETAWAY HOUSE

She marched towards Harvey's office, her face red with anger. "Mike, get out," she ordered a visibly surprised Mike. "But we are in the middle of..." she lifted her hand, "in the middle of a meeting, I know. But please, get out. I need to speak with Harvey." She looked at Harvey, and the two stared at each other. Mike left the room after realizing the obvious tension in the room and not wanting to stand in the way of a woman who looked like she might breathe fire.

She looked over her shoulder until she was sure that Mike had closed the door. "I will give you a good 5 minutes to explain why the hell is Pharma Pro insisting on settling," she folded both arms in front of her. Harvey didn't even look at her. He looked busy writing something on a paper in front of him. "You tell me, they're your client," Harvey gave her a quick glance before he looked back down at the paper. "Don't give me that shit, Harvey. They received a memo. It was signed "Specter" on the memo. I never signed my name like that on a memo. The only Specter who knows this case is you." Harvey put down his pen and said, "You are another Specter who not only knows but is handling this case." She gaped. "Harvey, I have to spend my morning explaining why there is a memo under my surname that they have to settle after just yesterday I told them to go to court." Harvey watched her for a few seconds. She looked pissed, and most of all, there was betrayal in the eyes he loved the most. "Yes, it was me." She took a sharp breath and sat in front of him. "Why?" she asked quietly, her eyes glued to the black desk in front of her. "You won't win in court," Harvey said simply. She heard no trace of guilt or remorse in the voice she knew very well. "You don't trust me?" Her voice was just above a whisper. She was on the verge of crying. The thought of her own husband not trusting her judgment in her own case... And he had to interfere. Basically, embarrassing her in front of her biggest client. "We just got this firm back on its feet, and I am the new managing partner. If you lose Pharma Pro, it won't look good on us. I don't trust your call, so I had to step up," Harvey said as his voice softened at the sight of his wife, who looked like she was about to burst into tears. Harvey knew she had been through a lot to be where she was right now, but not once did Harvey ever see her cry, at least not over some work. "But you could've come to me and discussed it with me. You are my husband, yes. But I will never overrule you here in the office." Harvey scoffed. "If we discuss this, you will still proceed to court." She pulled her hand out of Harvey's grasp. "Yes! Because they are my client, and I know them better than you." She stood so fast that she almost knocked over the chair she was sitting on. Harvey looked up at her wife, seething with anger. Harvey's jaw tightened. "You think you would still sign with Pharma Pro if it weren't for my last name being yours?" She gasped as both her hands flew to cover her mouth. She grabbed the edge of the chair; she felt like Harvey had just slapped her. The second the words got out of his mouth, he knew it was a total mistake. "Sunny, I..." she interrupted him by lifting her hand. She took a deep breath and tried so hard to compose herself. "You know what, Harvey? I thought I would bring this secret to the grave, but three months before we got married, I got a senior partner offer from Skadden. Skadden, Harvey. Not just any firm. Skadden. No, I wasn't using your name then. I turned them down because I love this firm. And the thought of working side by side with my husband was so heavenly back then. The thought of how we could always support each other..." She trailed off, her voice shaking. "I turned that offer down even though I knew Jessica wouldn't mind. And you know what they said after I turned them down? They said the offer will firmly stand if I want to take it in the future. But again, Harvey, I think you know me better than whoever it was at Skadden. And no, it wasn't your name that got me to sign Pharma Pro. I slept with Russell Whitmore. Is that the truth you want to hear?" Her words cut through Harvey, even though he knew she was lying. She stormed out of his office as he tried to catch up with her. He grabbed his arm, and she sharply looked back at him and said, "Don't you fucking dare follow me, Harvey." Harvey stood there, frozen in place, as he saw his wife fade away from view.

It was 15 minutes before midnight. Harvey stood at the doorway to Mike's office. Harvey didn't go after his wife earlier today. But when he (most definitely on purpose) walked past his wife's office, he found it empty. And it wasn't even 5. "Are you just going to stand there, Harvey? You creep me out," Mike said as he flipped over a file. Harvey snapped out of it. "I want to ask if you know where my wife is," Harvey asked carefully. "I don't know, Harvey. She's your wife," Mike shrugged. "Didn't Rachel tell you if she was with her?" Mike finally looked at Harvey. Mike has to admit that Harvey looked very stressed. "Again. I don't know, Harvey. Maybe if you stopped being a certified douchebag, you would know the whereabouts of your wife." Mike looked sharply at Harvey, whose shoulders slumped at Mike's answer. As much as Mike wanted to help Harvey out, it wasn't his place. "I took it you heard about the fight?" Mike let out a sarcastic laugh. "Donna saw your wife crying in the toilet. Donna told Rachel, and Rachel told me. In the process of Rachel telling me, Louis heard. Yeah, everyone knew. And before you asked, yes, everyone sided with your wife." Harvey let out a defeated sigh as he rubbed his forehead. "Give her time, Harvey." Harvey nodded at Mike's advice before going back to his office.

Harvey was deep in thought, listening to his father's record while nursing a glass of whisky. "I very much don't want to see your face, but Gretchen already went home, and I need you to sign this fast." Harvey closed his eyes at the voice of Louis. The last thing he needs now is Louis chewing on his ass. "What is it, Louis?" Harvey turned away from the window as he walked to his desk. Louis didn't say a thing; he just pointed at the document he brought. Harvey nodded as he sat down and started skimming the document. "If I didn't promise your wife I wouldn't beat the shit out of you, I would've beaten the shit out of you," Louis said quickly, his face red. Harvey looked up slowly at Louis for the sudden outburst. "When she got married to you, she asked me to walk her down the aisle. We aren't even related, but she chose to come to me. She is like a ..." Louis choked on his own words. "She is like a daughter to me. And what you said to her, Harvey... And if you don't make this right, I swear to God, Harvey, I will make your life a living hell. I would gladly be her attorney if she chose to divorce." Harvey nodded as he handed Louis the document.

Harvey got home just a little after 3. After he made sure that his wife wasn't home, he chose not to be home at any cost. But at the same time, he longed to be home. Harvey poured himself another glass of whisky. He watched the fire as he laughed to himself. His wife would've scolded him if she knew he poured himself yet another glass of whisky at this hour. But his wife wasn't here, and his heart heaved. He checked his phone. Nothing. He left him 7 voicemails and more than 10 texts; all of them sat cold. Then he realized that he hadn't seen Donna all day in the office today. He quickly grabbed his phone and called Donna. She didn't pick up, considering the time, but he tried again. "Harvey, if the firm isn't on fire, I would hang up right now," came Donna's hoarse voice at the other line. "Donna, I'm sorry; please don't hang up. Is my wife there?" Harvey asked, a glimmer of hope apparent in his voice. Silent. "Donna?" Another silent. Harvey checked his phone just in case the phone abruptly ended. "She is here." Harvey sighed in relief. "Okay, I'm going there now," Harvey said as he stood up. "Harvey, no," Donna said firmly. "No?" Harvey stopped in his tracks. "Give her time, Harvey. You really hurt her." Harvey's turned to stay silent. "Harvey, remember how many times she got to cut you some slacks? How many times has she stood by your side, no matter what? How many times did she get back to you after you hurt her and you only gave her a simple apology? How many times, Harvey?" Harvey bit his lip, forcing him to hold a sob. "Will she come back, Donna? I'll give her all the time in the world; just tell me, Donna. Will she come back?" Donna closed her eyes as she heard the hoarseness of Harvey's voice. "I don't know, Harvey. I don't know," Donna said truthfully.

Harvey didn't sleep that night. He got back to the office early in the morning. He saw Donna, who smiled curtly at him. He didn't expect to see his wife in her office when he walked past her office. She wasn't there. But to Harvey's surprise, there she was. Sat gracefully in the conference room, holding a meeting with Pharma Pro's execs. He caught her eye. Before he got the chance to smile at her, she turned her focus back to Russel Whitmore, the CEO of Pharma Pro. Harvey sighed and headed to the elevator. He himself had a meeting to attend.

Harvey got back to the office around 5. When he passed her wife's office, he saw her there. Her back faced him. A few folders opened in front of her. As much as Harvey wanted to go in and hold her, he knew he had to give her some time. He got to his office and fired up his laptop.

A few hours later, Harvey almost lost his mind. His wife was just a few offices away, yet he couldn't do anything. He brought some papers and stood up to leave his office. He prayed so hard so that her wife would still be in her office. An office before his wife's, Harvey stopped himself. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. He couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous. He was nervous when his wife told him that he should talk to Louis for her hand in marriage. They were close. Really close. She was so close that she considered Louis her own family. Since she had no immediate family. But this is different. He felt like his marriage was on the edge. And it was all because of him. He took another deep breath and finally knocked on his wife's door before opening the door. Harvey sighed a breath of relief. His wife was still there, buried in a lot of files. "Hey," Harvey said softly as he entered her office. "Hey," she answered shortly, not knowing what to do. She wanted to yell at Harvey and slap him. But dear God, the look on his face. She knew he hadn't slept. "Can I?" Harvey referred to the chair across from her. She only nodded. "I've been making this whole speech since last night about what I would say when we met. But seeing your face..." Harvey stopped himself. His hand itched to touch his wife. "I took you for granted. And I'm sorry, I really am." His wife looked at him stoically. "Here," Harvey showed her the papers he brought with him.

"A house in.. Hamptons? This is your way of saying sorry? Oh yeah, right. I couldn't afford a house in the Hamptons since I'm a low-degree lawyer." She scoffed, and Harvey shook his head. "Remember the second day of our honeymoon?" Harvey asked. How could she forget? They stayed in a beautiful villa in Como.

"We should buy a villa here," she said as she climbed on top of Harvey. Both of them were in bed, with the vast view of Lake Como at their disposal. Nothing was between them but a thin layer of white sheet. She propped herself up; they were face-to-face. "And why is that?" Harvey asked, smirking at his wife. "So whenever we are tired, we can always come here and get away from the world." Harvey marveled at the look of wonder in his wife's eyes. "In here, it's just us. You," she kissed his lips, "and me." Harvey caressed his wife's bare back. "You do realize we are in Italy, right?" She giggled at the fact that they were indeed a 10-hour flight away from home. "Then at the Hamptons! It wasn't far," she said excitedly. "I don't need a getaway house. I have my wife and my job all in one place; I wouldn't need anything else." She wanted to argue, but Harvey turned them over as she squealed.

"I told you I don't need a getaway house. I don't need to be away from all this," Harvey said as he gestured to whatever was around them. "But all this without you? The stress of this place has led me astray from you. I hurt you. If I could do anything to even just lessen the pain I caused you, I would do it. I won't waste another word saying how much I'm sorry, but I will make it up to you." Harvey took his wife's hands in his, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "If you let me, I will take you to our new house." Harvey's voice was laced with questions. "I know it is not Como. And we can always cancel this house if you don't want it. We could go there, and you can pick it yourself," Harvey rambled. Harvey stood up and moved his chair next to hers. "Please come with me. Let me fix this for us." Harvey put his hand on her cheek as she leaned into his warm hand. "Harvey, it's only Tuesday. I have my week full," she said, shaking her head. "If you agree, we can just leave first thing in the morning. I've cleared everything with Louis and Donna. Rachel and Mike will take on your clients. Just say yes," he said, closing the gap between them. His lips hovered over hers. She closed her eyes. "I'm still mad at you," she whispered. "I know, but let me prove to you that I want to be better; I'll make it up to you. Please, Sunny. This is my last chance, I swear to you. I love you more than life," he said, running his thumb across her lips. "I will drop everything here if that's what you nee..." Harvey didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. Harvey closed his eyes as he felt his wife's lips on his. He wanted to cry, for he thought he would never be this close again with his wife. He held his wife close. She broke the kiss, their foreheads touched. "Take me home, Harvey."

MASTERLIST

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter fan fiction #suits harvey specter #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter x reader #suits tv #harvey specter suits #suits fics #harveyspecter

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cambion-companion · 2 years

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Saw the piggyback ask and I remembered this scene in fifty shades where Christian is carrying Ana over his shoulder and they pass one of the house employees on the way to the 'playroom'...

And now I'm thinking of Aemond doing that with his wife - not because she's drunk, she was extra bratty (on purpose) so he just slung her over his shoulder and now he's taking her to their chambers to teach her a little lesson🤭

Alicent and Criston Cole appear from around the corner just in time to catch a glimpse of Aemond entering your chambers with you over his shoulder and there's this brief moment where you make eye contact with your mother-in-law who knows full well her son is going to rail you in about two minutes...

Gods be good🤣

hahaha I absolutely adore both of these ideas guys!

Prepare for another drabble!

“You looked for Aegon where?” You closed the book you had been reading, placing it upon your knee, looking up at Aemond’s disheveled appearance.

“The brothel, The Blooming Rose, as it were.” Aemond removed his cloak, hanging it by the oaken door before turning back to where you sat. “He took me there when I was thirteen.” He hesitated. “The…madam recognized me.”

The discomfort in your husband’s voice caused you to rise to your feet, the forgotten book tumbling to the ground. “Was she indeed?”

Aemond’s violet eye looked everywhere but into your face. “She seemed pleased to see me.”

His hands clenched at his sides, you reached forward but he shied away from your touch, turning away, his posture rigid.

“I’ll be back.” You said, striding with purpose to the door, yanking it open and making your way down the corridor.

Your blood was boiling, the expression on Aemond’s face had caused your heart to clench.

“Y/N, wait!” Aemond caught your elbow, spinning you to face him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to have some words with this Madam of the Blooming Rose.” You pried yourself free of his grip, walking away from him once more.

“No, you’re not.” Aemond touched your waist as he kept pace with you, watching your fury unfold with something akin to awe. “You will not put yourself willfully in harm’s way.”

“I am harm and she is in my way.” With each step, you became angrier, the image of your husband’s fear fresh in your mind’s eye.

“Wife.” Aemond stopped you once again, his fingers locking securely around your wrist. “Charging into a brothel with the intent to cause chaos is not something I will allow you to do.”

“Allow me?” You seethed, trying to yank your hand away from his iron grasp. “Just try and stop me!”

You freed yourself, only for Aemond to grab you roughly around your waist, lifting you up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

You hit his back with your hands. “Let me down you ruffian!”

“I’m the ruffian?” Aemond chuckled and your attempts to get down, his hands probing mischievously against your skirts. “You’re the aspiring assassin, storming off to do gods know what with no plan or backup. Now stay still.”

You did not obey, squirming atop Aemond’s shoulder, causing him to grunt and almost lose his footing more than once as he carried you back down the empty hallway. He smacked your backside sharply after one particularly strong bout of flailing.

You gasped at the impact, stilling momentarily in your shock. “Did you just-?”

“Yes, and I will do it again if you don’t stop.”

“How dare you?”

“That’s right, direct your anger towards me instead. The better to keep you safe.”

You ceased your wiggling, hanging loosely over Aemond’s shoulder, your arms dangling down his back. With a smirk you raised a hand, bringing it down swiftly against Aemond’s backside in retribution. He started, almost dropping you. “You are a feral wildcat, Y/N!”

“What does that make you?”

“Someone who is going to fuck you thoroughly when we get back to our chambers.”

You gripped the waist of Aemond’s tunic, his long hair tickling your nose as it swayed with his movements. His words quite distracted you, sending a pool of molten need flooding your abdomen.

“No witty retort?” You could hear the smirk in Aemond’s low voice as he shifted you more securely into his arms.

“Give me a moment.” You growled. “I’m recovering.”

He laughed, a lovely genuine sound.

The two of you had almost made it undetected to your rooms, when the door at the far end of the hallway opened. Alicent, Cole and Otto strode through it, noticing you almost immediately. You lowered your head, wishing to disappear as Aemond passed them. Otto and Cole diligently strode forward, their backs to you, but Alicent turned, following her son’s progress with raised eyebrows. She made eye contact with you briefly, the flicker of a smile passing over her lips, before looking up to the back of her son’s head. “Don’t forget the welcome dinner we have for the Redwyne’s tonight, Aemond.”

“We won’t, mother.”

Aemond rounded the corner and into the privacy of your spacious warm chambers, tossing you onto the mattress of the large bed where you bounced several times before he crawled on top of you. He traced the curves of your face, his fingers trailing a path down along the contours of your neck. His expression close to reverence as he gazed down at you, a curtain of silver hair framing your face. His exploratory hand ran the length of your body, curling under your skirts and caressing your trembling thighs. He nibbled a kiss to your parted lips. “Spread your legs for me.”

#aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond drabble #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #aemond angst #aemond fluff #prince aemond x reader #aemond stannies #pro aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x reader smut #prince aemond #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen drabble

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luxthestrange · 11 months

Text

TWST Incorrect quotes#533 HE IS MINE

When You Found Out...Some Great Value Corpse Bride took Idia, Ortho didn't have to finish his sentence for your help when you asked him where is the blastcycle Ignyhide was working on

Ortho*Seeing that the school and area are locked down*Everything is locked down! How are we gonna get in?

Yuu*On the Front turning on the blastcycle and telling ortho to put a song...and another that fits the mood*

"F*ck you up! Harveston Hits"-

Yuu*Has hands on the handles looking at the last rescue gang*Buckle up my ortho~WE'RE DOING A SHREK!~

-At the wedding-

Idia*Was putting on his suit and being held to be in place along with Eliza and sobbing that no one is coming to save him, leaning away from Eliza whose puckered lips are going closer to his*

CRAAAAAAASH

Ace*Peeks into the now broken wall hole at the wedding*WE OBJEEECT!?

Yuu*Getting out of the vehicle and jumping on the ground to look at the Ghosts with glaring seething hatred at Eliza*YOU WANT MY HUSBAND...YOUR GONNA HAVE TO KILL ME!?!

Eliza*Rolls eyes and snaps her fingers and points to you signaling her Nanny and Gramps to take care of you all*

You soon enough launch yourself toward one the biggest ghost and...MASSACRETING THEM IN YOUR PATH OF WRATH...

GuardGhost*Frowning*WHAT THE -THEY'RE JUST A HUMAN!*Moves out of the way from a soldier ghost that falls near being chocked by their own ghost tail thingy, grabs him, and pushes him towards the angry human*THEY'RE JUST ONE HUMAN! TAKE CARE OF-*Stops talking when the one SAME ghost was killed in an instant he pushed him their way*

Idia*Taken aback by You easily making your way thru the ghosts*...

Rook*Backs you up but is soon grabbed by you and is used like a bat to hit another ghost*

Yuu*As you get on the dented blastcycle again and drive around the vehicle destroying the cake, tables, and seats on your path you speed up to the altar with an enraged glare at Eliza but stop at the last min, get off punch the last ghost standing on your path, Glaring up at the Ghost Bride*...

Eliza* Looks down at you as you grab Idia and throw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and rolls her eyes and huffs*...

Yuu*Looking at her, pointing at Idia's ass and then at self*THIS ASS IS MINE!?!*Slaps Idia's ass to emphasize that*

Idia*Eyes widen and blush as he looks extremely happy thru his eyes*!?!?

Ortho*With the biggest sparkly eyes seeing you carry his big brother and grabbing his hand to take the both of them home*...Can you please really marry my brother...

youtube

I HAVE BEEN HOLDING THIS ONE TILL THE EVENT WENT OUT AGAIN-

You went full ghostbuster on their white tails...

The Guys + Crowley*After witnessing what you did*

The Men were rendered speechless-

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tinfairies · 2 years

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Hiii

could you write to dark yandere daemon❤ aemond❤ aegon❤ let them know that her dear and beloved wife is drinking moon tea to avoid getting pregnant 😖❤ thank you ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ take care 🐞🐞🐞

Hiii

Conent warning: Dark Themes.

Aemond was ecstatic about his betrothel to his wife. He could finally keep what was his to himself.

You however were less than pleased. You knew your days of walking the castle and city alone were over. He would hardly leave your side, and when he did you were locked away tightly in your shared chambers.

Aemond bedded you often, focusing all his attention on you and basking in the sounds you made just for him.

A baby would only hold you to him tighter. You knew you could never bare him a child, or else your last hope of freedom would be stripped away.

You passed a note to a servant, weeks after your marriage. You had asked her to discreetly bring you moon tea once a week.

Aemond luckily did not notice this, the tea was creatively placed on the platter with the rest of the ensemble everytime. You always knew what cup was yours and you were quick to grab it everytime.

Unfortunately for you, the tea arrived early one night. You had just sunk yourself into the bath when you heard glass shattering.

You sat up quickly, and Aemond came storming into the bathroom. He was seething with rage.

"Why? Why would you poison yourself with that shit?!" the prince grabbed your arm and pulled you from the bath.

You gasped at his rough tug and how the cold air hit your wet body. Aemond began dragging you to the bedroom.

"I'm going to put a baby in you and you will give me a son."

Aegon knew he wasn't the best husband, so why would he want to add a child in the mix. He was perfectly happy being with his wife, fucking her as much as he wanted and being completely childless.

Or so he thought.

There was hardly a night when he didn't fuck you, so why was your belly not swelling? Were you infertile? Was he infertile?

No he can't be many servant girls had been impregnated by him, they always drank moon tea to get rid of it though.

Moon tea.

Aegon was mad, did his wife think him so unfit to be a father that she'd terminate her pregnancies without even consulting him?

He rushed to his chambers, startling his wife. "What is it you need?" you ask

"You. You have been drinking moon tea haven't you." he was breathless.

"Yes, you don't want children."

"You never asked me."

"I didn't know I had to."

Aegon would grab your jaw tightly, and drug you into a kiss.

"You're having my baby, I'll make sure of it."

You were married to Daemon on an arrangement. A marriage of politics and not love.

He still bedded you when he would come back from his battles and political meetings.

You were glad he was gone for weeks at a time, it was easy to drink the moon tea and let it take affect.

This did not slip Daemon's mind however. He noticed that even when he would stay with her for months, fucking her nightly, that she never swelled.

Daemon immediately knew what was going on.

"Do you think I'm a bad man?"

He asked you one night while laying in bed.

"No, why would you ask that?"

"Do you think I'm deserving of a child?" he looked at you sternly.

"Of course, where is this coming from?"

"Why is it that you deprive me of one then?" he didn't answer you, continuing his interrogation.

You finally understood what he meant.

"You're never around, the child would never truly know their father." you felt guilty telling him this.

"Then I will stay, I won't ever leave your side unless I absolutely have to. I want you to have my children, and I want those children to know me and love me as much as they love you."

Daemon would start kissing at your neck. You smiled at his adament promise.

"Let's make that baby then."

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brabblesblog · 5 days

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Chapter 16: What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban attend the debutante's ball.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art by Naaty

For a smutty render go to the AO3 link :P

She sat at the table, watching the debutante pass by. Corrinne glided by in a massive pink tulle gown - a showstopper, for sure, Ban thought - a gaggle of her friends trailing behind her.

The party hadn’t been too bad, all told, the food decent and the wine palatable. Astarion had disappeared sometime during the proceedings, arm in arm with Meiros. She’d been introduced to the master of the mirror-makers’ guild, had shaken his hand and smiled politely, but the man had seemed keen on holding negotiations with her husband alone. Astarion had shot her an apologetic look and left, but hadn’t protested at all, which was odd.

It was not an uncommon occurrence - some of the people they dealt with did not mind having her present, but inevitably some did. The first time someone had asked for Astarion to keep his spouse waiting outside he had seethed, about to launch into a tirade, when she had grabbed his wrist and told him to just go along with it - it would be quick, and it would be easier than offending someone they needed to cozy up to.

He had given her a long-winded talk that evening. She sipped her glass, smiling ruefully at the memory.

“What is the point,” he thundered, “of all this effort to mark you as my equal, if at the first sign of resistance you give in?”

She watched him tug off his shirt, tossing it away with a little more venom than he normally would. “I just think that some of the time we have to let them have their way. Easier than arguing and potentially losing out on-”

“I don’t care!” Astarion marched to her, placing his palms on the tub and leaning over where she was soaking. “We are to be wed soon. I would not have those morons think you’re…” he gestured with a hand, “you’re still some…”

“Consort? I mean, we still do use that term, at times.” Not in private, not in most circumstances, but in certain circles, yes.

He exhaled. “Consort, fine, when we must. Some plaything of mine, absolutely not.” Crimson burned into her, his anger evident, with lingering traces of guilt as well. She covered the hand grasping the tub with her own.

“Consorts can wait outside for their lords, Astarion, every once in a while. It’s fine.”

He deflated, eyes softening. “I’d still want to at least insist on your presence being invaluable to me.”

“If those people want me out of the room, saying so would merely make you seem weak.”

Astarion tugged off his trousers and underwear, grumbling to himself. He stepped into the tub and sat down, still glaring at her. “I’ve half a mind to invite whoever asks that of me to a party, lock all the doors, and…”

He let the thought sit, a small smirk dancing across his lips. She laughed. “Do that, and we’ll have all the nobles of Baldur’s Gate on our tails. Don’t.”

“The request you plan to make, if you do make it, can easily be done,” Meiros said, tapping his hands on the mahogany desk he was seated at. Astarion was pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin. “If I understand correctly - this is for your wife, is it not?”

“Which is why I asked you to request to meet me alone,” Astarion answered.

Meiros nodded. “Roderich hasn’t been the most active member the past few years, something his fellow guildmates and I are frankly pleased about. When I found out you were marrying a Glasscraft, I had assumed I would never see you outside my door, so imagine my surprise when you showed up.”

“And I suppose no one has seen any Glasscraft other than Roderich himself?”

“You’d be correct. There was only ever him. Oh, he used to say he had a loving wife at home, and two wonderful children to take over his business, but,” Meiros shrugged, “as I said. He stopped showing up to guild events. He’s still well-known, of course, with his gaggle of old, loyal customers, but we all assumed he was working on some new secret method or some such. When I heard about Barcus’ advancements in the mines, I thought Roderich might have already gotten his hands on that material.”

Astarion stopped pacing to lean on a chair, hands wrapped around its back. “Last time I purchased a mirror from him he was still harping on mercury being the best.”

“Then he is woefully behind.” Meiros stood up. “Well. If you do wish to push this through, I would be more than delighted to fulfill your request. I’m sure most of the members would have no complaints, either. A pleasure doing business with you, Lord Ancunín.”

The men shook hands.

Ban saw the side door open and Meiros walked in, followed by Astarion. The talks seemed to have gone well; they were chatting animatedly. She watched as he waved his daughter over to be introduced. Corrinne flounced to her father’s side, or at least attempted to - the rather large skirt bumped people’s legs as she passed - and finally arrived in front of the two men.

The girl’s eyes widened as she took in Astarion, and Ban smirked inwardly. He kissed Corrinne’s hand and her face flushed beet red. Ban leaned back, enjoying the show, sipping her wine absently; with Astarion’s mind unlinked from hers, it merely tasted dull.

It was fine. She knew her husband was accustomed to shallow admirers, and Ban was used to people who’d look at him, look at her, and deem her unworthy of him - just like Corrinne was doing now. Ban caught that furtive glare aimed her way, the quick up-and-down movement that told her the girl was sizing her up and found her lacking, and the satisfied grin on her face as she turned back to Astarion. Nothing new, nothing surprising, and nothing he couldn’t handle.

She found herself scanning the rest of the room, more than a little bored. She noted Meiros talking to another guest, gesturing towards Astarion. Likely he was discussing whatever their meeting had been about. The other guest looked intrigued, and Ban pondered again what her husband could be up to with the guild. She continued her visual roam around the party, finding nothing else of note taking place.

As her eyes made their way back to them, her husband’s eyes locked onto hers, and she raised her glass in greeting, amused. She was about to lean back and continue watching when she realized that Astarion hadn’t moved - was frozen, in fact. The pinched eyes, that slight part of his lips, and the furrow of his brow told her all she needed to know. In the same instant she recognized it, she felt his mind prod hers.

There were no words, just a flash of memory - from mere seconds ago, gauging by the expression on his face.

Corrinne laughed, bending over to do so, making sure Astarion received an eyeful of her rather ample bosom. She grabbed his shoulder. “Oh, sorry, Lord Astarion. I didn’t mean to. It’s just these shoes…” She made a show of falling off-balance, likely a little more drunk than she ought to be, and he automatically caught her elbow to steady her. The size of her skirt meant that to do so Astarion had to lean in somewhat, and she took the opportunity to step closer to his body, the skirt bunching up between them.

Meiros had already walked away, talking to a passing guest. Corrinne shot Astarion a coy look; Astarion - and through him, Ban - felt her thigh press between his legs, hidden by the voluminous dress. Corrine ran her hand from his shoulder to his neck - Ban felt him shiver - and then dragged her nails down his chest to his hip. The thigh pressed against him harder. “We could sneak away for a few minutes, handsome,” she purred. “I don’t think your wife would mind.”

The effect was instantaneous. His thoughts flicked through old, haunting memories, his grip on her tightening incrementally. There was a boiling rage, a near-overwhelming urge to snap Corrinne’s neck - held back solely by the fact that he needed to be in Meiros’ good graces and the presence of the countless guests at the party.

“I am not interested,” he ground out, a sneer pasted on his face, “regardless of whether or not she would mind.”

Ban felt his impotent rage shifting into panic, held at bay and hidden behind the veneer of his cold dismissal. His breathing hitched, pulse picking up, posture stiffening; something that Corrinne seemed to have interpreted as interest, despite his words. She kept talking.

Ban’s eyes snapped back to him. He was still staring at her, expression blank, holding Corrinne’s elbow while she chattered away. Ban’s hand instinctively closed around the hilt of the sword she wasn’t carrying, bile rising in her throat. She felt warm all over, enraged, but in a way she’d never felt before. The feeling was completely foreign and it took her utterly by surprise, but it also felt like it was something that had always been a part of her, lying dormant until this moment.

She stood up.

As she began cutting her way through the crowd, Meiros wandered even further away, heading for the guest’s table. Thanking the gods for that small blessing, Ban reached Astarion’s side. She cleared her throat, leveling a searing glare at the vapid young woman and then at her hand, still caressing Astarion’s hip. “Kindly take your hand off my husband, if you want to keep it attached to your body.”

Corrine looked down at her, nose wrinkling. “You must be Missus Ancunín,” she said, offering a dainty hand, the same one she’d been touching him with. She had not backed away from Astarion, her body still pressed against his.

Ban did not take the proffered hand. “Indeed I am, and that’s my husband you are clinging to. How… unbecoming. You must be drunk, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Ban replied coolly, “because I assume, were you in control of your faculties, you wouldn’t dream of offending your father’s guests in this manner. I’m quite sure your father would take a very dim view of you accosting his business partner with that thigh, Corrinne.”

She blanched, blinking furiously. “I- um…”

“Put your leg down, and take a step back. Unless you want me to either tell your father you’ve just groped a married man, who has important business dealings with him, or you want to wake up bloodied and broken on this ballroom floor. Either way,” she smiled pleasantly, “I’ll be the one going home with him. He is not yours, Corinne, and never will be.”

Through it all she could feel Astarion slowly calming. He slipped his hand away from Corrinne, trembling ever so slightly. As Ban finished speaking and Corinne stepped back, he finally moved, taking a step towards her.

Ban took his hand. He seemed to look at the ring on her finger for a long moment, then turned to the debutante. “Corrinne. Have a wonderful evening.” The words were completely devoid of emotion, and Ban felt a chill run up her spine.

She linked her arm through his and led the way, him trailing silently. Ban searched for somewhere private to take him. She spied a door, slightly ajar, and made a beeline for it, slipping in and shutting it behind them the moment they were inside.

It was a small study, and she immediately located an armchair. Her eyes returned to her husband’s face. He looked lost and a little scared; his eyes were blank, as if he wasn’t even in there.

“Are you okay?”

He blinked, then his expression snapped into one of chilly indifference. She noted it, the way his jaw clenched and was forcibly relaxed. “Fine,” he said, the falseness clear as day. He tugged at his sleeve. “That was nothing new. I’ve had my fair share of advances, and that was one of the most amateur attempts I’ve ever seen - to be expected of course, given her youth. One would ideally press their thigh in a grinding motion, not ram it straight up,” he scoffed.

She guided him towards the armchair. “Sit, Astarion.” He did so, but his mouth kept moving, a desperate attempt at feigning nonchalance.

“Of course I could have simply told her not to, or pushed her off, or threatened her - a million options, really - however, offending her father would not have been ideal for our plans. I-”

She knelt in front of him and grasped both of his hands. “Look at me. Take a deep breath, and just look at me.”

He trailed off, chest rising and falling far too rapidly for her liking. “I said I’m fine.”

“You are fine. You’re safe.” She kept her hands on his, avoiding touching him anywhere else, unsure what he could tolerate at the moment.

“Safe,” he repeated. “A fine sentiment, but we never really are, are we?” His shoulders finally sagged, the proud arch of his brow falling as his eyes fell shut. “It’s been more than a year since I’ve been… his, but it still haunts me as if it were merely yesterday.”

The trappings of power, of riches and decadent luxury - none of it mattered when he was faced with the memories of endless hands on him, of thighs pressed between his legs, of needing to slip deep into his mind to escape. It had been one thing to let the twins touch him and sit in his lap to maintain his facade in front of the other vampire lord - it was quite another to be randomly accosted and treated like property when he least expected it.

Ban looked at him, pained. “You were a slave for centuries, my love. It will take more than a year to recover from that. Things will get easier, but sometimes something will remind you of… before, and then it will come back. But I’ll always be here, to help you, to protect you when you need it.”

He smiled, leaning forwards to touch his forehead to hers; she sighed in relief.

“You’d think I’d remember that, but it always catches me off-guard.”

“It does so for me as well.” He sighed as she spoke and his breath fanned over her face. It was slowing, thankfully. “Can I…” she trailed off, and he opened his eyes. He gave a small huff of assent and her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“You never have to ask, but I find myself grateful that you do.”

He was nestled between her breasts, eyes wide open. The slow ruffling of Ban’s hand through his hair was comforting, although the strands tickled his eyes. He shifted, placing his chin flat on her sternum. Ban returned his gaze.

“Decided you want to read more?” she asked.

“Wasn’t much help.” He rolled over, but grabbed the book anyway. It had been laying facedown on the page he’d given up at. “But I suppose I could give it another shot.” He propped the book on his chest as he leaned against the headboard.

She glanced at him. “I trust your conversation with Meiros went well, at least?”

He grunted, flipping to another page. She waited for a response - none came.

“And?”

He flipped another page, far too fast to actually be reading it. “And things are proceeding as planned. Like I’ve said, Ban. Let me handle it.” There it was again, that edge in his voice.

He hadn’t spoken much after the party. They had gone home, and bathed, but he’d been mostly silent throughout. She’d given him his space, scrubbed him down and allowed him to wash her as they usually did, but then they’d gone to bed and he’d immediately buried himself in his book with nary a word in her direction.

She bit back the urge to simply ignore his distress and leave him be. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Crimson eyes flicked over her for a second - she noted the way his gaze raked over her features, another tell - and he exhaled. “The novel is trite, dry, and the heroine dully heroic.”

Ban covered her face with her hands, choking back a frustrated groan. Do better. “That’s not what I asked, and we both know it. This… isn’t about Corrinne, is it? Or if it is, there’s more.”

Astarion snapped the book shut. It was uncommon for her to see his ire nowadays, much less to be the object of it, but there it was. He exhaled through his nose. “You loathed it when I prodded you. Must you do the same?”

The response died in her mouth. She wasn’t sure how to address it - in the past, stoking the fires of his anger had been a thoughtless thing, fighting back with barbed words second nature - but not anymore. Not that she didn’t feel the petty desire to do so rising in her throat, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

She thought for a moment, choosing her next words with care. “Just as I’ve learned to try to open up to you, I hope you will do the same for me.” Taking the book from his hands, she set it down and leaned over. “May I?”

At his nod, she laid over his chest, her head settling against his heart. “You don’t need to. I just want you to feel better,” she murmured.

He was quiet, reaching over to pick the book back up again. The minutes passed, one to ten to thirty, the only sound the occasional turning of pages and the scratch of his fingers against paper, his breathing, and the painfully fast heartbeat thrumming beneath her ear.

She waited.

“No use feigning sleep,” Astarion finally drawled. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Frustrated. Concerned. Not mad.” She felt him shift, his muscled chest rippling under her as he placed an arm under his head, the book still in the other.

“Now you know how it feels,” he said under his breath. As he did so his pulse hammered harder, and Ban decided enough was enough. She placed a hand on his chest, beside her face, watching the ring glint in the moonlight.

“Does that give you some sort of satisfaction? Because I’d understand if it did. But I’d prefer we talk about it.”

That took him by surprise. His eyes locked onto her, wide. She met them without hesitation, watching his expression soften as he finally gave in.

“One - I have no idea who I married a tenday ago, because I’m not exactly sure it’s the Ban I knew.” He laughed humorlessly. “Two - it might be silly,” he looked away, “but I’d thought this would all be… if not over, at least… lessened.”

He set the book down by his side and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m no idiot. I am aware it doesn’t ever truly fade away, but today it caught me unawares.”

“I can’t blame you for that. You haven’t had any encounters like that in a while, nor should you have to expect them in the first place.” The hand on his chest closed into a fist. “If it were not for her father I’d have beaten her where she stood.”

He shrugged. “That’s… not my concern at the moment.” Ban sighed - she had been right. There was more.

“Then what is it?”

She watched his lips part, fangs peeking as he licked his lips nervously. “I worry that in a century, or in five centuries, this will still happen. That it will keep happening again and again, in moments when I least expect it. I will freeze as I did today. It will feel like nothing has changed, no matter how much time has passed. I may never fully…heal.” He took a deep breath, her head rising and falling with it, his heart racing as he finally spoke the fears he’d been haunted by the past few hours. “You’d be spending eternity bound to a pathetic, broken, man.”

Ban shook her head; she couldn’t help taking offense. “I fell in love with you the way you are. Why worry about that? Do you think I’m still that selfish, that I still require you to be a certain way to love you? Because - well, I understand and I’m still working on it, but truly?”

“No. I merely pity you for having to deal with it. I thought the wedding would…” a growl ripped through him, “...would at least fix something.”

“A wedding doesn’t guarantee everything will be sunshine afterwa-”

“Well it should!”

She flinched. He tightened his grip on her. “I worry about how this will affect us, in the long term.” He raised her hand to the light, admiring the ring on her finger. “Affect our marriage. I could not forgive myself if I lost this simply because I couldn’t let go of the ghosts of the past. I worry that I will whittle your patience down into nothing; that with each incident I further drain the wellspring of your heart dry.”

“Astarion.” He let her hand go, eyes snapping back to her face. “Listen. When I made my vows, they were made for both the good and the bad. I love you. All of you. That includes this, and whatever other worries you have. I love you-” she poked his chest, “and everything that comes with you, ghosts included. Maybe it will take a century, or five, or maybe it will never fully heal. But either way, I will be here, and I will help you, and protect you, and love you through it all. No matter how many Corinnes come our way.” She poked the tip of his nose. He wrinkled it in response, apparently still unwilling to let his pique go.

“There will be many, Ban. There will always be more. Men and women, everywhere we go. Unwelcome as it is,” and there it was again, the way his eyes scanned her face, “they will keep coming. They will keep seeing you as a trivial obstacle in their path, and they will be wrong, but they will think it and try all the same.”

“And that bothers you, because…”

“Does it not bother you?”

It was her turn to look away. She was silent for a beat. “It does. A lot.”

“Oh, it does?” His mouth showed the beginnings of a small snarl. “You seem wholly unfazed by it. Ban, always the picture of indifference, even as some woman-”

“I wanted to rip her head off! Is that what you want to hear?”

He froze, then the edges of his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Precisely that, yes. You never understood, thinking it was the mere desire to own you that ruled me.”

Ban shifted, resting her chin on his sternum. He took a deep breath. “I made mistakes. I sought to keep you in a way that was twisted. But some of it…” he seemed to have finally cooled off, softly stroking her cheek, “...some of it I still feel was valid.”

“Halsin.”

Astarion nodded. “There is… was, a lot of indignation due to the fact that you brought me to his camp, without feeling it necessary to tell me why, or anything else at all, for that matter. That you didn’t respect me, or us, enough to communicate.” He bit his lip, and she shook her head.

“I won’t be mad, or punish you. Please. Keep going.”

“I thought you wished to rekindle whatever you two had, whether it be for a tryst or for something more serious. At the time I said you were not mine to hoard in such a manner, but…”

She felt him tense underneath her, and nuzzled his chest encouragingly. He ran his hands through the back of her hair in silent gratitude.

“You understand that some of what I felt was warranted, do you not?” He searched her face, and she reached up to cup his cheek. “Please.” He shut his eyes. “Tell me you do.”

“I do. The idea that you could be taken from me, even unwillingly… It made me so angry. Just seeing her touch you… I think it finally sank in.” She cleared her throat. “I understand that taking you to Halsin like that was uncalled for, and you deserved better. I handled it especially badly, given the fact that he and I…”

He flapped a hand. “That we have talked about. It was the visit that I’ve never dared bring up.”

“You worried that I’d leave you over it.”

“That, and that you wouldn’t understand.” He opened his eyes again, met hers with a sad smile. He ruffled her hair. “You’ve spent so long bristling under men who sought to own you that you never learned that belonging to someone can also be a beautiful thing. I have been yours throughout our time together, and it has given me nothing but safety, care, and love.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “You… that was legitimately the last thing I expected to hear from you.”

“I spent two centuries learning what it meant to be someone’s property,” he reminded. “Cazador owned me. I belong to you. There’s a vast difference. And you? You are mine.” The last word was growled, and Ban felt heat pool between her legs. He lifted her hand, the one with his ring on it. “Belonging to you is no curse, binding myself to you no hardship. That is what I wish for you to comprehend - that my jealousy is not monstrous, as misguided as my first times feeling it were.”

“You want what we have to be respected. By me, by everyone.”

“And for you to see that I don’t wish to own you, but I do want you to belong to me and only me.”

Ban considered this, considered the venomous fury that had risen in her at the sight of Corrinne pressed against her husband. That rage, the split-second urge to sink fangs into her neck and drink her dry, or break every one of her bones… It had been powerful. It had come after the initial concern for Astarion, of course, but it had been there, surprising her with its intensity.

To belong. Still a bit frightening to her, but she could not deny his words - could not deny the way she’d felt tonight, nor deny the ring on her finger.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she said, the words slipping out with ease, to her relief. “I couldn’t understand it, or even imagine how it would feel, until today.”

Astarion’s tension ebbed, the lines on his face easing as he exhaled. His hand drifted away from her to pick up the book. “Thank you. I think I shall rest easier knowing that.”

“You’ll still be reading, though?” She nodded at the book.

“I’m afraid sleep will come with far less ease than it usually does tonight. Not your fault,” he added quickly.

“Then I’ll keep you company.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then began to read the book, flicking back a few pages to where he’d actually last understood what his eyes were running over. As he did Ban settled against his sternum, the now-slow beating of his heart lulling her into sleep, much as she fought it.

As she lost the fight and her eyelids drooped shut Astarion watched, amused. He didn’t move her, eyes moving back to his book. It helped that she understood, but he couldn’t help the small pang of worry that niggled at his mind still.

The rite had not fixed him, nor had his marriage. Would time really do so? A foolish thought, he knew, expecting all of his wounds to be healed by a simple ceremony, but part of him had… hoped. It had been largely absent in his mind until today’s painful reminder, and he wished he could have ripped that girl apart for her insolence. Instead he had frozen, mind searching for his wife’s, seeking solace.

He flipped to the next page. None of the words made sense.

And if time failed to heal those wounds, would it one day push them apart? He could almost taste it for a brief moment, the vision filling his mind-

Ban, in her armor and with her weapon slung over her shoulder. Servants hurrying out, bags and bags of her clothes and belongings carried to their carriage. He could see himself on his throne, the house already cold and tomblike, as if it was already mourning her departure. He would have his hands gripping the armrests, digging in until they cracked, resisting the urge to drag her back in, because he refused to do that ever again, even if losing her again would kill him. But every fiber of him would want to.

He would let the flowers wilt, let the palace fall into ruin. He would rot, because there would be nothing else for him, and nothing would matter but her memory. He would wander these empty halls and wait, deluding himself that she’d be back, because she’d come back once, hadn’t she? Perhaps he would seek an end to his misery. Create spawn, unleash whatever chaos he could, hoping someone would lop his miserable head off his shoulders. Perhaps she would. Or perhaps he would find her, beg for her return. She would do so again wouldn’t she, she wouldn’t leave, please, never again-

“Astarion.”

He flinched, looking down at her. She rubbed his chest.

“You were breathing hard. I could hear your heart pounding.” She crawled upwards so that they were eye to eye.

“Oh.” He waved the book at her. “Exciting part came up. It wasn’t all drivel after all.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he exhaled. There would be no way to fool her. “Too many thoughts,” he finally said. “Too many fears, ones that I’m afraid even the sweetest words cannot assuage. There’s no scrying the future, after all.”

“No.” She shook her head. “We can only really see today. And today, you are mine, and you are loved.” She pressed her lips against his, a chaste, gentle kiss that he couldn’t help but deepen. His hand fisted in her hair, gripping hard. The other wrapped around her waist, pressing her against him, his hips grinding against hers, the intent clear.

“Promise me,” he hissed, “that I will always be yours.”

She nodded, but that wasn’t enough. He pulled at her hair, tugging her head back. “Say it.”

“You’re mine,” she growled, slowly moving lower as the hand on her hair guided her downwards. There was a catch in her voice as she said it.

“Don’t hold back,” Astarion snarled, pulling the sheets off them. He could see the simmering anger behind her gaze, held at bay for most of the night, for his sake. “I don't need you to be proper. Show me who I bel- fuck.”

She had grasped his cock, given it a long, slow stroke. His expression softened as she licked along the shaft to the tip. She licked off a bead of precum, savoring the salty, tangy taste that was purely him. Her eyes searched his. “I wasn't sure if I should touch you. If tonight that would be welcome or not. But I'm glad you wanted to. I… I need it too.”

At that she swallowed him down, suckling his head, her tongue swirling in a teasing circle. Bucking helplessly against her, Astarion groaned, hand tightening in her hair. Her fingers stroked the rest of him, her other hand fondled his balls. It felt good - wonderful, even - and much needed, but-

He nudged her then got on his knees, cock proudly jutting out, glistening with her saliva, begging to be sucked. Ban thankfully understood, getting on all fours. He looked at her for a long moment, taking everything in - the swell of her ass, her muscled back and shoulders, her eyes filled with desire for him.

“My sweet Ban. Always eager to please,” he purred.

Her mouth took him in, deeper this time, the sudden return of warmth and suction causing his hips to jerk. He fucked her mouth, leaning back to support himself, hips rolling slowly, soft moans the only sound from his lips. He relished the feel of her swallowing around him, tongue laving its attention on every part of his cock. She was his, and he was hers. He tilted his head back, lost in the ocean of his desire.

Only she would be allowed to touch him like this, to see him like this, to love him like this. She wanted him - but not just that. Loved him. The real him. Not just his face, or his body, or his honeyed words. The true core of him. The good, and the bad, and the pieces he would show no one but her.

He threaded his fingers into her hair once more, enjoying the feeling of holding her while she claimed him. She brought one of her hands up to grip his hip and pull him further down her throat, her nails digging into the side of his ass hard enough to bruise. He let out a loud groan, her forcefulness driving him to the brink.

Hers. He was hers no matter what anyone else said or did, and the way she was swallowing him down right now - not even breathing, just burying him deep into her throat with an aggression he rarely saw from her - told him she also wanted to be reassured of that same fact.

“Show me,” he gasped, lost to the building pressure in his balls, thighs burning, “show me exactly who I belong to, who I give myself to, the only one who will ever make me co-”

She gave him one long, hard suck, tongue flicking against his underside, up to the slit of his cock, her loud moan vibrating against his cockhead, and he came apart, erupting into her mouth with one last hard thrust and a wild, needy groan. She swallowed, humming appreciatively as she did, intensifying his pleasure as her throat pulsed around him. She continued swirling her tongue around his length until he finally pulled out, gasping. Ban sat up, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, her eyes dark with possessiveness and satisfaction.

“Mine. I promise you that.”

He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine. He was so relieved she finally understood.

The night passed in relative peace after that, with Ban asleep on his chest as he read. His mind was at ease, and the words on the pages finally made sense.

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januaryembrs · 11 months

Text

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [3]

description: With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward. word count: 9.4k trigger warnings: GORE, blood, Dove absolutely wrecks the jackals I won't lie. Very explicit imagery used for their deaths. Swearing. Layla thinks Dove is the mistress and is angry, talks of dove not owning her body anymore, talks of having bodily autonomy taken away. Quick hint at Dove's dark past. main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: I hate writing action scenes so if this seems rushed or bad I'm sorry, action is not my strongest point!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

She watched as Steven was led in cuffs to the black BMW that gave away no hint at being a real police car, eager to scramble back into his apartment from off the moss covered rooftop that had her second death of the week written all over it.

Layla was quick to hop back inside behind her, nearly shoving her out the way to get to her backpack.

“They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Marc said-” The younger woman started, trailing after Layla like a lost dog. This was way out of her depth. The way Marc had described it made it seem like he had it under control. About as under control as Egyptian Gods and resurrecting dead people goes, that is. He had said nothing about his ex-wife showing up or Steven being taken hostage by police impersonators.

Layla stopped at the sound of her husband’s name leaving the girl’s lips.

“Mention Marc one more time and you are walking to wherever Harrow is taking him, you hear me?” Layla seethed, looking at her with eyes cold as ice despite being a beautiful, warm brown.

Dove choked on her words for a moment, swallowing whatever she was going to come back with and instead choosing to nod once.

“Yes- Sorry-”

“Good,” The woman hissed, turning on her heel and heading for the front door. “And remember what I said about talking,”

“Gotcha- right,” She stammered in reply. Layla was more intimidating than Marc had been, more than Donna even. He was annoyed when they’d spoken, sure. Cold? Absolutely. But to Layla, she was actively a pest. A bug. A rodent that had crawled into her marriage bed and weaselled her way into her husband’s life. Which wasn’t true of course. But she understood that Layla had more than enough reason to be upset with her.

Heading after the woman, hot on her heels, she bit her tongue the entire minute they spent in the elevator, neither of them willing to start a conversation with the other. Whether it be pride (Layla) or sheer wanting to avoid getting punched in the stomach (Dove), the two women stayed silent until the metal box dinged and released them from the horribly tense atmosphere.

Layla set off for her moped that she’d parked on the road, unlatching the red leather seat upwards to reveal a spare helmet in the cubby. Shoving the smooth, maroon hard hat into the younger woman’s arms, Layla strapped her own onto her head and swung a leg over the caboose.

Dove followed suit, hopping onto the back, her arms faltering slightly as she looked for some kind of handle to hold onto.

“What now?” The driver’s annoyed voice snapped as she caught on to the fussing from behind her.

“Where do I put my arms?” Said a quiet tone, hating the helplessness in her voice yet the embarrassment was too much for her to have asked otherwise. Layla rolled her eyes, grabbing the woman’s hands and bringing them around her waist.

“Just hold on,” She ordered, a hum of energy blasting into the engine as she kicked off the curb and set off. The motor jumped to life, and the two women were speeding after the fraudulent fed car in no time. She clutched onto the front woman for dear life; she had always hated amusement park rides, and she was sure Layla was at least somewhat tempted to stage an accident with the way their morning had gone.

“I’m really not sleeping with Marc, you know,” She braved to speak, gripping tighter in fear the single comment would tip her counterpart over the edge.

“What did I say about-”

“I know! I know!” She called, loud enough for Layla to hear her over the bustle of London traffic, “I just wanted you to believe me. You’re more than right to be unhappy with him. Truth be told, the one time I’ve met him, he’s not exactly been a charmer.”

That seemed to perk up his ex wife’s ears. “You’ve only met once?”

“Yes. Like I said, I work with Steven at the museum. I only met Marc this morning when he told me-” She cut herself off, unsure of just how much he would want Layla knowing. How much she already knew. She didn’t even know he had a dissociative disorder, it wouldn’t be wrong for her to assume his wife wasn’t privy to other things too.

Maybe that was why they were divorcing? But that was none of her business.

“Told you what?” Layla pushed, which only caused the girl at the rear to sigh heavily. Layla didn’t need to know much. And besides, it was her burden to bear now, not Marc’s. She could tell her if she wished. Hell, perhaps Layla could even help her seeing as she already knew so much about the scarab.

“He told me,” She paused, coming to terms with how insane she was about to sound if Layla didn’t know much about her husband’s second, well third, life. “He said I died being chased by one of Harrow’s jackals, and the only way for him to save me was to give my body up to Setekh in exchange for becoming his avatar,”

Layla was quiet for a moment, the car Steven was in not too far ahead of them as she hung back to avoid suspicion.

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed.

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless.

“I just told you I fucking died, and you’re laughing?” Her passenger asked, aghast, which only made Layla laugh again. “Well, fuck you too,”

“No, sorry, it’s just,” The woman shook her head, taking a semi sharp right in order to stay on their tail, “Trust Marc to meddle in someone’s life and end up keeping her around because he feels guilty,”

Her face warmed. So Layla really did know her husband then.

“His meddling saved my life,” She tried to protest, the image of Marc’s eyes softening slightly when she’d grabbed his hand that same morning flashing in her mind. Without Marc, she wouldn’t be here. She tried to pretend the idea he was only keeping her around because he felt responsible for her now didn’t sting.

At least Steven wanted her around. For now, that is.

“Did it?” Layla asked, all remnants of humour gone, replaced with a cold seriousness. Not mean like she had been all day, moreso a sobering tone of reality, “My father told me every story there was about Seth.”

“He’s a historian?” Dove asked, curiosity winning over her bitterness that the woman had laughed at her. She thought now maybe it was out of disbelief, maybe even pessimism at hearing the nefarious god’s name.

“No, an archeologist,” Layla replied, “He said Setekh was once worshipped as a way of protecting crops and villages from the storms he created. He said it was thought because he was the god of foreigners he was responsible for all the oppressors attacking the people. He became the one who caused all the bloodshed, the evil, the barbarity. Every bit of chaos and violence was down to his hand,” The woman said, speaking with a passion for her country it was clear she had lived, slept and breathed everything her father taught her, “It was said while Anubis was the first God of the Dead, Osiris took the role during the later centuries. And when his brother, Seth, slaughtered him and scattered him in pieces around the world, he took on the title of God of the Dead,”

“Glad I’m not invited to that family reunion, then,” The other girl muttered from her place at the rear of the bike. Layla smirked to herself, not willing to let the younger woman know she’d drawn a small smile from her.

“They were always at each other's throats. And when they weren’t, they were usually marrying their sisters.” To which Dove recoiled in horror. The BMW started slowing down ahead of them, which they were both quick to notice as it took a right hand turn into a less populated area. The sky had been quick to overcast shadows, the April air turning cold and darker fast. As if someone up there knew what was coming.

“Lovely,” She mused, “Well, my family doesn’t talk to me anymore so I’m sure we’ll be okay as far as incest marriages go,”

Layla’s expression faltered. She hadn’t expected the quiet mouse of a girl to drop something so heavy, yet it was clear from her widened gaze she didn’t quite mean to say that so bluntly. To set off such a bomb on their already awkward ride. The striking woman wheeled up onto a curb around the corner from the narrow street the car had pulled into, trying to avoid the gazes of the few people they saw communing there.

Cutting the engine and hopping off the seat, Layla held the bike steady as the other woman did the same, all but falling off the back of the moped with a newborn fawn-like grace.

The two women looked at one another, the younger one handing the helmet over sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Dove murmured, unable to quite meet the beautiful woman’s eyes, Layla’s lips neither drawn into a sneer nor a smile. More a mix between pity and as if she were still weighing up the girl who picked at the loose skin around her nails anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Layla said with a long huff, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “Marc tends to leave people to deal with the shit he gets them into,”

The girl bit her tongue, pleased that she didn’t seem to be on Layla’s hit list anymore. They had bigger things to worry about now, like the fact Steven was essentially kidnapped or that they had yet to find somewhere to keep the scarab hidden.

She felt it burning in her pocket, as if it were buzzing with the glory of being what everyone had their sights set on; of being such a harbinger of trouble.

“Maybe so,” She said, handing the jewelled bug over to Layla to keep it safe, “But trusting him is the only hope I’ve got right now. Marc said Seth will be coming for me any day now,”

Layla looked at her for a moment, dark eyes raking over her forlorn figure some few years younger than her. The girl's eyes were soft, new to the world and the shit storm that was about to hit her, but her hands were what gave away her condition. The slightest touch of her fingers to her own where she handed her the scarab and Layla was able to feel just how cold her skin had become. Dead. Corpse like. As if the life truly had been drained out of her ten times over.

She wondered how her younger accomplice would fare as an avatar. Though Layla had swore that once those papers were signed this was not her fight anymore, she couldn’t help worrying just how badly her ex had seemed to mess up this young girl’s life in the space of one evening.

Seth was not a god you wanted to upset. Nor was he one you wanted to be of interest to. If everything that Abdallah El-Faouly had told his sweet daughter was correct, then that girl, barely mid twenties as she was, was in for a lifetime of torment and pain.

“Well, if that’s true, I hate to be the one to tell you to run and hide as soon as you can,” Layla said, her voice empty of emotion but her eyes genuine, “If Seth is the one looking for you, I can guarantee you’ll wish Marc had left you for the jackals,”

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow and his followers cornered Steven, still as lost and dazed as he had been all day. He just hoped that wherever Dove was, she was safe and far away from this mess that his other self had dragged her into.

“We have it.” Steven’s head whipped around at the sound of Layla’s voice, clear and commanding and filling the abandoned building.

And sure enough, his sweet friend stood next to her, eyes wide and clearly thrown off by the El-Faouly woman’s plan to draw attention to them.

“What the hell are you doing?” She whisper-yelled as the two women trailed through the crowd of Ammit’s followers, both of them watching carefully for anyone getting ready to attack them.

“I’m drawing their attention, Marc will deal with them easily,” Layla replied under her breath as they neared the two men in the centre of the room. It seemed Harrow and his followers had renovated some kind of church or antique building to become a communal hall. Community food lay out on tables around, a projector playing an old documentary on the dusty wall.

Harrow’s followers didn’t seem to have anything particularly off about them. In fact, they seemed like regular citizens you would see around the streets of London. Nothing about them screamed evil, yet that only served to make them more menacing. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Dove knew all too well villains and monsters didn’t look like Ancient Egyptian mummies or jackals. They looked like regular people, like the man sitting next to you on the train. Like your family friend. Like your milkman. Or your school teacher. Or the shop clerk. Or young, female gift-shoppists that had a hopeless crush on their seemingly married co-worker.

It didn’t matter who they were, what they looked like, they were tainted to their core.

“That’s a great plan, except he’s not Marc, he’s Steven,” The young girl hissed, as Harrow stared at her with a smug twinkle in his eye, holding out his rough hand to Layla.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe,” Harrow asked calmly, though it was clear with the way his focus trained on the jewel that he wasn’t quite so relaxed as he was making believe.

He was clever with his words, manipulative. Making himself seem honest and responsible to anyone who didn’t understand the scarab. But Layla did. She wasn’t like the ordinary woman Harrow took her for. She was smart beyond belief, and knew more about the legends than Arthur could ever learn from seeing into people’s souls.

“Summon the suit,” Layla ordered under her breath as they reached Steven’s shaken figure. Her almond eyes scoured around the building for the nearest way out as her younger accomplice shook her head in despair and picked at her nails with furrowed brows.

“Sorry what?” Steven asked, just as Dove had suspected. He had no clue what any of this meant.

Layla’s brown gaze cut to his, chagrin mixed with a hint of fear boiling up in her expression. “Summon the suit,” She said again, stepping closer to the man who gawked at her with a lost look.

“‘Summon the soup’? What are you saying?”

“The suit,” She said again, shoving the scarab into his chest, before turning to where Harrow was reaching for his staff. “And keep this safe,”

“So be it,” Harrow said tiredly. Deciding they were in too thick to continue this little joke of Marc’s, she reached behind her for the younger woman, dragging her towards the only available exit she saw.

Layla’s frantic brain caught sight of a flight of stairs that led to the first floor: a wide ledge that overlooked the rest of the room and had tiny archways where passageways wove into the sandstone walls, scaffolding and more of the plastic tarp scattered over and around the steps.

A quick loop around the top of the stairs took them to a second set of steps that led only to an upper ledge and a large arched hallway with natural light coming from the end of it. A fire escape maybe? An open window? Bingo.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Layla hurried, grabbing Steven on the way as one of the men lunged at her. She was quick to rip his hand off her arm, shoving him into a table so hard he went tumbling over the edge and knocking into another of his men.

Forcing Dove ahead of her, Layla directed the young girl towards the first flight of stairs, ducking around the scaffolding that lead to the first floor seemingly still mid-renovation. Steven trailed behind them quickly with a gasp as he dodged another of Harrow’s men.

Practically swinging around the railing on one hand, Dove felt her tired legs ache as she ascended quickly, the only thing keeping her from stopping being the two people behind her breathing down her neck, relying on her to keep going. The temporary staircase wobbled for a moment as the floor shook, small chunks of brick crumbling free from the delicate wall at the movement. A flash of amethyst purple light reflected around the building, filling the space with something odd; something tense that crawled up her spine, like a foreboding that cut her right through her gut.

Reaching the first level, she was quick to stop in her tracks as a man ducked out from one of the tiny corridors woven into the stone walls, and lunged for her. She felt Layla dart behind her and start scaling the second flight of stairs to the open door that hopefully spelled freedom. The man was quick enough to grab her wrists, but Steven's arm was swiftly wrapped around her waist, holding her from being thrown off the edge of the barrierless ledge.

She kicked at the man a few times, desperate for him to let her go. That is until she got one of her hands free and was able to grab him by the collar of his coat.

Remembering how tightly she had been able to grip Marc’s arm that morning, she found it unnaturally easy enough to lift the man a solid few inches off the ground, the stitches of his clothes ready to give way at his body weight. The menacing look on his face dropped when he realised with a cold slap to the face that no amount of holding onto her arms could do anything seeing as she had him scruffed and held like a little dog that was misbehaving.

He let out a sharp squeal as she threw him with ease over the edge and down the ten foot drop, not enough to kill but enough to hear a loud crack from his ribs and legs.

“How on earth did you do that?” Steven asked, his baffled breath rolling over her neck in a way that had her stomach churning up a storm. His arm still held her tight to him as he guided her the way Layla had taken off to, the warmth of his hand alone seeping through her top and onto her bare skin underneath that was still as cold as a cadaver.

His touch gave her a taste of life again, of humanity. Like she didn’t exist again in this world until he touched her. As if his hand alone could find her in the afterlife and pluck her back to mortality.

Which technically he had.

“Come on,” She brushed off his question, urging him towards where Layla was now pummeling the shit out of another assailant that had tried to make a grab for her. She made equally quick work of the attacker, shoving him off the same way the other woman had and sending him flying off the building frame and into a pile of wood that cracked easily with his weight.

Grabbing both their arms, Layla led the two stunned watchers through the open archway that luckily expanded into a long corridor. Tarp lay around the bottom of the huge windows, moonlight filtering in through the surprisingly clear glass panes being the only thing allowing them to see their way.

The three sets of footsteps pounded down the stone hallway, Harrow’s chants chasing them through an echo, spoken in Coptic the younger woman had surmised. It seemed her degree in Ancient Languages wasn’t entirely a waste. She was able to grasp at bits and pieces of what he was saying despite the rushing of blood in her ears from her running.

Something about Ammit’s wrath, eradicating enemies. Calling on the ancient goddess to help him carry out her justice.

Then came the shriek. Familiar at this point, the vengeful growl that reverberated down the hall and harmonising with Harrow’s hex.

Summoning pure evil. She caught that part easily as they skidded around the corner awaiting them at the end of the hallway, coming to a set of huge, varnished wood doors. She threw her shoulder into the left one, hearing it give a small creak of protest before it gave way and slowly swung open.

Her heart dropped as she quickly realised they were at a dead end. It felt almost de ja vu like as they entered the room, her eyes frantic to take in any way out as Layla and Steven rushed to block the entrance off. A thick, brick wall complete with an old fireplace on the right, and two huge windows in front and to her left. By all means it was a beautiful room, but it was an enclosure. A trap. A casket.

“Here. Bolt the door,” Layla ordered, heaving a metal bar through the handles to give them some sort of protection of whatever it was Harrow was conjuring.

More tarp over the floors and piles of bricks, dust and building tools, the windows reaching higher than even the ceiling to the museum. Sarcophaguses piled around the room, some fake but most seeming authentic, as ancient as the exhibits she walked past regularly at work, yet they were just thrown to the sides of the abandoned room as if they were not priceless objects.

A dirty mirror lay to her right leaning against the fireplace, white plastic wrap draped over half of the looking glass, ridden with dust and a deep crack that made it unusable, no doubt why it was dumped here with the rest of the pieces of history they deemed rubbish.

Layla and her rushed to the windows, Layla taking the one on the left and her heading for the one opposite the door, each attempting to jiggle the bottom of the panes, looking for a latch they could flick open to give them an escape. But the glass was thick. Taking up an entire wall, meant only to let light in and keep air firmly out. Meaning there was no movement from any of the panes. The lit up buildings across the street laughed at her attempts in a silent mocking, the block of flats watching the desperate women struggle.

“Oh my god,” Steven said with a tone of utter despair, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave,”

She would have laughed. Any other day and his words would have cracked her up. But she barely heard him over the desperate way she tugged at the white, chipped frames, urging the damn thing to come loose, her nails splinting painfully at the force she used to try peel the rusted metal from their seals.

It would be no use anyway, she realised. Looking down she realised they were up high, on the third floor to be exact, and the only way down was a long fall onto solid concrete. Seeing Layla turn away from the other window, she guessed she had no luck with that either, and cursed under her breath.

Layla stalked towards Steven’s piteous frame, grabbing him roughly by the arms. “No-no. Hey, listen to me,” She started in a panicked voice, though it was clear she was attempting to be kind to him. The three of them turned to the door as the sound of scratching signalled that something big was out there, waiting for them. Long, sharp knife-like claws raked down the old wood, carving out channels in the barrier, the pieces of timber creaking with the weight of it, like a dog begging to come into the sitting room.

A moment of silence, before the doors began shaking in their hinges with loud thumps. The animal threw itself against the doors, the metal bar jittering in its place at the sheer weight of it.

“Your name is Marc,” Layla said calmly, holding onto his shoulders to keep his attention on her, “There’s a suit, I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out,” Her dark eyes pierced him with something cold and scared hidden in them, as his face flustered and his breathing picked up.

“No,” He mumbled, shaking his head that dripped with sweat, feeling his chest constricting as she grabbed him harder.

“Where are you? We need you to fight!” She yelled, shaking him now as if to hope to snap him back into his senses.

“Let me in, Steven!” Marc’s voice came from the abandoned mirror, his reflection twisted into a cruel sneer as Marc watched him freeze in place, Steven’s bright eyes lost and scared.

It was too much for Steven. He was expected to be something, someone, that he had no idea existed until a few days ago. This was no longer about waking up late or funny dreams, or sand around his bed and tape on his door. This was real. Real consequences. Two very real women depending on him to become this hero and save the day.

They needed him to be Marc. But he wasn’t. He was Steven Grant. And that was all he’d ever be.

“No, I can’t please. Stop it both of you,” Steven’s voice snapped Dove out of her focus on the outside, her fingers sore with where they gripped the window frames distraughtly.

She saw his overwhelmed figure. The way Layla held him in an iron grip, her voice raising in distress as she kept asking him to snap out of it, to bring out ‘the suit’. She saw the way Steven’s eyes flicked between the woman and the mirror, his voice clogging up with unshed tears.

Finally giving up on the windows as an option, she stormed over to where the two of them stood, grabbing Steven by the shoulder and pulling his arms away from Layla’s desperate grip.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” She growled, feeling Steven make a grab for her hand as she confronted the woman.

“He should be scared! If he doesn’t get the suit the three of us are going to die, do you not get that?” Layla’s voice raised, but even the younger woman could see her face was rigid with fear. It was fear causing her to be so harsh, not malice. Layla was only human after all. The memory of that thing that had chased her through the museum resurfaced painfully, a phantom stab blooming over her stomach that seemed entirely healed, as if it hadn’t practically ripped her guts through her soft flesh and spilled them onto the marble floor.

“Shouting at him isn’t going to fix that, it’s not his fault. We just find another way out, okay?” Dove snipped, shutting down any other argument Layla could give her, and turned to Steven with a soft expression, “Okay?” She asked gently.

Steven stayed quiet, but he nodded, tears welled in his eyes, his face just as scared as she felt inside. She was shitting herself, her muscles tensing up with every grunt that came from the creature on the other side of the door. But cornering Steven and asking so much of him when neither of them truly understood what was happening was only doing harm.

“Alright,” Layla mumbled in defeat, her lush brows drawn into a frown, despair lingering in her hazelnut eyes as she headed back to the smaller, side window and peered out to the building below, “I can see a fire escape on this roof-”

But no sooner had the woman come to terms with the fact there was no hero coming to save them from this mess, the barricade had given way with a loud pop as the metal bar split clean in two.

A single breath, a moment of pure silence where Layla’s head whipped from her fraught attempt at seeking an escape route, where Steven and Dove clutched onto each other just that bit tighter. The doors swung wide on their hinges, smacking into the walls with the force and crumbling the bricks into piles of red dust on the already dirty floors.

A figure stood in the entrance. She could only think to describe it as a tall man trying to wear a dog’s body. Its limbs were gangly, skinny, mottled and rotted skin stretching thinly over them. Four feet at the end of boney elbows carried dagger like claws, thin wisps of white hairs poking from its spine. Its face was that of a possessed wolf, skeletal and gaunt, its mouth opening into a roaring snarl with two yellow-green eyes staring back at them with a haunting glow.

The air escaped Dove’s lungs the second it let out a familiar hum of hunger. This was the thing that had attacked her. That had killed her last night. This was the thing that had plunged its hand into her stomach with no remorse, tearing her organs to shreds in a single swipe.

The creature, the jackal, looked ahead at the two of them, holding onto each other for damn near life, her nails digging into his toned arm at her sheer trepidation. Its jaws fell open, saliva dripping from its dead lips as it gathered its legs up and prepared to lunge.

“Jackal, J-JACKAL” Steven yelled, his hands beginning to shake as he pointed at the creature.

“Oh my god- Oh my-” His friend could barely get out her words, panic constricting around her heart that thudded through her ribs hard enough to have her choking on her sentence and stay quiet, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight of the thing.

She much preferred when she couldn’t see the damn thing.

The Jackal took a breath, and the girl set in its sights could have sworn she heard it laugh, before it bolted at them.

The two of them screamed, Steven shoving her to the floor as its lithe body made contact and sent both their bodies flying through the glass, falling, falling, falling down all three levels and onto the hard concrete.

“Oh my GOD!” Layla shrieked, her eyes trained on the huge gap in the wall where her ex-husband had been thrown through by some invisible force, before they lowered to where his not-mistress was cowering on the floor after being manhandled away from the danger. She caressed her scraped elbow silently, her gaze also locked on the broken glass.

Realising the girl was in shock, Layla leaned down to a pile of bricks, grabbing one and promptly raising it above her head, bringing it down onto the side window harshly. The glass cracked slightly, before she hit it again a few more times and it gave way completely, scattering across the tiled roof on the other side. Throwing her jacket over the broken glass, she hopped over the window ledge and onto the slanted roof, careful not to skid on the smooth stone. Whipping back to the girl that had seemed to come to her senses and was now looking at her bewildered, Layla yelled a single “Come on!” through the gap in the window, before turning and heading towards the fire escape alone.

Steven. Not Steven, please not him. Steven’s gone. Steven’s dead, or at least he will be soon, no doubt his body crumpled on the floor, practically laid out as a buffet for that monster.

He’d thrown her out of the way, given his own life for one so undeserving as her own.

A man so kind and gentle, good, shouldn’t have rescued her, someone entirely not that.

Being dragged out of her daze at Layla’s yell, her head snapped to where she’d managed to create an escape, the woman looking at her expectantly before she turned and headed towards the edge of the roof.

Steven could still be alive, she told herself, he could be okay.

Holding that hope close to her chest, she pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the exit Layla had taken.

Please be okay. Please be okay. I’ll give every life I have to give if it means you’re safe.

Her hand was seconds from gracing Layla’s jacket when she heard it. Another growl.

No, not a growl. A chuckle. Dark, deep and rolling, an amused laugh from a thick chest that was loud enough to fill the entire room with its timbre.

And she knew. She didn’t understand how, but she knew. She knew who waited for her to turn around. To meet his black, inky gaze with fright.

But she was frozen. Despite her body being cold for the past day, the chill that ran through her spine was enough to have every single one of her hairs stand on end. Her voice was gone, her chest tight, her throat closed up.

“I know you’ve been waiting for me, my little monster,”

His voice was a rumble, though a smile laced his words. His every syllable sent a thrum of horror through her veins, her body going numb. As if she weren’t here. She was watching a movie through her eyes, and the villain was coming, the story was ending. The credits were about to start rolling.

She said nothing. Didn’t dare move an inch, praying to anyone listening that she could become as invisible as that jackal had been. Yet she felt him getting closer. His feet made no sound, but she felt him draw near. The same way a person feels they’re not alone in a haunted house. Like seeing shadows in the corner of your eye. Like feeling something watching you from the darkness when you wake from a nightmare.

A hand trailed down her loose hair, running long, slim fingers through her locks, he gave a growl of praise. “I’ve been waiting for you too,”

She started crying. Her face got hot, her eyes stinging as she tried to hold the tears back, only for them to scorch her cheeks as they rolled down, her expression pulling into an ugly whimper.

Closing her eyes, she told herself if she couldn’t see him he was just a voice in her head. If she didn’t look him in the eye he had no control over her. It was just a bad dream. A side effect of the stress. An auditory halluc-

“Oh, don’t cry,” A cold knuckle dragged over her cheek, swiping away a tear. His finger alone took up half her jaw. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to save you, little beasty,” His voice was dark, but gentle. As if he cared. As if he didn’t want her afraid. “Think of what we could do to Harrow, together,”

She didn’t doubt he had ideas for what torture he wanted to rain down on the man. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be feared, or to hurt people, or to kill. She didn’t want to be bad. Or to feel even more so that there was something crawling out of her soul, a demon that showed everyone just who she really was. What she really was.

“No,” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a small step away from him.

“No?” He asked, a deadly calm washing over his voice. “People have taken from you your whole life. Taken and taken for their own selfish needs,” Seth cooed, circling her with his behemoth frame as more tears flowed over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut with a frown, “I see your anger, your need for vengeance. To make them hurt the way they hurt you-”

“NO,” She yelled this time, her hands coming up to grab at her hair, her body giving in to his words. He knew her. He knew her like an old friend, like he knew himself. Like she knew him. Like he’d been there for every bad thing that had happened to her. Like he was there for the whole of that time, he was there that day.

That day. That body. What she’d done to him.

“You hurt, little beasty,” Seth said, coming to stand in front of her. She felt his two huge hands hold onto her shoulders, one coming to her chin to tip it up to his face.

If she opened her eyes now she’d see his sable black eyes looking down at her in an aching hunger. As if he revelled in the fact she was so pliant to his touch, that he could snap her neck within a flick of his finger and she could do nothing about it. She clamped her eyes shut harder, desperate to not fall for his gentle words, or the familiarity that came with his touch. No, he wanted this, he wanted her to concede, to trust him. To give into him.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I see the way you hurt. I see the fear in you that came long before I did. That they’ll all see you as I do,” He said, caressing her jaw with his sharp claws, a single ounce of pressure too much and her skin would be slashed open.

“Stop,” She begged, her face wet with tears, her throat closing with a sob that drew out her request like a child.

“Stop?” Seth’s voice was different now. The semblance of kindness that had been there in a fleeting moment was gone, replaced again with a thunderclap of a laugh, “You poor sweet morning lamb. We’ve not even begun,”

Her eyes opened for a split second when she felt her body tense up, the feeling as close to rigour mortis as she could imagine, as a dark flash of movement, a row of sharp teeth, and insidious black eyes were all she saw as he took over every part of her body.

Death took her body for the second time, though this time she felt everything.

Layla watched its jaws open as its head flicked to her, its deep grunt of annoyance echoing through the empty street, before it's long, slim arms were thrust outwards and grabbed the two of them by the jugular, boney, rough fingers wrapping around their throats and squeezing.

Steven was lifted off the ground, Layla suffering the same fate after she had thrown an empty beer bottle at the demon’s head, the tiny shards of refracted light bouncing off the glass like a mirrorball and outlining the head of a monstrous creature.

Layla felt the brick smack harshly against her spine as the thing threw her to the wall, the same way Steven was tossed against a parked car, the passenger window cracking from the pressure and the alarm wailing in protest.

They both stood up again immediately, Layla’s eyes scanning the floor for anything to use as a weapon, before her almond eyes fell on the neck of the bottle she’d thrown, the jagged edge of broken glass sharp and fatal. Diving for the shiv, she swiped at the area she thought the creature could be stood, though her attempt only proved futile as her wrist was grabbed almost too easily and the weapon was ripped out of her hands.

The woman made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cry as she was tossed to the hard ground like a ragdoll, Steven being thrown next to her as he made a move to grab the monster as well.

The two of them gasped as the hands seemed to swipe them to the ground harshly, like a cat toying with its meal, dragging the torture out as long as possible before they gave up and submitted to being ravaged. The two of them looked at each other in alarm, Steven’s eyes a bright white behind the suit, as they felt the jackal grab their ankles and drag. Their bodies scraped against the pavement, the two of them kicking and squealing, writhing to get out of the monster's grip, only to be yanked into the air once more, the blood rushing to their skulls the second they were pulled from the concrete earth.

“Steven, do something!” Layla wailed, her cheeks pooling a purple colour the longer they were held, though she never relented in her hits, her arms and free leg waving around for any soft tissue she could get at.

“Marc’s the one who fights these shits, not me!” Steven called back, trying desperately to reach for his batons to inflict any damage he could.

Layla felt her head building with pressure, her eyes becoming painful to shut as she blinked slowly, the darkened streets turned upside down in her mind. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, her eyes locking in on a figure standing at the other end of the wide street, unrecognisable to her dazed eyesight.

“Steven?” Layla murmured drunkenly, her hand coming up to grab his arm that was still flailing around.

“What?”

“Who is that?” The woman asked, pointing to the dark silhouette that stood and watched them.

Steven’s illuminated eyes followed her finger to see the figure still with statue-like grace, silent yet never relenting their dark stare.

His eyes trailed from their body, muscled and in a wide, casual stance, their arms resting at their sides. Their entire body seemed to be in some kind of black, chestplated one piece suit, pads of armour on their vulnerable parts, thin spindles of gold wrapping around the suit in a skeletal fashion. The armour spread over the backs of their hands, opening out into golden claw-like razors at the tips of their fingers that didn’t so much as twitch with fright at the sight of two strangers suspended in the mid air.

A black muzzle wound its way over their mouth just above where the suit ended at their jaw, their hair falling over the back of their shoulders to reveal more of the golden weaves that fell around their neck and over their breastplate, accentuating the woman’s curves whilst also giving off the look they were wearing a set of bones on their armour.

Two six-inch shells of armour protruded from their headpiece, curved yet in lithe points, like long dog ears, like a Whippet’s, high and alert.

“I-I don’t know,” Steven murmured, though he found himself unable to take his eyes off the shadowed figure. He wasn’t even sure they were breathing at the way they were frozen solid, their head tilted slightly as if intrigued by the scene in front of them.

It was then that it seemed the Jackal realised they had company. But this jackal wasn’t alone. It had brought friends too.

The figure seemed to cut out of their daze as another of the behemoth beasts came stalking out of the darkness, as if to have been waiting for the scraps of the kill. But it had prey of its own now. This mystery woman.

Steven’s heart fell into his mouth, which wasn’t too hard seeing as he was still being held upside down by the creature.

“Run!” Steven called to her, though she seemed to take no notice of his cries, “Get out of here!”

But the woman stood still, head snapping to where the jackal walked forward, slowly and with a hungry grin on its face as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its chest. This thing was going to rip her to pieces, Steven thought numbly. And it was going to be all his fault for not giving the body back to Marc.

“Marc,” Steven said with a panic as the thing stepped closer to her still, her head tilting more at the sound of its approach, though that was the only inch she moved, “Marc- take the body- Marc- MARC-”

But he was too late. Steven winced as the jackal lunged towards her, jaws wide open and large enough to swallow her entire skull with one bite. He wanted to look away but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves off the scene, though he knew a blood bath was coming. He felt the bile rise already at the idea of it, though maybe that was the gravity talking.

But Steven’s heart practically stopped when his eyes caught another slight flicker of movement from the woman and he realised exactly what he was seeing.

The Jackal’s jaws were pried open, stuck in the moment the creature had leapt forward. It took Steven a second to realise the woman’s hands were the ones holding them ajar, her sharp nails latching into its snout and chin, blood already running down her hands at the sheer vigour at which she held onto the dead flesh. The beast gave a whine, its body jolting forward as it tried to overpower her, only to have no luck. She didn’t budge a single hair's width.

Steven’s eyes widened, the beams of light engrossed with the scene before his eyes. Who on earth was that? How could she see the jackals like he could, let alone wrestle one?

“Steven, give me the body,” Marc demanded from inside his head, though Steven caught the trace of nerves that rang at his voice like a church bell on a silent morning.

“Who is that, Marc?” Steven asked, his eyes widening when he saw the figure forcing the jackal to back down a step as she forced herself towards the creature, clearly stronger than the monster twice her size.

“Steven, I will explain everything later, just please give me the body or she’s gonna get hurt,” Marc said with the same edge to his voice that he had before. The way Marc dodged his question had sirens wailing in Steven’s chest, louder than anything else the American man inside him had said.

Steven’s voice cut out when he watched the figure grab the beast's jaws even tighter, yanking them apart with a sickening crunch as the joints popped out of their place. She didn’t stop there, not even as the creature gagged and squirmed, a yawp of pain echoing around the street as it scrambled to get out of her grip. But she was relentless. She tugged apart the lower mandible even wider, wider than could ever be natural, and a gut wrenching rip came next.

The creature stopped moving. Stopped crying. Stopped everything. It slumped to the ground in defeat, the woman standing over its body with no mercy as she held the wad of flesh in her hand, blood running from her fingertips as smooth as water.

The creature's lower jaw was thrown to the ground, its face a mush of exposed muscle, its throat torn cleanly open. It was then her gaze set onto the other jackal with a slow turn of her head and a low growl echoed through Steven’s bones.

It took him a second to realise it wasn’t the creature that held him that was making the sound. It was coming from her.

Layla and Steven were dropped to the ground as she approached the creature, the two of them gasping for air, their heads spinning with the blood crashing around their brains.

The jackal set its sights on her too, eager to avenge its fallen companion, the two of them circling one another for a moment. She made the first move, her black boots near silent against the cobbled street as she leapt with cat-like grace to tackle it to the ground.

She was able to get her arms around its neck as it met her in the air, her muscled arms quick to begin choking the thing, squeezing until they heard the sound of its shoulder popping out of place. The jackal gave a yelp similar to the other one, only it dragged out into an angry snarl as its huge clawed hand grabbed onto her by the scruff of her neck.

It threw her away from itself, desperate to get her strong hands off its body, and tossed her a good ten feet away, into the middle of a busy road where she bounced over the bonnet of a car and smashed its left headlight in.

Steven was quick to jump to his feet as the monster’s head flicked away from the woman, back to where he and Layla stood.

“Steven, you’re being dumb. Don’t do this, you can’t do this-” Marc protested, though Steven felt whatever bravery he had left collecting together as he clenched his hand together in a tight fist.

“I think- I think I can,” He replied, the Jackal stalking closer to him with its three good legs. It stepped forward, its confidence shaken by the woman that was now getting back up and pacing her way over to the two of them much too calmly for someone who had been thrown so harshly. “You want some more do you, you mangy, Macedonian mutt?” Steven tried to taunt, though he could feel the tinge of fear still quelling at his chest at the sheer brute size of the thing even when wounded.

The creature roared in response, gathering its hind legs up to lunge again, as Steven drew back his arm to swing.

But he was too late. The woman had returned with a silent agility. Steven saw nothing but a flash of black and gold as she dived for the jackal’s throat, clawing and snarling at its chest as she took the thing down with her in one swoop. Steven watched with an agape jaw as she lifted the creature up as if it were nothing more than a sack of grain, and threw the jackal into the same parked car already cracked from where Steven had hit it, the opposite window getting the brunt of the attack as it smashed and the door caved easily.

The creature lay still for a while, giving Steven time to confront the woman who had helped him, and hopefully answer the questions that Marc had dodged.

“Oh my god,” Steven started, approaching the woman from behind where she was stood, barely out of breath for what had just occurred, “Excuse me, who exactly are you, you’re just bloody amazing-”

Raising his hand to touch the woman's shoulder gently, Steven practically had the wind knocked out of him as she turned on her heel in less than a blink of his two white eyes, and threw him to the ground as easily as she had the creature. Kneeling over him, his body mushy underneath her sadistic strength, he felt his knees go weak as she grabbed him by his collar and brought him to her face where her eyes trailed over his own face, a horrifically deep snarl emanated from her chest, shaking his lungs with its power.

“WOAH, Woah wait. I’m not going to hurt you, though I supposed I should be more worried about you hurting me-” It was then that he actually took in what he could see of her face.

The colour of the hair that fell around her face as she leant over him, the shape of her face that wasn’t covered by the black muzzle that wrapped around her mouth and over her nose, thin and metallic and yet making her sounds all the more terrifying. Her eyes, the iris gone and replaced by inky black pits of darkness that blinked down at him with famine.

But that face. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in the thickest of fogs, the darkest of Winters. He could find her in any crowd, in any life. And if he was to go blind by morning, he’d know her by the way she breathed alone.

And he did. Despite the fact her breath was laden with grunts, he knew her. He knew her.

“Dove?” Steven muttered, hands coming to hold her face gently, his brows furrowed with confusion, “Dove, what happened to you-”

His hand had all but brushed her cheek, a gentle action that normally would have had her preening to his touch, had her snapping at the bit, and Steven was sure she would have taken his hand clean off had she not been muzzled like a rabid dog.

Steven jumped back as she came closer to him, an even louder rumble of fury damn near bursting his ear drums as she warned him off of touching her. She was not his dove. Not the girl he knew. Not the girl he loved. She was a feral beast untamed and wild, eager to hurt him as much as she had attacked the jackal were he to get too close.

“Dove?” Steven asked one more time, though he kept his hands in surrender as she manhandled him, pushing him to the floor more as she pinned him down, her black eyes empty and raw as she stared at him, “It’s me, Steven. Your Steven,”

Nothing. He gained no reaction from her, not so much as a blink. This was not her. This was a savage creature that knew no such thing as gentle touches and loving words.

She did nothing but stare at him, waiting for him to make a move out of line so she could tear him to shreds. And yet, Steven lay there as if to submit his body to her if she wanted to do such a thing. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t fight back. Could never lay an unkind hand on her even if it came to his last moments on the earth. He could die by her hands and he would still consider himself lucky to have been touched by such a creature.

She raised a clawed hand up to bring down on his masked face, a strength in the hit strong enough to tear clean through the ceremonial armour and likely leave him disfigured, if not cleave his skull in two on the spot. But she didn’t get a chance to strike. No sooner had she raised herself up to end it all, the Jackal launched its beaten body at her crouching form, the two of them tumbling away from Steven’s shaking body and rolling amongst one another in a flurry of wails and growls.

She flew off him spitting and yowling like a feral street cat, a sound no normal human should make as the creature bit down on her arm hard.

Steven felt two arms dragging him upwards and away from the scene, Layla could only imagine what was going on as the mystery woman’s arm sprayed her own blood over the concrete with every swipe of her claws.

“What is that?” Layla asked breathlessly, practically yanking Steven away as he trembled under her hands. She froze when Steven said her name, her name, the name of the girl she had left in that room to make her own way out. “What? Is this Harrow’s doing? Turning her into some crazy dog-woman?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said with a defeated tone, his chest aching at the way she had looked at him with no recognition of who he was. “I think…” Steven thought for a moment, “I think Marc will know how to help her,”

Layla nodded at him, her eyes taking in his broken expression, patting him on the arm gently, “Okay. Okay, bring him out,”

Steven turned away from her, sparing a small glance to the woman who held his life so closely in her hands, who had been seconds away from ending it, who he gave himself to entirely were it to be that he saw her in his last few moments of living. She scrapped with the jackal, two wild beasts gaining on eachother, drawing blood whenever and wherever they could.

“Marc,” Steven said, his eyes never leaving her blank face, spots of blood now sprayed over her nose like freckles. He felt his alter perk up at the name, his body already tensing up as Marc clawed at the reigns to take over now.

“Yeah, buddy?” Marc asked, though he could see everything Steven was seeing, and his heart already sunk at the unrecognisable thousand mile stare she had.

This was it. Seth had her now. “Save her,”

authors note: I used an AI to create what I think Dove looks like in her suit and-

These are the vibes we’re going for! Please feel free to imagine her as ANY shape, ANY ethnicity and ANY height however, these were just what the AI generated!

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 10 months

Text

Haunted

Mark Sloan x Reader

Summary: Mark Sloan finally finds where his wife had been hiding

Warnings: Angst, cheating, mild smut, Addison has poison oak, medical talk, death

Word Count: 5.7K

Masterlist

I sat in the foyer of the beautiful brownstone Mark has bought us, seething. I had arrived home after a long 30-hour shift, just wanting to relax with my husband but I had instead received a call from Derek delivering the worst news of my life.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Derek, everything okay?” I asked, concerned at his strained voice.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

My heart crawled into my throat. What could have possibly happened to warrant this much concern from him? Has Addison been hurt? Had Mark? “What? Derek, you’re scaring me.”

After a pause, he spoke again. “I just found Mark in bed with Addison.” My entire body felt like it had filled with ice. I knew Addison and Derek had been on the rocks for a while but I thought Mark and I were solid. “I’m leaving, tonight, for Seattle. I have an old friend out there who’s gonna make me the head of neurosurgery. I know it’s sudden and you’re dealing with a lot right now but I’m happy to bring you out there.”

Tears pricked in my eyes, I felt so helpless. “Derek, I’m a second year resident, I can’t just up and move to a different program.”

“Richard, the chief of surgery at Seattle Grace, will help you. You may be set back a year but what’s the alternative?”

I thought for a second. I could stay here and try to work things out with Mark but I knew I’d never be able to look at or trust him again. I could break up with him and stay here but knowing him he’d never leave me in peace. My best option would be to flee. “You’re right. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks across from JFK?”

“I’ll see you there. And Y/N? I really am sorry that this happened to you.”

“I’m sorry it happened to you too.”

I had packed only the essentials into a duffle bag that sat next to me as I waited for Mark to get back to his home. My beautiful rings sat on the coffee table between me and the door, clearly visible from the doorway.

Mark had a devastated look on his face even before he opened the door. His face dropped even further when he saw my expression along with my rings on the table. “Y/N-”

“Don’t,” I interrupted. “I want a divorce,” I asked calmly, picking up my bag to walk out.

But Mark stood his ground, continuing to stand in front of the doorway. “Can we at least talk about this?”

“Why? Nothing you could possibly say could make this better or make me not hate you. You hurt your best friend and your wife,” the tears were falling now. “You threw away our entire relationship for what? So you could hurt Derek? You just had to have Addison? You wanted to hurt me?”

“No, no,” Mark protested, his own voice cracking. “Addison wanted to hurt Derek and well… I wasn’t thinking.”

“‘I wasn’t thinking?’ That’s a pathetic excuse.” I moved to walk past him but he grabbed my arm, yanking me back in front of him, moving to further block the door.

“You promised to love me for better or worse, Y/N Sloan. Well, this is worse. You made a vow.”

“You also vowed to love and honor me,” I threw back.

His grip slackened enough for me to remove my arm from his grip so I continued towards the door. But before I could step out into the night, Mark spoke again. “At least tell me where you’re going?”

I sighed. “Derek and I are getting hotel rooms for a little while,” I lied. Not wanting him to ask me anymore, I slammed the door shut, quickly hailing a taxi.

I stood at the nurses’ station, filling out charts when Alex came up next to me, grabbing a chart from one of the nurses. “Your patient in 402 is demanding your presence,” I told him.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “She’s been demanding ridiculous things all day. I’ve got a surgery I need to study for.”

“Oh yeah? Tell you what, I’ll take this patient off your hands if you take my ruptured abscess.”

Alex stopped to think for a second before reaching his hand out. “Deal.” I smiled, eager to switch when suddenly a fist came out of nowhere, hitting Karev in the face. I whipped my head around, horrified to see Mark.

“What are you doing with my wife?” he yelled down at a still slightly dazed Alex.

“Mark! What the hell?” I demanded.

But before Mark could speak, Alex was up and lunging at Mark. Noticing him, I stepped between the two men, stupidly, getting myself tackled into Mark’s chest in the process. The rest of the hospital had finally realized what was going on as they pulled Alex away, Izzie trying to calm him down.

Realizing I was still in my ex-husband's arms, I pulled myself away from him. “What the fuck are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Addison told me.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know of all the ways you could’ve found me, that is the last one I would have wanted to hear.”

“Y/N, please, just hear me out,” he begged.

I sighed, “Fine. But after I listen and make a decision, I want you out of my life forever.” Mark looked like he wanted to argue but nodded nonetheless. So I led him to an on-call room for privacy. He smiled upon entering the room. “I remember these from my residency. Or when I’d have a surgery with you at New York Presbyterian,” he flirted, stepping closer to me.

I pressed my hand against his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t. Just say what you need to say.”

He looked disappointed at my rejection but spoke anyways. “First, I want to apologize. What I did was unforgivable and it was just a moment of weakness. I love you, I always have and I always will. These past few months have been hell and everyone refused to tell me where you were.” He paused, waiting for my response but I just quirked an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue. “Look, I want you back. I’ve been wanting you back ever since… well Addison and I… anyways. Please, I can’t do this without you, come home.” He then pulled out my engagement and wedding rings and I noticed for the first time he was still wearing his ring. “You’re still my wife, Y/N Sloan.”

I took a shaky breath. “My name is L/N and the only reason we’re not legally divorced is because I didn’t want you to know where I was. But I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

“Babe, please-”

“Don’t call me babe. I have work I have to do.” I went to move past him but he grabbed my arm again, just like he did all those months ago.

“No, we’re gonna makeup,” he insisted. He pulled me in front of him again, peering down at my face. “God, you’re more beautiful than I remembered.” I remembered lines like that from early on in our relationship. They used to make me melt… I shook off any feelings from the past, trying to steel myself against my husband’s charms that would make me putty in his hand in an instant. His hand slipped under my jaw, cupping my face, fitting perfectly just like back when I thought we were made for each other. And then his lips found mine and I was gone.

I felt his other arm slip around my waist and he pulled me closer to him. Feeling my resolve slip, I brought my hands to my husband’s face and neck, kissing him back. Noticing my reciprocity, Mark lifted me slightly, bringing me to the bed. He laid me down gently, careful to not put too much weight on me. With practiced hands, he went straight for my scrub pants. Neither of us were strangers to hookups in on-call rooms. Mark and Derek had their own practice back in New York but he’d have to come to my hospital for the ORs and he’d always drag me into the on-call rooms before surgery and sometimes after.

I made no moves to undress him, a quiet voice in my mind screaming for me to stop but I ignored it. Mark didn’t seem to mind though as he pulled down his own pants and moved his lips down to my neck. It took everything in me not to moan as he hit the parts of my body that made my toes curl.

He groaned when he finally sheathed himself inside of me. “Oh my god, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, gripping the sheets next to my head. “You haven’t been with anyone else?”

“No,” I answered, fighting out pleased sounds. Truthfully I was still in love with Mark and I didn’t want to hurt him, especially the way he had hurt me. Even though I had proclaimed that we were over, sleeping with someone else would still feel like cheating. “Have you?”

“No, no of course not. It’s you, it’s always been you, it will always be you,” he professed, continuing to thrust in and out of me. He was cupping my face again and trying to look deeply into my eyes but I refused to meet his gaze. Instead just looking up at the bunk above us, focusing on making it seem like I wasn’t enjoying this. Fortunately, he gave me the decency of nuzzling his face into my neck so I wouldn’t have to avoid his gaze.

He continued pumping in and out deep, and slowly, his fingers nestled against my clit, moving in the way he knew I liked. I was gone in about two minutes, embarrassment creeping up my neck and face at being at Mark’s mercy. I could feel him smirk into my throat as he chased his own release, finishing shortly after me.

The second he did, I was pushing him off of me, hiking my pants back up around my hips. “Babe,” he protested as I headed for the door.

“I have work to do,” I explained, not even sparing him a glance. “And don’t call me babe.”

I rushed out of the on-call room, intent on finding Alex’s whiny patient but I ran into Derek first. “Y/N, I heard about Mark, are you okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. Told him to fuck off,” I rushed out.

“Why’d he punch Karev?”

“I think he thought we were flirting or something. I don’t know, didn’t bother to ask.” I tried to move past him but the sound of the door I just came through opening, stopped me.

“Mark,” I heard Derek say in shock. He looked between Mark and I and the on-call room we just came out of. Mark was wearing a proud smirk and I knew it was over for my decency. So in Derek’s surprise, I took the opportunity to slip away.

“Y/N Sloan, to the nurses’ station. Dr. Y/N Sloan to the nurses’ station,” the intercoms rang out across the dining quad.

“Are you the Sloan they’ve been calling all day?” Cristina asked as she approached the table along with Meredith, Izzie, and George. “I didn’t even know they still used these intercoms. Why don’t they just page you?”

I groaned, looking at Izzie, who was there to witness Mark’s outburst. “Because my ex-husband is trying to humiliate me into talking to him.”

“Wait, you’re married?” George sputtered out.

“Ex,” I clarified.

“But he called you his wife?” Izzie clarified. “Who is he? What happened? Why’d he punch Alex?”

I sighed, not wanting to tell them. But I knew they’d never stop asking and soon enough my business would be all over the hospital, might as well get control of the story. “Fine. That guy? That’s my husband, Mark Sloan. We’re not legally divorced but we will be soon.”

“Wait, you’re married to Derek’s ex-best friend?” Meredith asked.

“You’re married to plastic surgery god Mark Sloan?” Cristina asked at the same time.

“Yes, and yes. Mark and I met while I was finishing up in undergrad. We got married after two years and then three years later Derek finds him in bed with Addison. So I kind of fled New York in the middle of the night with Derek. Mark is here now because Addison finally told him where I am in order to beg for me to go back. As for the punch, I don’t know, probably thought Alex and I were flirting or something. He was always a little possessive.” George scoffed a little at that.

“So you’re married to McSteamy?” Izzie mused. “I did not see that coming.”

I set down my fork. “Did you just call my cheating husband ‘McSteamy?’”

“Yeah she did,” Cristina jumped in. “Can’t say I blame her, or Addison, or you.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname. “So I guess I’m still just as pathetic as you?” I smiled at Meredith.

“Welcome to the club of getting screwed over by attendings.”

“He’s not an attending, he’s leaving as soon as possible,” I insisted. The rest of them stared at me. “What?”

“You know that lionitis patient? Dr. Sloan offered his services. The Chief offered him head of plastics on the spot and he took it. Said he wanted to be close to his wife, which I now realize is you,” George explained.

I stared at him with wide eyes. “No, no he is not staying here,” I seethed. Standing up, I began to storm towards the surgical floor’s nurses’ station, knowing that’s where he’d be.

I stormed up to the nurses’ station, finding Mark speaking with the Chief. “Mark, stop paging me!”

“Then don’t fuck me and immediately walk away,” he countered.

My eyes widened, shocked at his words. I glanced over at Dr. Webber, blood rushing to my face, mortified. He choked a little, excusing himself. “What the hell was that?” I demanded in a whisper yell. “First you punch one of my friends and now this?”

“What? God forbid people know that a man has sex with his wife?” I shushed him again. “And I can’t defend my wife either?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your wife.”

“Yes you are, neither of us have signed divorce papers.”

“Okay fine, but not for long. I’m going to see a lawyer when I’m done with work so you may as well get used to not being married anymore.”

“I can’t call you my wife, or babe, or your legal name. What should I call you?”

“Nothing, leave me alone. Tell the chief you can’t stay.” I whirled around, intent to walk away when Mark called after me.

“I won’t sign them.” I stopped dead in my tracks. Turning around, I looked at him. “I won’t let one mistake end our marriage.”

“It wasn’t one mistake. Are you saying you accidentally went to the Shepherds’ house? Accidentally started taking your clothes off? Accidentally took of Addison’s? And then your only mistake was to sleep with her? No, you made a hundred choices to cheat on me. So please Mark, give me mercy and leave me with a shred of decency to sign the papers and then leave. Do you know how much you’ve humiliated me?”

“Just give me three months. Three months to win you back. If you still hate me, I’ll sign the papers and go back to New York.”

“No.”

“Come on, you wanna throw away 5 years in one night? Three months.”

I sighed. “One date.”

“Two months.”

“A week.”

“A month.”

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes. “One month.”

Mark smiled victoriously, “A month.”

It was about 3 am and I had just wrapped up on an emergency heart surgery. I was the last resident to leave so I had the locker room completely to myself. At least, I did until I heard the door swing open. Assuming it was just some other exhausted resident I didn’t bother to turn around until I felt familiar arms wrap around my waist. I turned my head slightly, my cheek brushing against Mark’s lips. “You were amazing in that surgery,” he murmured.

“Thanks,” I dismissed, continuing to sort through my bag.

“You really are such a gifted surgeon. You know what specialty you want yet? You’ve got the face and skill for plastics.”

“You know this is the residents’ lounge, right?” I changed the subject. “Attendings’ is down the hall.”

“I like this one better. It has you in it.” I rolled my eyes at that pickup line. “So, I was thinking you and I could get dinner together. Catch up. Get late night takeout from whatever was open like we used to.” I had to admit, I had missed those late night takeout sessions… and Mark. The worst part was that I missed my husband.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I dismissed, twisting out of his arms.

“Y/N, our deal only works if you give me a fair shot.”

I sighed again, admittedly he was right. “Fine, we can get dinner, or I guess really early breakfast.”

Mark smirked victoriously again. “One of the other residents told me about this 24 hour place that has sandwiches.”

Mark opened the door to his hotel room, letting me step in. It was lavish, Mark having never shied away from the finer things in life. Mark stepped towards the desk, setting down the bag of sandwiches and sitting in the chair. Leaving me to take a seat, cross-legged on the bed. He handed me my sandwich that I eagerly opened, having not eaten anything in 6 hours. “So what’ve you been up to the last few months?”

“Work,” I answered bluntly. It was an honest and complete answer. I had to restart my second year of residency when I moved so I was barely above the bottom of the surgical food chain. “And all the residents in my year were already cliquey so my only friends are interns.”

“Richard told me you run with the girl Derek fell in love with.”

“Yeah, Meredith Grey. Now I’m the other girl who got screwed over by an attending,” I teased lightly.

He chuckled embarrassedly. “Yeah, well, sorry about that.”

“You know, when I first found out, I couldn’t wait to hear you grovel. But you’ve apologized to me so many times it’s like nails on a chalk board.”

“Sor-” Mark began but he pursed his lips when he saw my expression. “So that guy I punched? What’s up with him?”

“Beyond being a sometimes decent coworker? Nothing. But you should apologize to him, for me. He wants to go into plastics and I think you punching him threw a wrench into that plan. And as long as he’s not still pissed at you, I think he’d love to learn from you.”

“You’re going awfully out of your way for the guy that is ‘sometimes a decent coworker.’”

I sent Mark a tired look. “Are you actually going there right now?”

“I guess I don’t have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to this,” he said shyly, realizing his mistake.

“Ya think?” I asked sarcastically. “So what’ve you been doing?”

“Well when you first left I stopped working for a while. I poured everything into finding you… and admittedly a bottle. I was a mess, I couldn’t eat or sleep. All I really did was drink and beg for people to tell me where you were. But after like a month I finally gave up and went back to working. I did nothing but work for 4 months. Then… Addison called, said she was in Seattle with you and Derek and I was on the next flight here. I had to fly economy because there were no first class seats available,” he said with disgust.

“Oh the horror,” I laughed.

We fell into a comfortable silence and it felt almost like back when we were still happily married. The silence was first broken by my yawn since I had now been up for 20 hours. “I miss you,” Mark admitted. “I miss your smile, your laugh, your kindness. I miss how cute you are when you’re tired. How you used to come home and collapse into bed with me. I miss your cooking and how you said it was the next best thing to surgery.” He scooted his chair closer so he could grab my hands which had been sitting limply in my lap. “I miss your hands,” he kissed them, “and your legs, and your hair, and your eyes, and your nose, and your lips,” he punctuated each body part with a kiss there. But it was finally the kiss on my lips that made me snap out of Mark’s trance.

“No,” I said, pushing away. “Earlier was a moment of weakness, a mistake.”

“Ahah, so sleeping with someone is one mistake?” he beamed. “And a moment of weakness is just that, a moment.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. He had been so sweet and apologetic, now he was trying to get off the hook? “This afternoon wasn’t like you and Addison at all. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew I’d regret it but I chose to anyway. And when I sleep with you I’m the only one getting hurt. I wasn’t cheating.” He looked dejected, realizing I was right and he couldn’t get out of this on a technicality. “I’m going,” I declared, moving to get off the bed.

“Y/N, you have work in two hours and we’re right across the street from the hospital. Sleep here.”

“You’re that eager to get me into your bed?” I scoffed.

“Look, I’ll sleep on the floor if that makes you feel better but I’m not letting you leave.”

“Fine,” I agreed, crawling up to the head of the bed to slip under the covers. Mark grabbed one of the many pillows from the bed, throwing it down onto the floor. As he laid down it dawned on me that he didn’t have a blanket. Feeling bad, I spoke. “Get up here.”

Mark didn’t have to be told twice as he quickly slipped under the sheets. But as soon as he did, I was turned the other way, refusing to acknowledge him further. “Goodnight,” he wished me as he turned off the lamp.

In the morning I woke up the same way I used to, the same way I had been missing for the past 5 months. My head was rested on Mark’s chest, his arms wrapped around me, and his lips murmuring against my ear that it was time to get up. Upon regaining my senses, I jumped out of bed, trying to find my shoes and jacket. Being back in his arms made me realize how much I had missed him but I couldn’t afford to slip back into those old habits.

“So am I just a bed warmer to you?” Mark asked from his spot in bed, watching me get ready. “I mean I’m fine with it if that’s all you’ll give me but I’d just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

I sent him an eyeroll. “No, I just felt bad for you. Thanks for the wakeup, by the way,” I thanked, checking my watch to see I’d be right on time.

“Of course. What else are husbands for?”

I took a breath, not wanting to encourage him. “Bye.”

“I’m actually headed there myself, gonna operate on the lionitis kid. You wanna scrub in?”

“Are you actually trying to buy my love with surgeries?”

“It worked last time,” he laughed. “Well, you were still in school so more like homework answers but it still worked.”

I laughed, dismissively shaking my head, “I’ll see you later.”

Cristina, Alex, and I were waiting around the main nurses’ station, waiting for our assignments for the day. “How’s your face?” I asked Alex.

“Fine, I’ve taken worse,” he answered casually.

“Only reason he’s not mad is because he wants to kiss the plastics god’s ass,” Cristina teased.

“Shut up,” was all he said, offering no other defense for himself.

Fortunately for him Cristina couldn’t prod anymore because Derek was approaching. “You three, you’re assisting with Jake Burton today. Come with me,” he called, barely stopping to talk to us. We all scurried after him as we headed towards his room. Upon entering we found Mark drawing on the kid’s face.

“Dr. Sloan,” Derek interrupted him. “Don’t you think this is unnecessary?”

Mark gave him an annoyed look but before he could say anything, the parents spoke up. “We talked with Dr. Sloan and Jake, we’ve decided we’ll go ahead with the facial reconstruction.”

Derek pursed his lips, annoyed. I knew that about half a year ago Derek wouldn’t have hesitated to jump in on this joint surgery. It’s what their practice had been built on but now Derek was letting his feelings get in the way of patient care. “Fine, doctors,” he looked at the three of us and Mark, “come with me.”

We all shuffled out after him except for Mark who seemed to begrudgingly storm after Derek. “You have no right to undermine me in front of patients like that,” Mark immediately began.

“You’re a guest at this hospital, an unwelcome one at that. You have no right offering surgeries to patients— my patient.”

“Did you already forget that Webber made me Head of Plastics? You’re not the only surgeon with a fancy contract anymore,” Mark shot back.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine, Karev, you’re with Dr. Sloan.”

“Actually I’d like the other Dr. Sloan-” I sent him a glare, “Dr. L/N. The Chief gave me full authority to use whatever resources I need for this surgery.”

“She’s not some tool you get to use. Or something to play with whenever you feel like it. Is that what our marriages were to you? Something you could break when it suited you?”

“Dr. Shepherd!” I interrupted. “I appreciate that you’re trying to defend my honor but I don’t need you to. Besides you really want to do this here?” I gestured to all the people watching us. “Alex, you go with Dr. Sloan, I’ll go find something else to work on,” I dismissed, heading down to the pit.

As I was waiting for the elevator, I saw one of the last people I wanted to interact with. Addison stumbled towards me, looking like she had a squirrel in her pants. “Dr. L/N, I know we’re not exactly on the best of terms right now but I need a consult.” I looked at her, confused. We had worked on a few cases together perfectly civil. “I need a consult,” she clarified.

Catching her inflection and the fact that she was clearly uncomfortable, my mouth formed an O. “I see, c’mon, we’ll go to one of the private exam rooms.”

“Ah thank you,” she sighed in relief.

Upon having Addison in the stirrups and her explanation of her morning walk, I knew exactly what she was suffering from. “Yep, poison oak in probably the worst place you could have it,” I confirmed her suspicions.

She groaned, lying back on the table. “I guess this is karma.”

“You could say so,” I laughed gently. “I’ll get the calamine lotion and don’t worry, you have my discretion.” I grabbed the lotion from a storage closet, retuning to Addison.

“How come you don’t hate me?” she asked as I began to get to work. “Even my own husband, who chose to stay married to me, hates me.”

I sighed, “I don’t know. I did hate you, maybe I still do. But Derek can really hold a grudge so maybe that’s why I look so forgiving in comparison. But I have a hard time hating and turning my back on the people who were my family, even if they hurt me in the worst way possible.”

“I really am sorry. Mark and I, we regret everything.”

“I’m so sick of apologies. Do you know how many times Mark said he was sorry yesterday?”

“I heard he was here. And that he punched one of your friends, Karev.”

“Yeah, always been a bit possessive. Of course that’s painfully ironic now,” I laughed bitterly. “Alright, that’s as much as I can do for you right now. Apply more tonight.”

“Hey,” I heard Mark’s gruff voice gently coax me out of my thoughts. I turned, finding him in scrubs, his surgical gown open and flowing behind him. He always looked so good in scrubs.

“Hey,” I replied. “I heard about Jake. I’m so sorry.” Cristina had told me that the lionitis patient had died almost immediately after Derek had opened his head up. I felt bad for the kid, he had been so excited for a normal face.

He shrugged, taking a seat next to me. He sighed, pulling off his scrub cap. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t give him a sense of normalcy. But I talked to his parents, they said I could still do the surgery post mortem so he could be buried the way he wanted. Wanna help?”

I thought for a second. On one hand I didn’t want to continue to entertain the idea that Mark had a chance with me. On the other I needed to cut so desperately. “Sure, why not?”

He smiled. “Atta girl.”

We went down to the autopsy room in order to do the procedure and I had to admit it felt nice. I used to love performing surgery with Mark. It was always a comfortable silence while we worked together and when we did talk it was easy. Moments like this and memories of moments like this made it so hard to stop loving him. As we worked quietly I really thought for the first time since he came here. I had never really stopped loving him and even though I never wanted to see him again, a small part of me was relieved he tried so hard to find me and now he’s fighting for me.

By the time Jake’s parents came down to see him I was an emotional wreck. Seeing them grieve for their son made me burst. “I’m sorry,” I choked, stepping into a back room.

Mark was beside me in a second, closing the door for privacy. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, a distressed look on his face. I just crossed my arms, looking at the floor, trying to force down my emotions. I wanted to be strong enough to not tell him how I felt but I felt his finger underneath my chin. He pulled my face up to meet his concerned eyes. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”

I swallowed harshly, unwilling to tell him. “I miss you,” I relented. “I miss us. I am haunted by you. I didn’t even realize I still loved you until you showed up. But it hurts. It hurts to love and miss you because you hurt me.” I could feel the tears slipping down my face and my throat straining against the sobs. “You hurt me so bad, Mark, and now I can’t trust you. I used to say that cheating is it, I’d never be able to forgive cheating but the worst part is that I want to forgive you. And I can’t forgive you and love you and still have any self respect.”

“C’mere,” Mark sighed, pulling me into a hug. I broke down, sobbing into his chest. “Sleeping with Addison was a mistake, one I fully own up to and take responsibility for. And I’m gonna tell you this not because I want you to feel bad or I think you should have any of the blame but the reason I did it was because I wanted you to notice me. You were at the hospital all the time and I knew then, and know now, that that wasn’t your choice. I guess it was just hard for me to see you be independent because it felt like you were so dependent on me for so long and I liked that you needed me. And I’m sorry for trying to hold you back and for hurting you in order to hold you back but please, let me help you grow and succeed now. That’s all I want in the world.”

“Promise not to hurt me again,” I demanded.

“I promise. You have my full permission to cut off my testicles if I do.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “I’m in, Mark. I’m in it to make our marriage work.” I tilted my head up to look at him as I spoke.

“Thank you,” he beamed in relief. “Thank you,” he repeated in a relieved whisper.

Masterlist

#mark sloan x reader #mark sloan #greys anatomy #greys anatomy x reader #mark #sloan #sloan x reader

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cutiecusp · 23 days

Text

All I wanted was you. PART ONE.

A Phillip Graves x Reader two part drabble, around the time of the betrayal, but not canon...

I made this part really long. It was only meant to be a one and done! I'm still super new to writing, so I'd love to know what you think.

Tw// betrayal, marriage breakdown, angst, a little toxicity, the one that got away.

...................................

He knew he fucked up when the light in your eyes faded when you looked up at him, your gaze once full of light and love, is now replaced by a cold, icy stare. You were furious.

"How could you?" You ask him, seething with anger. You step into his space, your voice soft, but deadly. You place your hands on his chest, grabbing the straps of his tactical vest and pulling him closer to you, making him see what his actions had caused. His cocky smirk was replaced by a stern look back at you, a robotic version of your once loving husband. You didn't even recognise him anymore.

"My family, my friends, my team... Soap, Ghost, Alé...." You pause, unable to look at the man you once loved. You remove your hands from him as if you had been burned, your voice unable to stop shaking as you processed what he was telling you.

"You betrayed them all, Phillip. You betrayed me." You gasp as you head towards the door, only turning to wrench off your wedding ring and watch as it bounces off the floor into the corner of the room.

Graves looks up at the door as it slams shut, the noise echoing in the otherwise quiet base.

"I did it for you, sweetheart." He says to himself.

"It's always been for you."

......................................

After driving away from your family home where you left him reeling, tears stinging your cheeks, your heart broken into pieces, you walk back to into base, your steps heavy with the weight of your husbands betrayal. You hadn't been allowed on this mission, you picked up a stray bullet in the Middle East and stayed on base at the order of your husband, Shadow Company Commander, Phillip Graves.

You had begged to come along, but Phillip saw you as a 'medical liability' and wanted you home safe, so you bit your tongue and stayed back. You hated that he treated you like you were a fragile doll, and over time, you had begun to see what he really was, a snake in the grass.

But, you simply couldnt shake the guilt riddled through you as the thought of Phillip danced through your mind. You couldn't believe he would betray you like this, turning on the team he swore to protect, turning his back on you. You at least thought he would be honour bound at protecting you.

Hearing Soap and Ghost over comms as they found each other, not knowing if the other is alive is what ate at you the most. You had become a member of the Task Force by proxy, being recruited in with Soap, but was welcomed in like you has always belonged. You had seen the team as family, but would they now see you the same?

You take a breath before knocking on Price's door.

"Enter." Came the reply.

You walked in, unable to meet your Captains gaze. Although you didn't partake in the betrayal, you felt a responsibility as it was your husband who gave the order that sent everything into chaos.

"Look at me, Sergeant." He ordered. Your gaze snaps up to his, and you hate what you see. Pain, anger, and possibly the worst of all, disappointment.

"I will ask you this once, and on your life, you had better be bloody honest with me." He pauses.

"Did you know?"

Your face pales. You stare back at him, with what you hope is a neutral face.

"Sir?" You ask cautiously.

"I said. Did. You. Know?" He repeats slowly, his voice low and dangerous.

"No, Captain. I didn't know what his plans were." You reply honestly, wringing your hands together.

"This is as much as a surprise as it is to me, as it is to you."

Captain Price stares at you, taking in every detail, and after a few painstakingly painful minutes, he stands up from the desk.

"No ring?" He taunts.

"No sir. I'm filing for divorce in the morning." You reply quickly, the discomfort and embarrassment of what Phillip is putting you through with his actions showing all over your features.

He simply nods.

"You know, I had to fight Laswell to keep you on the team?" He says bluntly. He walks around the desk so he is toe to toe with you, his broad body taking over much of the area between you both.

"She didn't want me to allow a traitor back into our team. But there's something different.. something I put my finger on when I figured you weren't 'cleared' for the mission."

"He didn't want you there as he wanted you out of the way while he buried us, he didn't want any witnesses or survivors, and as his wife and someone on our team, he saw you as a liability. One of my best soldiers and a jumped up asshole with money decided that you weren't good enough to come raised all the flags I needed. There's a difference between protecting your loved ones and hanging them for your own actions, you have never been a liability." He continues, almost reverse echoing Phillips words back to you.

You nodded, listening to your Captain.

"So I have a choice for you. You are to be taken to a safe house, as a liability to the team that he thinks you are unti lthis is cleared and you will be in court alongside him. Or..."

"Or? Sir?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

"You come with me and the 141 and we end him. For good."

You take a step back, and gather your thoughts. Your ex husband wouldn't have even hesitated, so why should you.

"I'm in, Sir. " You clarify, holding your head high.

"I only have one condition."

Price nods, encouraging you to speak.

"I get the first punch in." You demand, a glimmer of defiance and strength in your eyes.

"I am not a liability."

*a/n I really worried about the length of this one, so I am breaking it into two parts. What do you all think? It went a weird way so part two will clear things up? Nervous as hell as always.*

@going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @xoxunhinged @misshugs

#call of duty #phillip graves #graves call of duty #angel grove #call of duty mw2 #fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare 2 #fanfic

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berryhobii · 11 months

Text

I’m Not Done (jhs x reader)

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x black!female!reader

Word Count: 1349

Warnings: Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), hard dom Hoseok, sub reader, standing doggystyle, unprotected sex(please speak with your partners before engaging in this), against a door sex, oral(m and f receiving), throat fucking, denied orgasm, fingering(f receiving), illusions to punishment, spanking, Hoseok is jealous!!🤪

A/N: Hi there! I wrote this after seeing that photo of Hoseok in that dior outfit at a concert. I believe it was LYSY Osaka. That one outfit almost made me swerve from Namjoon but even though the streets were calling my name, I did not stumble!🤣anyway, Gamer!Jungkook is in the works and will be up very soon! Thanks for reading! Criticism is welcomed and I hope my black and melanated girlies feel good reading this! 💜

Bare chest pressed against the door, hands held behind your back in his iron grip, you were in absolute heaven.

His hips were meeting your ass with swift motions, your knees close to buckling if not for his hold on you. He pounded in and out of your sopping pussy, the squelching noises not drowning out the whines that you were making against the wood of the door.

Sweat dripped down both of your bodies, making everything that much more wet and slick.

Hoseok’s hand came down harshly on your already aching ass. Even against the brownness of your skin, his hand print was visible. That’s how hard and often he had been striking you.

But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it. Rough Hoseok was the best. A welcomed contrast to the doting and sensible husband that you normally saw throughout the day.

Then again, you had crossed a line today. It was only a matter of time before the dam burst and Hoseok’s irritation spilled over into anger.

Normally soft touches were replaced by a tight grip on your wrists, kisses were replaced by bites that littered your throat and shoulders, and tender words were replaced by humiliation and degradation.

And each one made your cunt leak even more.

“You fucking slut. You thought that shit was cute?” He growled, yanking your wrists back harder so that your back arched further. The move caused your shoulders to ache but if anything, it just added to your already growing pleasure. You felt like you could cum at any moment but you knew you couldn’t. Not without permission. However, the anticipation of another punishment did sound appetizing.

Your mouth was dropped open, drool spilling from the sides, eyes crossing and toes curling in your stilettos.

Hoseok used his other hand to grab at the front of your throat, hauling you up until your back was against his chest, his hips never faltered.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He seethed against your ear.

You wanted to answer him so badly but his cock was knocking your vocabulary loose. All those years learning Korean were useless now. You couldn’t even answer was 1+1 was if someone asked you.

He obviously didn’t like your lack of response, pulling out of you which pulled a pitiful whine from you. Grabbing you by your hair, he forced you down on the ground, your knees hitting the hardwood. The impact hurt but you didn’t care, not when his leaking cock was just inches from your face.

He roughly tilted your head back so that your blurry eyes met his.

A smirk spread across his face at the vision before him. Your lipstick was smeared, the makeup had come off against the door when he pressed you against it—your lashes were wet from tears, your edges curling back up from where they were perfectly laid before, and your tongue out and begging for more.

Fuck.

“Since you can’t answer, I guess I’ll just have to put your mouth to good use.”

He wasted no time shoving his cock all the way down your throat. The sudden intrusion caused you to gag, your hands lifting to grab at his thighs, eyes watering and tears spilling down your cheeks.

Any other time, he’d punish you for touching him without permission but his orgasm was too close to really care right now.

Giving you no time to adjust, he began thrusting in and out of your throat, the loud ‘gluck gluck gluck’ sounds caused by your wet mouth building that pressure in his tummy.

You relaxed your throat, remembering all of the training you went through to be able to take him. With every thrust, you’d swallow and lick around his cock, trying your best to pleasure him.

He tossed his head back, a low groan coming from him. His hand gripped your hair even tighter, his abs tensing up. You blinked away your tears to get a good look at his face. You loved how he looked when absorbed by pleasure—that crease in his eyebrows, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, the way he pulled his lip between his teeth. You’d watch it all day if you had a chance.

“Shit, I’m cumming. Swallow all of it.”

Forcing his cock all the way down your throat so that your nose was pressed against the hair at the base of his cock, a shudder racked his body as he came. The spurts of his cum flowed down your throat and you did your best to swallow all of it down.

When he was done, he pulled back, chest heaving. His dark eyes stared down at you, his stare making you feel small and defenseless. Like a tiny deer in the view of a hungry lion.

You loved it.

He wasn’t gentle in his movements as he hauled you up by your hair. Your legs wobbled both from being on the ground and from the tingles that your denied orgasm sent through you.

A hard slap to your ass made you yelp, his hand leaving your hair to wrap around your neck. He pressed lightly into your windpipe—the brief lack of oxygen made your brain fuzzy, your knees shook slightly, almost ready to give up on you.

Pushing you against the door again, his hand found its way between your legs, swiping through your wetness. You moaned when his fingers grazed your pitiful clit, the bundle of nerves neglected and swollen.

Two fingers plunged into you, hooking and ramming into your sweet spot. A scream tore from your mouth, your hands reaching down to grab at his arm but apparently, he didn’t like that.

“Hands off!” He growled, jaw clenching. You were positive he felt how your walls tightened around him.

You hesitated but obeyed, moving your hands to brace yourself against the door. Once your hands met the wood, he began his pace again.

Your mouth dropped open again. “Ohhhhhhhh…..sh-sh-shiiittttt….” Your knees met each other, the pleasure becoming too much. Your entire body was alight and shaking from the sensations—his hand on your throat, the sting from your ass pressed against the door, and now the way he was jamming into your spot. You could have fainted

“Keep your legs open.” He ordered, dark eyes piercing yours.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to drop to his knees, his hand leaving your throat and allowing you to take a deep breath. You couldn’t even react before he was leaning forward to latch onto your clit. The feeling of his tongue combined with his fingers starting up again was just too much.

Knowing your body better than you sometimes, he could tell when you were about to cum. Your nails scratched against the door, your whines rose in pitch, and you began to hump against his face. You were an open book to him. He’s explored your body many times and for many hours to know exactly what made you tick.

He pulled away from your clit but his fingers didn’t stop. “Don’t you dare cum. If you do, you’ll regret it.”

You tried. You really tried so hard. And you knew he was being unfair. You both knew you weren’t going to be able to hold it.

Son of a bitch.

“I….I…c-c-can’t….I’m s-sorry…” That’s all you managed to stutter out before one more thrust of his fingers and a rub to your clit sent you over the edge. Your hands left the door to bury in his hair, trying to ground yourself.

2 rules broken within 5 seconds.

You were screwed.

You didn’t even have time to come down before his hand was back around your throat.

Pulling your face close to his, you could smell the gum he had chewed in the car along with the sponge cake he had at the small work gathering you two had attended.

His voice was calm as he spoke to you but for some reason, that made your stomach turn in anxiety.

“Go to the bedroom. Face down, ass up. I’m not done with you.”

#bts #bts smut #bts fic #bts imagines #hoseok smut #jhope smut #bts x black reader #namjoon smut #jimin smut #jungkook smut #seokjin smut #yoongi smut #taehyung smut #black representation #black reader

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loudblonde · 1 year

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male Reader

Summary: Simon and his husband have a fight that makes (Y/N) leave in the middle of the night for a drive, unbeknownst to Simon he gets kidnapped along the way, as Simon rushes to save (Y/N) he discovers many hidden things about his husband that no one was supposed to know.

Disabled reader, wears a leg brace due to a work accident.

Warnings: Cod typical violence, reader with military past, miscomunication, kidnapping, skiing accidents.

word count: 2 K

+18 themes, minors do not interact

Simon placed his glass down harsher then he should, juice spilled over the edge of it. “I am not being reckless.” He said.

(Y/N) glanced over from where he was cleaning up the kitchen, Simon had cooked so (Y/N) always insisted on cleaning, the other way around applied as well, one cooked one cleaned.

“You were shot 3 times and are now on leave until you are good enough to go back, one of the bullets missed a main artery by a few millimeters.” (Y/N) didn’t bother hiding the clear anger in his voice. “I could have lost you, Simon.”

Simon looked away. “I did what I had to, everyone got back safe.”

“But you didn’t, you would go on the next mission right now if Price called you in, I made my peace with that, I will always wait and you know that but 3 bullets, Simon.” He said.

Simon winced at the use of his name, (Y/N) rarely ever used his actual name over any shortened version of his name or pet name. “I get you are angry.”

“Oh do you?” (Y/N) asked as he placed things away. “Because I recall you almost breaking your arm and being sent on forced leave by Price just last month because he was concerned about you.”

“The mission-” “-wasn’t that bad, I get it, more than you realise. I-” (Y/N) interrupted only to get interrupted himself. “-You don’t know anything about being out in the field, you work a desk job because your youth was filled with spoiled trips to austria to ski in the mountains and you got too reckless as a young adult.” Simon said, not thinking about his words.

(Y/N) looked down at his leg, the brace on it and how the injury still hurt, it wasn’t that story but not Simon nor Ghost would ever find out about the true reason for it, that mission was classified beyond anything most people would ever see, a mission gone right despite the casualties and soldiers who were forced to retire early, (Y/N) included.

Seething hot anger flashed through (Y/N) but he took a breath. “I am going for a drive, we need milk.” (Y/N) didn’t look back, knowing Simon, his Simon was already regretting his words, this conversation or rather this fight was far too common for the both of them to have, everytime Simon came home with too bad of an injury or from being too reckless. Price always called him, always told him how the mission had gone.

(Y/N) grabbed his keys and jacket before getting into the car, pulling his injured leg in, it would never fully heal, it would always ache on good days and be too painful to even touch or look at on bad days. He had more bad days than good days.

(Y/N) drove to the gas station across town, without really needing to, they didn’t even need milk but that was always the excuse, always the reason. (Y/N) usually made some kind of cake with it the next day, if he could walk.

As (Y/N) excited the car and filled it up, a van pulled up besides his car, on the pump on the other side, he didn’t pay attention, simply finished pumping the gas before he looked to the side where a man was standing with a gun, pointed straight at him. (Y/N) scowled and held his hands up. “If you want my wallet I don’t have one, only my card.”

“Get in the van, Mister Riley.” Simon and him had gotten married earlier in the year, something small at the courthouse.

“No.” (Y/N) said as he knew he could take a bullet wound, not that he wanted to. It would drastically decrease his chances of survival.

He felt a gun pointed at his back. “My partner didn’t say you had a choice.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, he couldn’t handle both with his leg after that drive, it would not end well, he would get killed, but going along with them would also get him hurt. He made a quick decision and nodded. “Alright, please don’t hurt me.” He whimpered, fully satisfied with how convincing it sounded. The men placed a hood over his face and cuffed his hands before putting him in the van and taking off.

‘Okay, people taken to a secondary location always have a decreased chance of surviving, however they are most likely enemies of Simon who don’t know about me… Depending on how many there are I can get out… hopefully.’ (Y/N) thought as he started fake crying and whimpering, he needed to act scared even if he wasn’t being watched.

Simon knew something was wrong when half an hour passed and (Y/N) hadn’t come back home, though for the sake of making sure, he waited 10 more minutes before calling his husband, no matter what, no matter how angry (Y/N) always answered, Simon never wanted his past or an enemy catching up again, he couldn’t handle losing more people. Not again, not like his family.

When it kept ringing and went to voicemail, Simon cursed and called Price. It was picked up quickly. “Ghost, what the hell do you want it near midnight.” Price said.

“(Y/N) isn’t answering the phone.”

Price cursed on the other end. “How many minutes since you last saw him?”

“40 but he should have been back between 10 and 20 minutes ago, we had a fight, Price, I… I was… I can’t…”

“I know Simon, I will contact Laswall, see what we can do on our end, you can’t do much on your own, you are still injured, so stay steady and have your phone ready.” Price hung up.

Simon just sat still for hours, staring at his phone before it rung, (Y/N)’s face and toothy smile showed up. Simon lunged at his phone and picked up. “(Y/N) I-” “-I am afraid this isn’t your husband.” A voice interrupted, someone Ghost was too familiar with.

“What do you want?” Ghost asked.

“I will send you my7 location where you will show up, alone and unarmed, if you get that pretty little team of yours involved I will slice your husband's throat and send you a video before letting the rats feed on his corpse.” The man said.

Ghost growled. “Fine.” He said.

“Don’t do it Si!” Ghost could hear in the background of the call only for (Y/N) to cry out in pain. Simon’s blood ran cold as the call hung up. He just needed to get there. 20 minutes passed and he got a location, a factory a few hours out of town. He got into his car and took off, not even thinking to inform the team.

His emotions were numb and he wasn’t wearing his mask, yet he kept going, he couldn’t stop, if there was ever even a chance of saving (Y/N), of not making the same mistake again, he would take it, he would always take it. Their fight played in his mind over and over again, torturing him as he drove, he vaguely registered the music in the radio as something upbeat.

It was early morning when he came to the old factory, he vaguely registered the open door and vehicles parked outside as he walked straight up the door and inside, to his shock, bodies upon bodies of people laid spread out as though a fight had broken out, blood covered large areas of the factory floor. His blood turned ice cold as he ran inside, hoping to find (Y/N) alive only to find a chair with robe by the back, loosely tied together, whoever did this underestimated the prisoner.

Simon pulled his phone out as it began vibrating. He answered. “Ghost here.”

“... Ghost, come to base, (Y/N) is here… there is something you need to know. He is alive, injured but alive.”

Simon let go of a deep breath. “I… how did he even get there… car probably, erm, I will get there.” The base was a few hours away. He hung up and drove in silence to the base, barely even registering anything. He was confused but also relieved, the only man he had ever loved enough to fully see Simon, to make Ghost into Simon again, had somehow escaped and was at his base, the base no one was supposed to know about. Things weren’t adding up.

He drove onto base and got out, not remembering a mask, not even thinking about a goddamn mask.

He walked past a confused Soap and Gaz, ignoring them gaping at them as he walked to Price’s office, knocking before he entered. In one of the chairs, a heavily beaten up and bruised (Y/N) sat and Price, with a dark look in his eyes, was sitting behind his desk. “I will let you talk.” Price said and left.

Simon sat down and looked to (Y/N) who refused to meet his gaze. “What happened?” Simon asked.

(Y/N) winced before looking ahead. “4 years ago I was in a skiing accident that left me paralysed in both my legs, it took me a year and experimental surgery to get feeling back in them though one is permanently broken.” (Y/N) began.

“Yes I know this..” Simon said.

“It wasn’t hobby skiing. I was a soldier in a mission I can’t tell anyone about, not even my most trusted person, 2 teams of 20 people each, including a team of 3 were dispatched to take out a base of enemies that were holding high value targets.” (Y/N) didn’t look at Ghost. “Out of the 43 people, 10 of us made it out alive, the place was rigged with trap after trap, I was amongst the many injured on the way back, we successfully managed to get 4 out of 6 hostages with us.”

“You were forced to retire.” Simon said and looked away. “Were you reckless?”

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, I wasn’t, we were safe as we could be, yet I was paralysed, nearly died.” (Y/N) sighed. “I am sorry Si, for never saying this or telling you anything but I couldn’t, sure I could talk bootcamp and my various deployments but after I got onto a task force every single mission became confidential, much like your missions and then with my forced retirement, it just wasn’t something I looked back on with you. I lost a lot of good friends that week, a lot of really close allies. I had been out for a year and a half before we even met.”

Simon looked away. “Was anything else right? Or has everything been a lie?”

“You met my actual family, my mother does love you and even they don’t know much about my work, hell, they think after bootcamp and my deployments that I enlisted in a private security company in austria and on my off day, I got into an accident.” He said. “Except my cousin, she knows the truth because of her work.”

“Right, the medic, understandable…” Simon said and looked to the man he once trusted above all else. Someone who had promised to be there for him always, no matter what. His whole perception of the man had been a lie. “You made me teach you self defence.” Simon mused.

(Y/N) chuckled. “Yeah… that day is among my fondest, you wanting me to be able to protect myself with you away, it did actually help last night.” (Y/N) said. “I wouldn’t have gotten out this lucky if it wasn’t for it… I am sorry for lying, Simon but you must understand, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Simon took his hand and gave him a small smile. “For better or for worse.”

(Y/N) leaned over and kissed Simon's cheek. “Your captain is a real scary man.” He said and chuckled. “Laswell had to clear me for him, she found my discharge papers.”

“Hmm, honourable discharge with a file that is mostly redacted.” Simon said. “Sounds like my future file.”

“Well I do like the sound of that, planning for a future with me, eh?” (Y/N) said.

Simon smiled a bit more. “You are the only reason I want to grow old.”

(Y/N)’s smile softened. “I love you too, Si.”

#ghost #simon riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley x male reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x male reader #husband reader #cod men x male reader #cod x male reader

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wp-blaze · 14 hours

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The Pure, Unadulterated Gospel

I want to get back to the basics, and be very plain, because I have been told that my articles are too long. This article is going to be a “remake” of “The solution to evil, The Good News”, and this time I want to give without any digression the pure message of the Gospel […]

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Seven

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Oh my goodness, an early update from me?? How crazy! I never update early the world must be ending. I know it's only like a day, but still, it's a day early! For someone reason, it was super easy to write. I don't know what that says about me. xD I want to thank y'all sooooo much for constantly supporting me. When I first started this fic, I honestly thought nobody would read it and that those who did would hate bomb me. Everyone who has commented has been super nice to me, and I honestly can't thank you enough for it. I do want to warn you, though, that there's going to be a chapter in the distant future where were discuss Aegon's not-so-consensual activities. That's all I'm going to say about that. I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a steamy one toward the end. ;)

Chapter Warnings: Flash Back, Somnophilia

Prince Daemon opened the door to Madam's brothel like a dark cloud, slowly traveling with the threat of a storm, Dark Sister tapping the frame. Rage was his presence as he entered, though his outward appearance seemed as if he was unbothered. He was on a mission, and he had only one question.

"Where is she?" He asked the first woman he saw, a client on her arm. She smiled at him sweetly.

"Give me one moment Ser, so I can escort this handsome patron out, and I will be right with you." She buttered the man up, her words a purr in his ear as she stroked his cheek.

Daemon rolled his eyes, taking three long strides to the girl and grabbing her by the arm. "You will listen to me and listen well. Forget this fool." She whimpered, letting go of the man's arm as she went to shield her face.

"I am Prince Daemon Targaryen, the man who created the very Gold Cloaks that will burn this establishment to the ground should I snap my fingers." She nodded, eyes teary and lips quivering. The girl was confused and caught unaware by the Prince's presence. He had not been here in quite some time, ever the loyal husband to Princess Rhaenyra.

"Where is Madam?" He seethed through gritted teeth at her prolonged silence. The whore took a shaking breath, hesitating momentarily as she glanced at Dark Sister, deciding the truth would be better than Valyrian steel through her stomach.

She leads Daemon to a back room, hidden and out of the way so no simple-minded customers could mistakenly enter. A small fire was lit, and a cast iron cauldron hung over it as Madam stood hunched, her shoulders shaking.

"Madam," the girl spoke softly, and she straightened her posture, wiping at her face as she turned to scold the worker, but stopped short, seeing a former star patron.

"Prince Daemon," she curtsied, sniffling to clear her nose, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Madam knew she was playing a dangerous game.

"You know exactly why I am here," he replied firmly. Madam tilted her head at her worker, silently telling her working girl to leave.

"I am not sure I do. You know better than anyone that there is no need to come directly to me in order to schedule a session," she said dismissively.

Of course, Madam knew precisely why he was here. It was the exact reason why she was crying.

"Do not play dumb, Babette. Where is Elaina?" He asked, losing patience.

"I already told you this many years ago when you first asked. My answer has not changed. She went back home to the North." Daemon scoffed, rolling his eyes again as he stepped closer.

"I may have believed that lie once, but not anymore. She has no ties to her family." Madam sighed, shaking her head and raising her arms as if talking to a belligerent child.

"I am not sure what you want me to say, Your Grace. That was all the explanation she gave me before disappearing."

Daemon growled, charging at the poor woman and pushing her against the fireplace by her neck. Madam could not react, nearly falling into the simmering stew pot as she grappled for purchase.

"Stop protecting her, Babette; I have no intention to harm. I need answers," he spat.

"I have none to give," she relented, ever the strong woman from years prior.

"Stop lying to me!" He yelled, shoving her into the hearth, her head smacking the stone. "Where is Elaina? Where is my child?"

Madam was a force to be reckoned with herself, but when put against the Rogue Prince, the man crowned King of the Step Stones, she had no choice but to yield. Her years of hardening were not meant to withstand the flames of a dragon.

"Elaina is dead, thanks to the babe you put in her belly, and that child-- my child," Daemon's grip loosened, a lump beginning to form in his throat, "that I have raised into a beautiful young woman has been taken by your eldest nephew for reasons unknown to me,"

Sadness replaced his rage, a dark, depressing feeling shadowing in the pit of his stomach.

Yet another woman in his life has died from childbirth—his mother, sister-in-law, wife, and now a former mistress. Did the cycle of maternal loss ever end? The water wheel that was the Targaryen's customs was spun by endless blood and loss. Daemon's face was stone, though his heart was not. A twitch of his lip indicated he was upset by the news of Elaina's death.

Finally, he stepped away from Madam. Was he destined to lose every woman he had cared for on the birthing bed? What would become of Rhaenyra? She had just given birth to Joffrey not nearly two years ago, and she was already filled with the starts of another. She had been lucky, but the Gods' favor only lasted so long. What would become of you once put in that same spot?

"She is with Aegon, yes?" He questioned Babette, sniffing once as he rested his hand on Dark Sister. She nodded, cradling her wounded head, blood painting her fingers. "The Gods only know what that drunkard has done to her," Daemon said as he swiftly left the brothel, a new mission on his mind.

***

Lyra ducked into an alcove. Her grey cloak covered most of her recognizable face, the shadows of the secret entrance aiding her efforts. The layout of the many secret passages into the Red Keep was slowly becoming etched in her memory. She needed to know them like the back of her hand.

Her little apple, she thought somberly, her heart aching in the palms of gluttonous high-borns. Left to be eaten until there is nothing.

Madam had sheltered you too much from the reality of the world. You were too kind to bare the Targaryen name, too innocent to become a part of their "holier than thou" culture. You were not stupid, Lyra knew that, but your ignorance was simply due to a purposeful lack of knowledge on Madam's part. Unlike most girls your age, you knew about sex, the pleasures a man could receive, but you still had the inexperience as them, and without some trustworthy to guide you... there was no telling what path you might follow.

Lyra stopped at an almost invisible door, the wood untreated and dark within the shadows. She used her knuckles to knock a rhythm into the door, short and legato sounding. She waited, her anxiety boiling inside her stomach as she bounced on her feet. The passing time seemed too long. By now, someone would've opened the door.

"Lyra, you must leave. The castle is in a tizzy with the arrival of-"

Lyra didn't wait for the servant dressed in red to finish, shoving her way into the bustling kitchen of the Red Keep.

"Lyra, I cannot help you right now," Sara chased, tugging her friend's arm. "They are preparing a feast for the royal family!"

Lyra ignored her, running to another hidden servant's passage, her leather shoes tapping on the worn stone floors.

"Where is she," Lyra asked, sprinting up multiple steps. "I must see her. I need to tell her to wait." Sara tripped up the stairs, catching her skirt as Lyra gained more distance.

"If you would take a moment, Lyra, I could tell you," she huffed, catching up to her old friend at the top of the passage. "They are at dinner," Sara finally answered, her breathing ragged. "She met Daemon. I observed through the walls. He was kind to her. I believe there is no ill-will between them."

"That is a relief to hear; truly, it is Sara, but the things I have listened to since she left..." Lyra trailed off, "a girl of her age should not be partaking in such activities. She is far too young to comprehend the consequences fully."

"That is hypocritical, Lyra," Sara scolded, crossing her arms. "I remember us during girlhood. We were not much better."

"That was different," Lyra said. She dismissed any more attempts of scolding from Sara, opening the door as the sounds of music seeped through the crack.

She could see you dancing, hopping back and forth like a rabbit with Princess Halaena. Lyra could not help but smile. Seeing the joy on your face was infectious. It had become a rare sight over the past moons. Partly, because you had just gotten your cycle, your body readying itself to fill its biological purpose. A part of her almost felt guilty for trying to ruin your night with the plans of your escape.

Your laughter carried into Lyra's hiding place as you lifted the Princess. Lyra slowly shut the door, a wan smile covering her face. It might do you good to extend your stay at the Red Keep. You could live as a girl, make friends and play as you never could. It would give Madam a sense of ease to know you were well and to gather the needed supplies for your trip across the Narrow Sea.

Sara gave Lyra a confused look as she retraced her steps. She still needed to memorize them. You would be safe for now, and that was all that mattered as Lyra slinked back to Flea Bottom.

***

Daemon had escorted you to your room after dinner, silent the entire way. You were thankful for that; if he had sparked conversation, you could not have held back your grin.

Of course, you were still upset with Aegon for stealing you away and keeping his real reason for wanting you at the castle, but how he looked at you... He made you feel like you were the only person worth looking at in a room full of royalty... It made your heart feel full.

Perhaps you were too harsh in judging him? He is still a person growing into an adult, the same as you. You acted immaturely with Ma, and he acted stupidly with you. You would forgive him, just as Ma forgave you.

You thought of Daemon, wondering what was running through his head during that silence. You understood that people believed you were his daughter, but your mother was not alive to claim it as such.

Sara calmly unbraided your hair as Caldia fluffed your pillows, and one of the other girls you had come to find out was named Izola laid a thin buttoned nightgown on the bed. It was nice to be dotted on, feeling more important than you were as your eyes became heavy.

It reminded you of the nights you and Aunt Lyra would pamper each other. She would use extra wages on the day off to gather pastries, flowers, and sweets. You would sit and listen to her odd stories of patrons for that week about how one man wanted her to call him "brother" and cried after he came. You would laugh and laugh as you both stuffed your mouths full.

Suddenly, your chest hurt, your heart skipping a beat, fluttering rapidly to regain its set pace. You clenched your fist, placing it over your heaving breasts as you tried to steady your breathing. It felt like you had fallen from a great distance and landed on your back. Tears swelled in your eyes as your body panicked, unsure of how to respond as it betrayed itself.

"My Lady," Sara spoke with concern in her voice. She had stopped unbraiding your hair, her hands on your shoulders as they heaved up and down. "Are you alright?" She asked, turning to see your frightened expression.

The other girls came rushing over, like swans landing on a pond, as they all gathered around you with concerned looks.

"My Lady, what has upset you?" Izola questioned as she put the back of her hand to your temple.

"My..." You stuttered, clutching your beating chest. "My... Heart," you gasped, confused and scared about what was happening. "I want Auntie Lyra. I want Ma. Where is she?"

You couldn't think straight. Your mind attempted to grasp what was happening, reverting to a terrified child after a nightmare.

"Ma is not here. You are in the Red Keep," Sara attempted to soothe you, unsure whether she should reveal what she knew.

"I-I want to go home," your voice was thick with shedding tears.

"You..." Sara glanced around, unsure, her voice becoming soft and pointed, trying to convey a message with her tone. "You are home."

"No," you cried, yanking at the collar of your dress. "I want to go home! I want to be with my family!"

The gown no longer held beauty when you gazed upon it. All you saw were hands.

You were screaming, your eyes blinded by tears as you stumbled into the vanity, falling to the stone floor. Dozens of pale jeweled fingers become your skin, trying to penetrate your flesh. They consumed you, curling inside as you attempted to pry them away. You pulled and swatted at them, but nothing worked. A never-ending cycle would appear as soon as you broke free of one another.

"Get off," you shrieked, "get away from me!"

You couldn't think. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't see. All you could do was feel their burrowing digits wiggling into you.

"Ma!" You screamed again, though you knew she wasn't coming. "Ma! Ma!" Your voice cracked, sounding thick with saliva.

You heard a loud crashing noise in the background, and you turned to look, but one of the hands gripped your face, forcing you to look back at them. You could see them gnawing like rats through your flesh and bone. Before you realized it, you were being lifted, the bejeweled fingers still all over your skin as someone shoved you into a chair.

Suddenly, they all vanished under a curtain of water, and you finally regained all your senses, looking at staring faces.

Caldia stood panting, a silver bucket in her grip. The other two maids were there, along with the Guard who was stationed outside your room. Sara and Izola were holding each other, their faces red and tears brimming their eyes. They must have seen them too... the hands.

"I came as swiftly as the Gods allowed," an older gentleman in pious brown robes said, bursting into your chambers with another man dressed similarly with a leather bag.

"Maester Mellos," Sara greeted in relief. She released Izola and thanked him with a squeeze. "I do not know what happened. One moment I was readying her for bed; the next..." She trailed off, looking at you with concern.

The Maester turned, seeing a girl who looked like she had run from one end of the Keep to the other, then averted his eyes swiftly.

"For God's sake. Give this girl some clothes."

You lowered your head. While in your fit, you had split the gown down to the waist; you only tore your small clothes a little higher. You covered yourself in shame, and embarrassment biting your ears. Caldia dropped the pale and grabbed your night dress from the beautifully patterned silk bed while Sara and Izola went to pull the tattered slit to keep your modesty.

Maester Mellows continued his examination, listening to your heart and touching your neck and underarms for anything abnormal. His companion took notes, a leather-bound book and feather quill in hand as the Maester whispered his findings. Your handmaids stood in the background, each with worried expressions.

One with a hand over their pursed lips, the middle looking between you and the stone floor, the other with arms crossed tightly around their chest, swaying slightly.

"She seems to be in good health," Maester Mellos declared. All three women sighed in relief, whispering thanks to the Seven. "Though her heart beats like a wild stallion, even when resting." As he continued, their faces dropped, fear rising to replace their short-lived relief. "I recommend deep breathing exercises to steady the pulse, but if something like this were to occur again..."

He motioned to his assistant, taking his bag and rummaging through it until he found what he was searching for. "Take a spoonful of this. Not a drop more."

He handed you an amber-colored glass bottle, a cork keeping it tightly sealed as you accepted it with trembling hands, letting him know you understood.

"Child, do you think you will be able to sleep tonight?" You lowered your gaze as your pride made your tongue feel like lead.

Maester Mellos sighed through his nose, kneeling to your height and placing a hand in your shaking ones.

"Tis alright, my girl. All women suffer hysteria from time to time. A punishment that all suffer in this time. Just do as I ask and all will be well." His tone was soft and kind, as a grandfather would speak to their grandchild, but the contents made you feel insulted.

He uncorked the bottle with a pop, getting a spoon from his bag as he poured the liquid into the bowl. You opened your mouth as he raised it, wrapping your dry lips around the cold silver. It was tan, almost the same color as molasses, and you began to feel skeptical of the powers this magic potion was implied to have.

You nearly spat it out from the taste. It was a bitter flavor worse than the absinthe Aegon gave you and burned your throat just the same. You didn't think to ask what it was, too focused on not spitting up as you forced yourself to swallow, taking a gulp of air with you and burping afterward.

"Rest now, child; the Seven smile down upon you. Thank the Maiden for this being your only ailment, and pray to the others for your continued health. You will be well in no time if you devote yourself to that." You nodded again, pushing yourself out of the chair wordlessly as you climbed into your bed, your handmaid hurrying to help you.

The Maester and his companion took their leave with a swift bow, the Guard escorting them out of your chambers and leaving the four of you alone. You had been nothing but a calm, albeit stubborn, guest in the Red Keep, and they were more concerned than anything. You could sense that they had questions, wanting to know where this sudden outburst came from.

The day had taken too much from you, and you had no more energy to speak as they pulled the silk sheets to your chest, tucking you in as Ma or Lyra would. You had begun to feel the effects of whatever Maester Mellos had given you as the girls left. Your limbs were heavy, and you felt your body and mind relax, sinking deeper and deeper onto a bed of clouds.

***

Aegon had drowned himself in his cups as always, but he did not desire to explore the Streets of Silk as he usually would at this hour. He sat on the stairwell leading down to your bed chamber hallway, waiting patiently until he saw everyone leave. Seeing the Maester as one of them did startle him a bit. What had happened in the time he was not with you?

He realized then that his little dragon could not be left unattended. He must be with you at all times lest something happen. It would be a difficult task for Aegon, yes, but he would do it. He would do it for you. You were his hatchling, after all. His and only his.

The eldest Prince waited a few more moments until he was sure your ladies would not return. He pulled himself up onto wobbly legs as he descended the stairs, dragging his fingers along the corridor until he felt a familiar little divot.

Aegon opened the wall into a hidden passageway connected to the many others that led out of the castle, but he didn't intend to leave tonight. Everything that he desired was right here in these very Redstone walls.

He traveled until he saw the familiar patch of stone that signified your room, making sure his drunk legs did not make a sound in case you had fallen asleep. Aegon pushed the wall slowly, careful not to have the stone scrape the ground as he peered through the crack.

Aside from lit candles on your bedside tables, there was no light in your chambers. He pushed the door partly open so that he could slink through, still as quiet as a mouse as he went to the lump on the side of the bed. He called out softly to not scare you, but as you did not move, he continued and sat on your mattress. Still, you did not stir. Your lips parted slightly as drool leaked onto your cheek. He leaned over, gently swiping away the spit, and finally, you roused, only moving from your side to your back, the covers below your chest.

Your nightgown had come unbuttoned, exposing the glistening valley between your breasts. It stopped short of fully revealing what he longed to see to Aegon, much to his disappointment. He traced his finger over your skin, sticky from the summer night's heat, and you, once again, did not move. He was mildly concerned you did not wake from his touch, but it did not stop him, his cock growing hard in his trousers.

He knew in his mind that if you had been awake, you would not let him touch you as he did, moving the fabric over to free one of your breasts. And the fact that you were not conscious right now, your body unable to reject or accept his advances, made him groan.

Aegon moved, swinging a leg over so you were in between his. Surely this would be when you would wake, kick, and scream at him until he left. But no, you laid beneath him like a log, and he grinned. Indeed this was a sign from the Gods you wanted him. In sleep, your body did not see him as a threat, which meant you truly desired him; your conscious mind did not know it yet.

His needy cock became too much, and he freed it from the confines of his pants. The head was a ruddy pink from his rushing blood, his thick shaft pulsing in time with the hammering of his heart.

He removed your other breast from your nightgown, the nipples taught and ready for him to pinch. One hand found the base of his member, the other groping and massaging the sensitive flesh. It only made him go faster, his hand pumping in shorter and quicker strokes. To his luck, you were still sound asleep, with no expression as to whether you felt him.

Aegon wanted to shove his needy cock down your throat and continue what you had started from a moment that now felt ages ago. When you asked him, drunk on the little death he had just given you, to teach you how to pleasure him. Perhaps your subconscious could learn instead.

"I like it sloppy," he said in a strained voice, spitting on his prick as he mimicked the squeeze of your womanhood with his fist, "but for you, little one, we will go slow. I'll have you dripping first, your little cunt begging to be stuffed by me. You will do better that way," Aegon grunted at the thought as he continued. "Then, I'll have you spit on me and use your tongue to spread it before I sink into your mouth. Do not worry. I shan't shove it in all at once. I'll ease it in. I'll guide your head to find the pace I like, and you'll use your hand to make up for the lost space."

He felt a jolt of pleasure, picturing the scenario in his mind, your big doe eyes staring up at him, looking for reassurance.

"Of course, you will be unsure if you are doing it right, but not to worry, I will tell you." The stroking of his cock went faster, making the pace that you would set for him. "Good girl, I would say. You're taking me so well. I know you would just clench at my praise and try to take more of me. I know what you are, even if you do not. A good little girl that would take whatever I gave her with a smile; you just don't realize it yet." Aegon could feel his high mounting quickly, grunts and moans spewing from his chest as he moved his free hand to squeeze your throat.

"You will do that for me, won't you, little one? You'll take my cock down your fucking throat and thank your Prince when you are done?"

Your eyelids fluttered open at the lack of air, sleep still clouding your vision and mind. You could only make out a face—shoulder-length hair of white, pouting pink lips wet with spit, and flushed cheeks.

"Aegon," you whispered groggily, suddenly pulled back under the sleep waves.

He came quickly and suddenly at the sound of his name from your lips. It was such a force that his seed shot to your chin.

"Yes, it is me, little one. I am here," he answered as more spurts of his manhood fell onto your bare chest. "I am here." You did not hear his words. Already back in a deep slumber as you squirmed slightly, wiping his labor off your chin.

Aegon cursed the Gods for such an insurmountable and sudden pleasure, stroking his cock slowly as he came down, almost collapsing on top of you. He wanted to watch you clean yourself, forcing you to wipe his spend off your body with your fingers, sucking it off before swiping for more, but alas, his little dragon was sleeping and knew better than to wake you. He needed now, more than ever, for you to be awake.

Aegon tucked himself back into his trousers and left the bed, searching for a rag to wipe you but could find none, only seeing your peasant clothes draped over a chair. The maids must've forgotten them, and he grabbed the dirty outfit stained with sweat and alcohol to clean his sin of your flesh. He looked out the window once he was done, throwing the clothes in a random spot for later.

At this point in the night, he realized where his highs would cease, and his thoughts would finally reign free. His chest felt empty, a horrid feeling of shame and guilt gnawing at his gut. No one would ever love him, he realized, not in the way he sought for. His mother was ashamed and disgusted at the mere thought of him. His brother filled all the criteria his Mother wanted him to, and his youngest sister, his... wife, stuck in a marriage she nor he wanted, forced to carry his heirs. His father often forgot he even existed in favor of Rhaenyra and her bastard children.

How would he ruin your life, Aegon wondered. It was inevitable. You, too, would surely follow the same pattern. You would hate him, be repulsed by his heinous actions, and become like everyone else. He heard you stir in bed behind him but did not care; you were still fast asleep. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, sniffing and willing himself not to let them shed as he crossed his arms for comfort.

"Aegon," he heard a soft voice behind him call. "What are you doing here?" He quickly wiped the tears from his face, rushing over to kneel on the opposite side of your bed.

You saw the wet streaks, his eyes bloodshot. "Are your alright?" You asked, sitting up as you grew more concerned.

"Yes, yes, little one. I am pretty alright. I was just stopping by to see how you faired after tonights events," he lied. You didn't believe him. Your mind slows as you think of what to say.

Though you were still angry at him for what he had done, you felt your heart soften at his broken face as you opened the covers on the other side of you. "Would you lay with me," you quietly spoke, doubling down as you saw his surprised expression. "Just for a little while until I fall back to sleep." Aegon did not hesitate to kick off his boots, shedding his wine-stained shirt as he climbed in. He, too, was desperate for companionship, as he always was.

You knew this was considered improper in royal customs, and you would most defiantly get into trouble if Daemon found out, but you didn't care. You could tell you, and Aegon needed some, if just for the night.

Aegon climbed into bed wordlessly. From the moment you met him, he was always the one to lead, and you were blank on how to proceed. He was afraid to say the wrong thing and have you refute your offer. You both lay there awkwardly, staring a the black ceiling in silence. You were still trying to figure out what to do.

You recalled childhood moments when you would crawl into Aunt Lyra's bed after Ma had scored you. It was almost second nature for her. She always knew how to help you and make you feel better.

You scooted closer to Aegon's stiff form, wrapping your arms around him as he turned. You did not speak. There was nothing to say as you squeezed him closer to you. Each other's presence was enough as you slowly drifted back to sleep. Eventually, his arms wrapped around yours as something akin to water slid down your skin.

Aegon is a mentally ill and emotionally stunted individual who does terrible things. Instead of mommy issues, he has "everyone in his family issues." I just wanna stroke that baby prince's cock and tell him what a good boy he is as he makes a mess of himself with his cum.

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meganwritesfanfics · 5 months

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Clandestine Meetings (Joel Miller x Reader) Chapter 5

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Joel Miller x Reader

Joel has tried his best to stay away from Y/N, but it seems the universe has other plans. When he runs into her on the street, the two confront their feelings and everything gets a lot more complicated.

Word Count: 1735

Rating M: For later chapters, angst, discussion of DV. Talk of injuries.

It was a good week or so before Joel saw Y/N again. Soon after the bomb incident, he and Tess had gone out to get supplies to trade. They usually didn’t stay away for more than a couple days, however even when they got back, Joel made it a point to only pick jobs at times when he didn’t think Y/N would show up. He felt guilty about the way he had treated her, however he knew Tess and Tommy were right. The feelings he had for Y/N, whatever they may have been were dangerous, not only for himself and the people around him but also for Y/N. He knew that her shit husband hurt her, and he didn’t want to be the cause of making it even worse. And so Joel’s world had fallen back into the colorless routine it had been before.

That was why when he had accidentally ran into her on the street, it had taken him by surprise. But what took him even more by surprise and what caused his entire body to vibrate with rage were the bruises that littered her face and neck. She had a black eye, a busted lip, and what looked like finger bruises from where someone had gripped her neck tightly.

The minute he laid eyes on this, he roughly grabbed her by her shoulders, turning her so she was looking at him, taking her completely by surprise.

“Who the fuck did this to you.” He snarled his eyes darting between each bruise.

“Joel?” Y/N asked shocked.

“Was it that fucking husband of yours,” Joel continued. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Suddenly Y/N pushed Joel back hard snapping him out of his rage.

“Why the fuck do you care.” Y/N snapped. “A few days ago you wanted nothing to fucking do with me, and now you are going to commit murder for me?”

“Y/N,” Joel sighed as he looked around to make sure that no one was watching them.

“No, Joel, when I had come back I was going to ask you… I thought you…” Y/N groaned, “Ugh forget it, listen I get it, I’m a pain in your ass right, I cause problems right, I waste your precious fucking time right!” She screamed and her screams were starting to grab peoples attention.

Quickly Joel grabbed her hand and dragged her into a near by ally. As much as she protested and fought him.

“Y/N,” He said calmly but still she fought him. “Y/N!” He shouted as he gently took her face in his hands and she instantly went quite. “Listen to me, I had meant what I said before, if anyone hurts you, especially your husband, I want you, no I need you to come to me, I will take care of it.”

Y/N reached up and wrapped her hands around Joel’s wrists as she sighed.

“I can’t keep up with your mood swings Joel.” She said quietly all the anger fading into sadness. “One moment you are nice and boarderline sweet and the next you are an absolute dick.”

Joel dropped his hands and took a step back as he looked at the ground.

“I’m sorry about before I… things are complicated.”

“Of course things are complicated, the world is fucked Joel. But I thought maybe I had found someone who made things just a little less complicated, someone who made things make some sort of sense. But I guess I was wrong.” Joel could see tears welling up in her eyes. “I better go, and don’t worry I will stay out of your life Joel.”

“Wait,” Joel reached out and grabbed her wrist and when he did she let out a loud cry. He instantly let go.

“I’m sorry, it’s… I fell the other day and…”

“You know you can cut the bullshit with me.” Joel instantly replied and Y/N just looked up at him her eyes filled with an awful sadness and yearning. “Can I see it?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before she walked forward and lifted her long sleeves so he could see her swollen and bruises wrist.

He seethed as he gingerly took her hand in his.

“It’s fine, I think it is only fractured.” She said and Joel’s head snapped up his eyes filled with rage.

“It is sure as shit not fine.”

“Well unfortunately it just is what it is.” She sighed as she took her hand out of his and pulled down her sleeve again.

“It doesn’t have to me.” Joel took a step closer towards her.

“I don’t really have another choice, if I leave, either he will kill me or he will send F.E.D.R.A. to do it.”

“I could kill him.”

“And then F.E.D.R.A. would kill you, not going to happen.” She snapped as she leaned up against the brick wall.

“Why are you with him?” Joel asked surprised at himself for the asking such a question.

Y/N couldn’t help but smirk sadly. “That is a story for another time cowboy.”

Joel made his way towards her putting one hand on the wall and leaned in closer to her.

“I’m sorry about what I said, I didn’t mean it. It’s just, I don’t think it is a good idea for you and I to hang around each other.”

“You afraid I’m going to get you roped into trouble Miller,” Y/N smirked a smile finally creeping its way back onto her face.

“It’s not just myself I’m worried about its Tess and…”

“Tommy?” She interrupted. Joel gave her an inquisitive look. “One upside to having a husband who works for F.E.D.R.A, I can get access to everyones files. How do you think I know so much about everyone.”

“You looked me up darlin’’?” Joel smirked inching even closer to Y/N.

“Oh I had to, with the dark and stormy aura you give off, I had to see what you were all about.”

They were silent for a moment, the space between them was growing smaller with each passing second.

“But you are right, it might be better if we just keep our separate ways. I don’t want to get you in trouble. And Tommy’s in enough shit as it is.”

Joel’s blood ran cold. And Y/N watched as Joel’s face fell and his eyes went wide with fear.

“Don’t worry F.E.D.R.A doesn’t know. But hell that boy does not do a good job hiding it, I could spot him from a mile away. You need to tell him to watch his back.”

Joel just nodded, his thoughts wandering off to nightmare he had about Tommy getting caught or killed. He could feel his chest start to tighten up and his vision start to blur.

“Joel,” Y/N called as she saw his demenor change. But to him her voice sounded far off, it echoed like she was in a tunnel. “Joel?” She called again as she placed her hand gently on his cheek. With her touch he steadied his vision righted itself and the tightness in his chest lessened. “Where did you go?”

In that moment, standing so close to her, her hand on his cheek, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to pull her in close to him and never let her go. His rational mind kept telling him what a bad idea that was, how many things could go wrong. But he didn’t care he just kept pushing those thoughts away. That was until he thought about Sarah, and the ever familiar constant pain he felt flared up again. He couldn’t feel that pain again, not in any capacity. And it was too risky to open his heart up again. Especially since Y/N didn’t seem like she had any plans to leave her abusive huband.

Clearing his throat, Joel backed up crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“So what are we going to do?” He asked.

“About what?” She said hurt at his distance.

“About us?”

“Is there an us?”

“I mean… I don’t want to not help you when you need it. But I also got to think about keeping Tess and Tommy safe.”

“Yeah,” She looked down at her feet sadly.

“And I like being around you.”

“I like being around you too.”

“Is there anyway I can get you to just keep your head down and try not to cause problems?”

“Not a chance.” Y/N snapped her head up to look back at him.

Joel sighed sadly. “That’s what I thought.”

They stood silent for a few moments, and Y/N could feel herself starting to get choked up.

“So I guess that’s it.” Y/N said.

“Y/N…”

“Well, it was nice knowing you Joel Miller. I hope you have a good life, I mean, as good as any of us can hope for in this shit storm.” Y/N started to walk away and Joel stayed behind watching her.

She hadn’t even made it out of the ally before she stopped. “Oh fuck it.” She mumbled under her breath as she turned and marched back to Joel.

“Y/N?” Joel asked confused.

“Kiss me.” She snapped and Joel froze.

“Wha…”

“There is this feeling between us, and I hope to God you feel it to, but it feels so different than anything I have felt in a while. I can’t explain it but when I am with you, things feel better. It’s almost like you bring color…” She started when Joel quickly pulled her into him and kissed her.

The spark that he felt in his stomach when their lips met, sent goosebumps all over his skin. This kiss wasn’t just a normal run of the mill kiss, this was something more. It made his chest tighten but not in a bad way. And when he felt her open her mouth slightly and he deepend the kiss, he thought his heart was going to explode.

They broke away only to breath, and when they look at each other they both smiled, Joel’s hands on her face, his thumb rubbing her cheeks.

“Not bad cowboy.” She smirked.

“Oh I’m just getting started darlin’ “ Joel growled seductively as he kissed her again, pushing her back into the brick wall.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #fanfic #tlou

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writing-fanics · 2 years

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𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔲𝔰 𝔵 𝔉!ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

chapter one: dancing in the moonlight > chapter two: so this love

«summary: Dream decides to go to a ball. Where the L/n’s are trying to find their daughter a courtship»

<warning: dream : huge amounts of sexual tension : dancing with dream (you will be squealing) : mentions of familial death>

a/n: just imagine that howls moving castle theme song exists during this time. reference to Dickensian (but isn’t Arthur Havisham just uses his last name not affiliated with his character) also my best at writing a romantic dance scene.

Play this when you get to the dance scene (Merry-Go-Round-Of Life-)

She stood in the corner of the room. Her hands held the delicate wine glass; raising it to her lips. Sipping on the wine. Unamused by the party going on around her turning towards her friend, “This party is such a bore.” She groaned, taking a sip of her wine.

“Oh, come on Y/n enjoy the party.” Susan exclaimed. Looking at (Y/n) who rolled her eyes in response.

“Ah, yes a party just so I might find a courtship.” (Y/n) seethed, watching the young men around the room.

“You’ve declined every single one so far brought before you.” Susan said, and (Y/n) chuckled.

“Yes, and I enjoy it. It’s rather fun doing so. Since I have no intentions of marrying someone who only cares for my looks and my status and wealth.” (Y/n) says, finishing up her wine and placing the glass on the draw as a servant walks by.

“But you might find the one tonight.” Susan says, wiggling her eyebrows causing (Y/n) to giggle. “Such rarity that will be.” (Y/n) says, folding her arms across her chest not interacting with the crowd.

“Oh, look here comes Lord Havisham.” Susan said, causing a groan to escape (Y/n)’s mouth.

(Y/n) forced a smile on her lips as she greeted him, raising her hand for him to kiss. “You look rather ravishing tonight, Lady L/n,” He says, and she smiled disdainfully.

“Thank you,” She said, letting her hand fall to her side. As she looks at him annoyed, this man has been practically throwing himself at her for months. “Might I say, doesn’t your wife know that you’re here?” She asks.

“Flirting with another woman? I mean it’s quite ungentlemanly to try and court another.” She replies.

“I’m sure your wife would be furious.” She said, then looks over to the other side of the room. Seeing Mary talking to (Y/n)’s little sister.

“There she is over there.” She grinned, and he looked towards his wife’s direction his face red as he stormed away.

“You won’t tell her will you?” He asked, a smug smile grew on her lips.

“Why, shouldn’t I. Your advances towards me are quite unwelcomed and I’ve declined you many times.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

She began walking towards his wife, when he grabbed her roughly by the wrist. “You dare touch me without my permission.” She seethed, her face red as she glared at him.

“You’ve got no right talking back to me.” He said, and she laughed at him.

“No right? I have the right to decline a man who’s practically throwing themselves at a woman who’s declined them many times before.” She roughly pulled away from his grip, walking towards his wife once more.

She walks towards his wife and whispers into her ear. Mary’s eyes widened as her head snapped into the direction of her husband.

His face paled as she stormed towards him grabbing him roughly by the ear. She swiftly thanked (Y/n). As she dragged him out of the party.

(Y/n) now standing in the corner of the room. Taking a glass of wine off the tray and sipping it, “I want this party to be over with.” She groaned, unamused by the party.

She couldn’t chat with Susan for she’s dancing. (Y/n) wanted to sneak out of the party and up to her bedchambers.

“Might, I have this dance?” A voice asked. She was about to decline until she saw the man before.

His silver blue eyes, his hair as black as a raven. Her voice got caught in her throat, he kissed her hand causing her cheeks to glow a tint of red.

“Yes.” She squeaked, she looked down embarrassed. She didn’t know why her heart was pounding against her chest.

As he lead her the center of the room. Then as if it were magic the band started playing her favorite song. She always imagined herself dancing in a field to this song.

Merry Go Round of Life. She didn’t know why she was feeling so nervous in the moment. Just moments ago she was fine sipping on her wine. She’s been asked to dance countless times. But none of them compared to this, he placed his arm just above her waist.

As the music began, they started dancing. (Y/n) stared into his eyes as they danced. She swore she could see the entire cosmos in his eyes. Her stomach fluttered as he his lips curled into a smile. Her cheeks turned a light shade of red.

His arm wrapped around her waist. Holding her close as they danced. Her heart pounding against her chest. The world around her seemed to stop. She’d just met this man and she already felt some sort of connection.

She stared into his eyes with wonder, as he looked down at her as they danced. She couldn’t help but him along to the song trying to calm her nerves, as well gently swaying her head to the music.

He spun her around gently heart once again skipping a beat. As they danced along to the music, others in the room watching as the young lady danced with the man.

She felt like she were a princess in a fairytale. She felt as if that they were dancing on a cloud. He spun her around once again, she felt as if she was losing more air even with this corset on. This felt like a dream and one she never wanted to wake up from.

She wanted to speak to say something. But her words got caught in her throat, all the blood in her body seemed to rush towards her cheeks. Giving it that red tint that spreads across her cheeks. This had to be a dream right? There isn't anyway this could possibly be real?

The nights rays seemed to reflect onto his eyes. His eyes sparkled as if his irises were made up of stars. Yet even as she looked into his eyes. She still felt a cold demeanor his eyes were giving off. Dream stared down at her as they danced her eyes seemed to sparkle, as the moons light crept through the windows. His arm wrapped around her waist and his around hers, as they danced in circle.

She couldn't stop staring into his eyes; seemingly getting lost in the stars as she did so. Her lips curled into a smile as she looked into his eyes. When his lips curled into a smile as he gazed down at her making her stomach flutter.

Susan's eyes widened seeing (Y/n) on the ballroom floor dancing. Her mouth dropped. (Y/n) turned towards her and smiled softly. That's when she noticed other people almost everyone was watching her dance with the stranger. Her eyes darted around the room seeing everyone standing in a circle.

"Everyone's watching." She whispered, her cheeks bright red. Not liking all the attention that she was getting from the guests. Susan being the good friend immediately took notice of her friends situation. Lily and Susan looked at each other and nodded, Lily let out a shrill scream.

Causing everyone to look towards her as Susan pretended to be passed out on the ground. As the guests ran over to see what the problem was, he seemed to take notice and they made their way towards the garden.

"It seems your friend caused a distraction so we might escape." He says, and moved her lips inward slightly. "Oh, yes seeming me dance was quite a shock for her." She said, and he looked down at her.

"I usually, reject those who ask me to dance." She said, as they continued to dancing. The music fading as they got further and further away from the party inside.

"Then why accept a dance with me?" He asked, and she looked up at him. Her cheeks turning a bright red, "I ah, I-I don't know." She replied, sheepishly. He raised his right eyebrow as he looked down at her, he pulls her closer to him causing her heart to skip as beat as they continued dancing.

She was about to ask for his name when she realized where they were. Her mother's flower garden. Rows and rows of beautiful flowers of different colors. Straight out of a fairytale. A little cottage lied further ahead a small cobblestone path lead up to it. Her smile faltered as she looked around the garden, "This was my mother's favorite place." She said, looking up at him.

The dancing now ceased, they released their hold on each other. She knelt down beside the flowers smiling as she looked at them, "She passed away when my little sister was born." She says, standing up and looking at him.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He says, and she smiled softly looking at him. Realizing because of her they stopped dancing, "Sorry, I stopped dancing without-" She sighed, looking down at her hands. He stepped closer towards her causing her to look up at him.

"I don't usually enjoy theses kinds of party." She says, looking at him and he smirked, as they walked alongside each other. "I don't usually enjoy parties either," He says, as they started walking down the stoned path of the garden.

"But this one was rather." He said, looking down the path alongside her, walking past an array of beautiful flowers. "Entertaining." He finishes, and she chuckles softly. "I could say the same thing." She replies, and he looked down at her as she grinned.

"I'm happy to hear that you've found the party entertaining." She says, their gaze met and her cheeks once again turned red. They stared at each other for a moment her heart pounding against her chest as she gazed into his eyes.

"Y/n, your father is looking for you!" Susan shouted, and (Y/n) looked up towards her and sighed, not wanting the moment between her and him to end.

"Sorry, I must be going." She says, sadly. "Farewell," He says, taking her hand bringing towards her lips and kissing it. She smiled, and his lips curled upward into a smile.

"Farewell to you too." She said, before removing her hand slowly from his grasp. Then turning to walk up the stairs, towards the inside.

She then realized she hadn't asked for his name. Stopping on the stairs. "Oh, I forgot whats your-" She turned around, "Name?" She finished, realizing that he had disappeared. She looked around any sign of him not finding any. She sighed walking up the stairs and back inside.

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