#Black Tide Brewing

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Your husband has been deeply troubled as of late. In an attempt to guide him from his distress, he brings a concern of his to light that only serves to tip you into your own fears.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Nonsexual nudity, AFAB implied w/ usage of "breasts," the title "wife" is used. Angst and some fluff. Small hints of morally gray reader. She's simply in love with her demented husband.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: 5.6k words. Just something short and sweet; I had to write a comfort fic for our favorite, pretty war criminal after the season finale. But I may have just made it worse actually. Not proofread.

It is all teetering into chaos. Suspended along the edge of a great precipice. The depths of which you cannot spy the bottom of. The worry, the agitation looms heavily over the castle. Over the entirety of King's Landing. Buzzing and constant like the bothersome scattering of flies. And where there are flies, death is near. You see the dread in their eyes. The fearful whispers that are passed between the bowed heads of the servants as they work; the horrified, faithless gossip casted about by the socialites and bureaucrats as they traversed the halls in secretive conversations that are much louder than they believe. 

The tensions have only been mounted with the news that the Blacks have come into the resources of new dragonriders, the scales are looking as though they are tipping in their favor. It has all strained and on edge. With the order of the city's gates having been closed by Aemond's decree, the smallfolk have been up in arms against the order. Cries of outrage chanting and rising up from the masses in pleas against their Prince Regent. Protests that warn of starvation, proclaiming that he is cruel and uncaring. Not even the assured decimation of Sharp's Point by the scorching breath of Vhagar's fire has done anything to calm the storm brewing. 

The tides are still swelling. Churning and tossing to soon lift from above and collapse down upon all of your heads. The toll of it weighs heavy on all of you like the promise of damnation. Hope is dimming. The support it once offered giving underneath itself, curling in on its own body like a beheaded serpent. But it is the man who bears it all who is in the throes of violently crumbling underneath the burden of this war. 

You see it tearing at him. Pushing down on the once prideful set of his shoulders, pressing down upon the crown of his head so that it no longer sits perfectly high in unwavering confidence. The light of the zealous fire that once blazed within his eye has dimmed. Starved and suffocated; reduced to smoldering flickers light that mean to lash out in his near crazed attempts at preserving what little footing his still has in this war. 

It is almost as though he is dying right before your eyes. The final wild struggle of an animal caught between a set of fangs, claws and teeth lashing in the hopes to wound its bigger opponent. You have never seen him in such a state. The vulnerability that bleeds through the thin cracks in his armor worry you; unlike any sort of raw emotion that he has ever displayed before. It is fear. And it is almost unsettling to see on the face of your fearless husband. 

He is breaking directly before you, and now the only optimism you have of keeping him whole comes from the pressure of your own hands. 

His own mother has turned him away. You see it in the way she stares at him. Observing him as though he is a stranger, a monster wearing the flesh of her child - as though her name is not marked on this war just the same. It makes your skin prickle. Body flushing from heat and contempt as she silently disowns the very man who raises her banner, and fights in the name of his house. No one else will offer him solace as he labors underneath the crushing weight of the kingdom. Not his mother, not his sister, not the advisors in the king's counsel. It pains you to see him breaking. To see him scrambling to orient himself and find a way to victory with hardly an ally to assist him. 

So utterly lost. 

That is how you find when you slip into his apartments in the night. The candleflames flicker about the dim space in drops of amber, serving as your only guide to traverse the room in search of him. His bed and his writing desk are vacant of his presence. The latter cluttered and askew with parchment and documents, quills, vials of ink, and seal stamps strewn about its face. But it is the empty goblet of wine is what concerns you the most. He does partake in spirits quite casually, at supper and often when he evaluates the latest strategies before turning in for bed. You have yet to ever see him lose himself to the influence of the drink. Only indulging as a means to relax himself; a subtle rosy hue to dust his cheeks, but not enough to become untoward or dull-witted by its effects. 

But the circumstances now are so much different. You can only hope that he has not turned to it in the attempt to drink himself into a stupor or allowed himself to become sloppy from the sway of the spirit. 

"Aemond?" It is both a question and a call as your vision darts about the space, flickering back over to his bed to see if you might spot the impression of a body tucked underneath the drape of its blankets but they are flat and perfectly lain along the mattress. "My love, are you here?" 

It remains deathly silent. The only bit of noise belonging to the low whisper of the flames softly darting about their wicks in the draft that drags along the room; the delicate billow of the breeze drifting through the columns of the open windows, gliding into to the room from the guide of the wind that calls outside. Most of it sneaking in through the open threshold that conducts to the balcony. 

A low breath puffs from your chest. Hardly a sigh, but it dares you to feel relief as you step towards the entry way to near the stone platform the projects from the side of the castle. You notice the stars first. The bright, cosmic glimmer of them as they hang from their place within the silky black cradle of the darkened heavens. The faint lights of the city below nearly blending with the night sky, though the oily sheen of the lantern fires can hardly compete with the star dust above. 

In your observations, it does not take you long to spy the form of the prince, standing along the banister as he stares down at the city, bare hands gripping onto the rough barrier. You can see how tightly he clutches onto it from the tension in his fingers, stretched and taut along it so tightly that you fear the stone may crumble and break beneath his palms. Relief floods you at the sight of him, though it is quickly dulled and banished by the worry that replaces it. Snuffed by the rigid way he holds himself, as though he is only moments from snapping and giving in on the pressures of his own mind and collapsing upon the stone floor beneath his feet. 

He becomes hard on himself in times like these. No matter how indifferent he tries to project himself, the opinions and thoughts of others often swarm over him like a cloud of angered hornets, and it can be a trouble for him to shake. It is never easy to guide him out of his thoughts. You know that he is aware of your presence, but he has been caught too tightly within the chaos trapped within his mind to respond. The deluge of emotions that he often refuses to outwardly show too great. And knowing him, he has willingly turned himself in to the anger and the bitter spite that wars within him, finding solace in its familiarity. He is too stubborn for his own good, but that will never be enough to keep you from trying draw him out of it. 

Your feet seem to cross the stretch of the floor that separates you, silently carrying you to him with the soft patter of their soles along the chilled stone. He does not give you any indication that he is aware of your approach. Not the tilt of his head or a single murmured word in greeting, but he does not startle when your hands lift to sweep up his back. The leather of his doublet is tepid with the slight cold in the air and the warmth radiating from his body, smooth and buttery underneath your palms as they sweep around his torso to press him against you in an embrace. You let your cheek to rest along the flat of his shoulder, the silky strands of his hair tickling your skin; your lungs pulling in the subtle spice and musk of his scent. 

"You should come to your bed; it is getting late." You suggest, allowing your fingertips to toy with the metal clasps on the front of his garment, tracing the engravings in their shape. You nearly expect to get no response from him. For him to continue to wallow and torture himself alone in his silence. But then you feel it almost more than you hear it, thrumming along your hands from the depths of his chest as his voice rises out in a hum. The only verification that he has acknowledged your words. 

It is better than silence. A response from Aemond is better than naught in these circumstances. It gives you some hope that you may be able to usher him from the fog of his oppressions. 

"Come," you urge softly. "You have fretted yourself enough." 

"Have I?" It comes from him in that serene tone of his but the bite at the edge of it is more than apparent. You know that it is not aimed at you. Not directly, at least. In his mind, and on the battlefield, he has been backed into a corner, and like an animal it causes him to lash out and bare his teeth, even at things that are familiar. "That seems to be everyone's judgement as of late. I suppose I should listen then, hmm? Roll over and brandish my belly for Rhaenyra's dragonriders to feast upon. Would that satisfy you then?" 

"It would not, and you know that." Your voice comes out much firmer than intended, though you do not feel guilt over it. For someone so logical, Aemond is often swept over by his emotions and the voice of reason is easily drowned out. "Look at me, please." 

He makes no attempt shift from his stance, continuing to stare out along the horizon. Watching the city in its slumber, and you have to wonder if he is imagining it in a state of ruin. Preparing for the worst already. Bracing for the destruction that has yet to come. Picturing the roofs and spires lit aflame in a blaze so great that it would turn the night into day, smoke twisting up to the heavens to brush against the stars. 

You loosen your grip around him, giving yourself enough separation just to stand along his shoulder so that you are able to look upon his face. He refuses to meet you vision with his own. The pale glint of his eye now dark underneath the cover of the night as he peers ahead. But already you are able to spot so many different emotions reflecting within it. A confused storm: anger, bewilderment, sorrow, loss. You know that he must feel as though he is drowning. Caught and strung along by his responsibilities. Pulled between the pressures of his duties and the rejection casted by his mother. So many conflicting obligations with no way to properly juggle them. You know that you have no true way of guiding him through the blood and fire of this war. Of the strategies that it requires. But you can hope to be some kind of support. A beacon breaking through the thick wall of an oncoming tempest. 

You lift a hand up to his face, sweeping your fingers past the shape of his jaw to cradle his cheek, feeling the texture of the scar underneath your palm. You are gentle in your direction when you guide him to look at you, and despite his earlier remark, he allows you shift his head to you willingly. Leaning into the weight of your hand as his eye darts to meet yours. The confusion and torment burn inside the pale hue of it, glinting far brighter than the traces of light reflecting along the angles carved into his jeweled eye.  

You are nearly surprised that he has not removed the sapphire yet. You know that it often ails him. When the precious stone absorbs the chill around it, or the dull edges catch along the sensitive flesh of its cradle. Rattling about his socket and causing the tender tissue within to ache and swell with irritation. Another punishment for himself it seems. Intent to burry down inside his own suffering. 

"You must stop this insistence on driving yourself towards your own destruction. You will find no answers by forcing yourself awake at night, ruminating over the criticisms of your mother. Of the council."

Something venomous passes through his expression, but it is quickly traded out by what looks to be exhaustion and a diluted sense of irritation. A subtle furrow pinched between his brows; lips lightly pursed.  "What would you have me to? Laze about all day on my bed. Stuffing my gullet with wine as my brother would while our enemies close in around us?" 

"No." You reply promptly, allowing your hand to drop from its place, running your thumb along his cheek in a final caress as it falls to your side. You do not miss the way that his head nearly bends to follow its wake. "I would have you rest. An eased mind is a sharp one. " 

"Rest." He echos in a murmur, allowing the word to roll off his tongue as though it is a foreign one. "Rest is not something that I am afforded. Each moment of "rest" is another second allotted for our enemies to draw closer."  

You understand his reasoning. His anxieties are not unfounded. But that does not make them any less frustrating. His intellect, the determination that fuels him and wit of his tongue have always been some of his most endearing qualities to you. It drew you towards him like a siren song. But all of those traits are currently making you feel as though you could bludgeon your head against a thick wall. You fear that he will collapse underneath their breadth.

"They will draw near regardless of your slumber or not. " That stubborn expression on his face remains undeterred. Still fully unconvinced it seems. Or perhaps he seems to be resisting against your wishes because he is merely in search of some sort of victory, no matter how measly in spirit it is. And as much as you would like to indulge your husband in his efforts in feeling vindicated, this is not a battle you can allow him to win. Not for his sake. "If you will not do it for yourself then do it for me. Comfort your wife. That is too apart of your duties is it not?" 

You notice his nostrils flare, his chest rising suddenly as he draws in a deep breath. Likely to ground his own irritation. His eye shimmers lowly in the dim cast of the candlelight projecting from the confines of his room, spilling out past the threshold to dance along the dark blue of the sapphire. Like sunlight scattered about the shifting face of an ocean. He is angry. That much is and has been apparent. Left astray to dangle and thrash along the fraying support of a rope. You only wished that he would allow you to catch him instead of treating you like the ones who have tied him to the line. 

But you notice something waver in him then. The breaking of a dam. The thawing of ice. The vulnerability displayed could destroy you if you allowed it. To cause you to fall apart underneath the sheer sense of raw loss and uncertainty. He is so troubled. So lost. Forced to display a facade of unwavering poise and resolve no matter the dangers that prevail ahead. Constantly trailing after the role that he was not allowed to fulfil despite being better suited and now left to stand alone as the support of his own house falters. Superior enough to be wielded as a trump piece in combat, in council, but not benefitting enough to bear the title of king in the eyes of the advisory and his family. An injustice you can hardly stomach yourself. 

"Come," you urge once again. You voice much lighter than before, softened by the distress in his gaze. There is still a hesitance in him. The reluctance to relinquish what little control he still has over himself, but that control seems to snap when your hand closes over his, fingers threading to join them. It only takes a slight tug for him to follow. The fight in him absolving to trail after you, allowing you to guide him back into his chambers and away from the open, chilled air of the night. 

The atmosphere within the safety of the apartment walls is much warmer. Almost balmy along you skin, perfumed with the scent of wax and ink. Another reminder of the documents and worries that he tirelessly toils over. The bloodshed and the possibility of dragonfire. But you push it all to the recesses of your mind. Burying it all deep in favor of escorting him to the side of his bed. It is only then that you allow your hand to remove from his, and you mourn the loss of his warmth against your palm. 

"Remove your clothes," you order gently. You notice just the faintest hint of amusement nudging at the corner of his mouth. The possibility of a smile, though it does not fully come. You can still see the traces of his mirth. Of lust as well. Even while he does not properly convey it, you allow your delight to grace upon your expression. Your lips lifting upward as you shake your head to admonish him delicately. "Not tonight." 

He makes no complaints as he begins to unfix the clasps of his doublet. Unhooking the fine metal rungs with lithe fingers to shed the garments, uncaring as it lands along the floor. He is just as nonchalant about the rest. Shedding and discarding his undershirt and his breeches just as quickly after tugging of his boots. Baring his nude form to you. It is a state that you have seen him many times before, but still, you are unable to keep yourself from tracing the agile shape of his body. Admiring the swell of strength in his arms, the defined cut of muscle along his torso, the flaccid condition of his cock hanging between his thighs. 

The spike of heat that rushes throughout your being is tempting, but currently unwelcome. On any other night you would have basked in it. Pursued after the warmth and hedonism, but this is not one of those nights. When you manage to will yourself to meet his eye, you are forced to notice the smirk that lifts at the curled edges of his mouth. Satisfied and preening underneath your salacious attentions. 

"Not tonight, ābrazȳrys?" His inquiry is teasing and arrogant. And finally, for the first time since you have sought him out you see the man that lies beyond the pain and distress. The man that strides about the kingdom with his head lifted high. A head deserving the weight of a crown. 

"Not tonight, my love. " You answer, both a playful jab and a truth as you pluck at the neckline of your shift to allow it to join his clothes along the chilled stone beneath your feet. He only offers a velveteen hum in response as his eye sweeps over you. Just as gluttonous as yours had been as you move to climb astride the bedding, making sure to toss the blankets aside before shuffling to rest the flat of your back along the cushion of his pillows and the embellished headboard behind them. You sit, unfaltering underneath his focus. If anything, the crude nature of his observations only emboldens you. Even past the reasonings of lust. He views you as though you were crafted just for him. Sewn together by the gods and animated by stardust and earth to be worshipped and praised by his sight and hand. 

You like to believe that he was born for the same purpose. A god amongst men built by fire, wind and blood. Designed to be revered by your voice and mouth. He is beautiful beyond compare. Fierce in his loyalty and cunning. Unrelenting in his determination and ferocity. Like a deity of war. 

He does not wait for a cue as he follows after you, climbing along the bed and into your waiting arms to lie himself within the cradle of your hips, draping the length of his body along yours as he settles his head against the cushion of your stomach. He allows himself to go pliant against you. Indulging in your warmth just as you do with him. The heat radiating from him making you turn lax. The both of you melding to each other. You observe him at his place tucked into you. Admiring the pale fan of his lashes resting against the sharp contour of his cheekbones, the proud rise of his nose. He is gorgeous like this. As though he had been sculpted from a fine marble. The statue of a great god - a king - come to life. 

You glide you fingers through the silken, silvered strands of his hair. Combing your nails along his scalp and you are all but rewarded by the way that he seems to melt even more, the tension leaving his body. Going slack and supple; his nose daring to nuzzle along at your breasts as he attempts to burrow himself closer like he wants to bathe in your warmth. That stubborn furrow is still hitched between his brows. Immediately letting you know that his troubles have yet to be fully evicted from him. His mind is no doubt just as frenzied as before even though his body relents to the comfort of his bed and the weight of you. 

"You truly do stress yourself too much," you murmur. Your fingertips skirt downward, tracing along the nape of his neck, sweeping your thumbs along the sensitive skin at the edge of his scalp. A shudder trembles softly down his spine. "It does not suit such a pretty face." 

His lips twitches again, though that furrow comes back with a vengeance. His brows cinching close in the guise of annoyance, and if it were not the fleeting appearance of that brief smile then you would have truly believed him to be angry. "I have no ear for listening to your jests, lady wife. " 

"Not a jest," you promise playfully. "I wouldn't dare. " 

Another low, rumbling hum rises up from his chest in the semblance of a response. His chin tilts back just the slightest, baring his throat to you. Offering it to you as you move your hands downward to cradle the sides of his face, fingertips gliding along the edge of his jaw. The contented noise he makes nearly reminds you of the purrs that leave Vhagar as she lounges along the forest floor. The pleased growl of a dragon. A tranquil silence drifts along the room, as though it is brought in by the tepid breeze that glides in through the threshold of the balcony. It is calm. Peaceful for once. It feels as though it has been years since an hour without fear or dread has haunted you. And finally, it is simply you and your husband. Free to relax and just simply exist. To lounge within the warmth of each other as though you were lying under the sun. Untouched by war and bloodshed. 

You continue to massage your fingers along the shape of his skull, combing them through his hair and lightly scratching your nails along the sensitive skin almost absentmindedly as you allow your own head to rest against the board of the bed. The lull of sleep is already calling. Inviting and comforting in its beckon as the influence of it threatens to take ahold of you, but a part of you resists. Insistent on enjoying the dulcet pleasure of this moment. Intent to stretch it out for as long as possible before it slips away from you and the both of you must return to your duties. To the horrors of the world. It is here that you are safe. He is safe. 

"We should make contingencies in the event of my death." 

The quiet sound of his voice, the words abruptly registering in your mind feel as though they gut you once they are fully understood. Just the prospect of it has your heart skipping, fluttering wildly within your chest and your hands are forced to pause; smooth tresses caught between your fingers. Your eyes snap open as you head bows to look down upon him from his place against your torso. He is already watching you, the sapphire gleaming sharply in the firelight but the pale hue of his eye is soft despite the sobriety of his words. You see clearly without asking that this is not some sort of twisted attempt at morbid, tactless humor. He is well and truly serious. A dull wave of nausea wells up in the pit of your stomach as you watch him. 

"What has brought this about?" You ask sharply. There is a raised edge in your tone. Defensive and unsettled, but your vulnerability is also apparent. Easily heard with the way that your breath snags in your throat. 

"It is only an honest concern. " He answers, but it is clipped. A bear explanation and it gives way that he is dodging the question. Offering scrap to appease you. "One that I should have prepared for long ago, when this war was little more than a whisper on a gossips lip." 

"I won't hear of it." 

"You are my wife," he insists. But with each utterance it only drives a slash of phantom pains into the depth of your heart. You swear that you can hardly manage to pull in a single lungful of air. "That does not shield you but make you a target. And we cannot expect to win this battle with Vhagar alone. If I were to be slain, they may very well come for you. A trophy of this conflict-"  

"Aemond, that is enough." It comes out as a warning. Or perhaps a plea. It is so difficult to know. It is impossible to tell when you feel as though you are breaking in half even while he rests safely inside your embrace, confronting you with the single thing that you have always feared. The single terror that gnaws and bites and lashes at your heart and spirit every time that he sits astride Vhagar and lifts into the air for battle. The horror that he may never come back. It had eaten at you when he had snuck off to Rook's Rest without your knowledge, only to return hours later smelling pungent of dragonfire and the acrid sting of smoke. 

His lip's part, a rebuttal no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but it is quickly snuffed out by the desperate plea of your voice. A final beg of mercy.  

"You are my love, Aemond. Without you I cannot live." You nearly hate the sound of the raw emotion that pitches from your chest, but you are unable to control it. The intensity of it far too great. Welling up within you until it seems as though you may drown in your own trepidations. That your lungs will be squeezed in its grip until you suffocate on your own anguish. Your fingers thread around his hair, seeking out the warmth that lies underneath as though your mind requires confirmation that he is still here with you. Safe in your bed. "You are not allowed to die. Promise me, Aemond. Promise that you will return to me."

His eye skirts along your face, as though committing your features to memory. You can tell exactly where his vision lands from the weight of the concentration in his gaze as he studies the structure of your lips, the sweep of your cheekbones, the shade of your eyes. It is awful how much it feels as he is staring at you as though it will be his last. 

"Please," you whisper once more. 

A plethora of emotions flicker along his countenance. Time seems to be frozen when he lifts himself from your grasp. Your hands leave him reluctantly, clutching onto the sheets alongside you to stave off the urge to reach for him. But you are stopped when he rises to nudge his head to your own to meet your eyes. It gives you no other options but to meet his eye. To face the intensity and adoration that burns within it. The flecks of violet and azure seeming to blaze with his fervency. 

"I promise, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys, I will return to you. Be it a thousand years in this life or the next, no man nor god will keep us apart." 

A sob could have torn itself from your throat had you not a better grip on yourself. Though you do not have enough control to manage in articulating a response. You can only nod, lifting your hands once again to grip at the junction of his neck and shoulders. Needing to feel the warmth of his flesh underneath your palms. His lips are soft as they press against yours. Simultaneously gentle and hungry as they coax yours into a kiss. It is languid. Unhurried but no less passionate. 

It is like a balm on the tearing placed upon your soul. Soothing and mild. You sigh into his mouth, drawing each other's air inside of your lungs in between the starved presses of your mouths. Holding scraps of the other within the pocket of your chests. But just as quickly as it had begun, he pulls away from you. Though he hardly gives you time to voice your complaints or to mourn as he guides you both to settle along the bedding. Mapping out your face with the fleeting brush of his lips, scattering them along your face until you both lay side by side to gaze upon each other. 

You cannot bear to look away from him now. The mere idea of it sounds akin to death. You are not sure how long you remain in that state. Simply beholding each other. Counting the breaths that he takes, how they puff across your face in warm brushes along your nose and cheeks. The candlelight has lightened his hair with glows of burning amber, as though molten gold has been spilled upon the pale strands; highlighting the contours of his body. Like a deity of light. Of fire.  

There is a peace in his expression now. And you are not certain if that concerns or alleviates you. The corners of his mouth have perked into a content smile, his eye unblinking in his admiration as though he is at peace. Sweeping over the shape of your breasts and rise of your hips down to the length of your legs. But it is untouched by lust. It is simply observing. Peaceful in his exploration of a body that he has touched many times already. As much as you would like to remain that way, fixed beneath the worship of his stare, you are unable to keep yourself from nudging yourself closer. Too weak to hold yourself back from returning him back into your arms where he is safe. Untouched by the war he wages. Protected from the consequence of dragonfire and sword. 

You rest you nose along the crown of his head, drawing in the scent of spice and wind that clings to his hair in the hopes of calming yourself. Of ripping yourself from the influence of your own worries and escaping the control of sleep that threatens to possess your body despite your terror. You want to focus only on the weight of him. The heat of his skin. The steady rise and fall of his breath. The press of his face tucked beneath your chin. 

"Sleep, ābrazȳrys." His voice thrums against your chest. It seems that even when he is not watching you, you are unable to escape his perceptiveness. That you cannot hide from the from him. He knows you too well; he feels the tension in your muscles, in your silence. Still, despite the urge to fight his tender order and to resist the weight of sleep, it is growing difficult. The urge to slumber is heavy on your eyelids, nudging them to close. And the comfort of his scent in your lungs only goads you closer. "I will be here when you wake." 

It sounds like another promise. And the assurance rings heavy in your ears, giving your mind the permission that it seems to have needed in order to welcome the blanket of rest. But all the while, as you descend into your slumber, you can only give yourself the solace that he is still here. As of now he is safe. Guarded from blood and death under the shield of the night. Drawn into an embrace while you both sleep as pair of lovers. 

[gubsbuubs]

Sunshine Brews

Pairing: MGG x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3K

Warnings: none just pure fluff

Summary: Just a little meet-cute with MGG and a barista where they realize they have something in common, a necklace.

A/N: I don’t usually write fluff but I had this cute idea. Let me know if you want a series out of this! Hope you all enjoy it!

Any and all comments are appreciated - English is not my first language. Requests are open 🍒

"Blueberry muffin and one caramel latte, extra shot!" Y/N called out to her coworker over the noise of the espresso machine. The cozy coffee shop felt warm and inviting, with the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Only a few patrons were scattered around, enjoying their drinks and pastries. It was slow at the moment, with the usual larger queue reduced to just two customers in line—Mary, the regular she was tending, and a man who waited after her.

"Here's your receipt, have a great day!" She extended her arm with a smile, as Mary thanked her and took it before finding a seat by the window.

The movement on the other side of the counter drew Y/N's attention to the new customer. As he appeared from behind Mary, he moved closer to place his order. Y/N's eyes lifted from where Mary had been standing, her gaze now caught by a tall man with a mop of tousled curls framing his face.

He wore a fun patterned shirt, the colors vibrant against the light filtering through the café windows. A small green neck scarf added a touch of flair, giving him a stylish and approachable vibe.

His eyes moved from the lettering and small drawings on the black chalkboard to meet the girl behind the register. She held a big smile, and he couldn't help but notice how it lit up her eyes, "Welcome to Sunshine Brews! What can I get for you today?"

"Good afternoon," he replied, his voice soft. "How are you doing..." He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the counter, as he squinted his eyes, clearly trying to read the tag placed on the right side of her chest. "...John?" His brows furrowed in confusion. He didn't want to assume anything, recognizing that names could be diverse, but his uncertainty was evident in his expression.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at his confused look. "Oh, that's not my name. Easy mistake, though! I'm covering for a friend named John today." She tapped her nametag lightly.

"He had a little issue, so someone…" She motioned to herself dramatically, exaggerating her words, "had to come in and save the day."

He chuckled at her theatrics. "What a good Samaritan we have here today," he teased lightly "Shouldn't you be sainted for your heroic deeds?"

She playfully shook her head, "You know… sometimes I think I should be,"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his expression genuinely curious. "And what would your saintly name be?"

She tilted her head slightly back, considering his question for a moment. Then, with a slight raise of her eyebrows, she declared, holding her finger up in the air, " How about Saint Y/N of the Extra Shifts"

"Saint Y/N of the Extra Shifts," he repeated thoughtfully. "I can already see the halo glowing faintly above your head."

"Well, someone had to do it, or you wouldn't have your coffee. Aren't you glad it was me?" She teased.

"Absolutely, Saint Y/N,"

"Well, I know you didn't come here to put up with my stupid jokes, so what can I get you started with?" Y/N quipped.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I loved that stupid joke," his gaze was warm as he met her eyes. "I'm glad your friend John didn't make it, because I'm really enjoying our conversation."

"Yeah, but good conversation won't fill your stomach,"

"You're so wise," he added in a sarcastic tone before glancing at the menu thoughtfully. "I think I'll go with a latte and..." He paused, his gaze flicking back up to meet hers. "Do you have any recommendations for a light bite? Something to tide me over until dinner?"

Y/N nodded "Our avocado toast is a popular choice," she suggested, gesturing towards the menu board. "Or we have fresh pastries if you're in the mood for something sweet."

"Avocado toast sounds perfect,"

"Coming right up," Y/N replied cheerfully. "That'll be eight dollars and fifty cents. And what's the name for the order?"

"Matthew," he said, handing her a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Well, thank you," she said, extending her arm across the counter to hand him the receipt. Then she turned to her coworker, who was tasked with making the orders. "Hey, can you get me a latte and avocado toast?"

Glancing around the relatively empty café, Matthew´s eyes fell on a couple of stools just a few steps away from the counter. He pondered for a moment, he was enjoying the conversation with Y/N, and if he sat at a table, even one nearby, he wouldn't be able to continue their chat as easily. Noticing how there was no movement and he was the latest customer, he decided to sit by the counter, keeping the option open for more interaction.

Y/N placed some napkins and a sugar jar in front of him. "Here you go, just in case," she said with a friendly smile.

"Seems to be slow at the moment," he remarked casually, his eyes flicking back to her.

"Well, lucky for you, it means I have all the time to entertain you " she teased, tapping her fingers against the counter.

"Is that part of the saintly services you offer? Entertainment along with the coffee?"

Y/N chuckled, nodding with mock seriousness. "Oh, absolutely," she replied, matching his playful tone. "But you know, entertainment comes with an extra charge. Saintly services aren't free, you know."

Matthew feigned surprise, his eyes widening in mock indignation, leaning back slightly. "What's the going rate for entertainment these days? Should I be worried about breaking the bank?"

Y/N leaned closer. "Since you're new here, I'll make you an offer," she whispered conspiratorially. "Today's entertainment will be on the house if you promise to come back for more."

Matthew's expression shifted in contemplation as he pretended to consider her offer. He scratched his chin lightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, Saint Y/N, you're making it hard to refuse," he teased, his voice low and playful.

After a brief pause, he extended his pinky finger toward hers. "Alright, deal. I promise to come back,"

The pinky promise sealed the deal, and for a heartbeat longer than expected, their fingers intertwined. Y/N felt a rush of warmth as Matthew's gaze locked onto hers, their faces closer than they should be as they both leaned on either side of the counter.

"You better keep that promise now,"

Just then, Y/N's coworker arrived at the counter with his order in hand "Good afternoon," she said, breaking the brief silence. "One latte and avocado toast for Matthew."

"That's me," he replied with a nod, his attention momentarily on the girl as she set the food down in front of him. "Thank you." As the coworker walked away, Matthew's eyes shifted back to Y/N that had stepped back slightly to give room for her friend.

As he bit down on the toast, Matthew's gaze fixated on Y/N and he couldn't help but notice the faint blush that adorned her cheeks.

Unaware of his lingering gaze, Y/N observed the street outside while she ran her fingers through her hair with a casual grace. She swept it up momentarily before letting it fall behind her shoulders, and Matthew's eyes never left her, observing each movement with a keen interest.

His gaze lowered from her cheeks to her lips, tracing the delicate curve of her jawline down to her now exposed neck. It was then that the soft ambient light caught the glimmer of a pendant she wore, casting a gentle glow upon it.

Matthew's breath caught slightly as he noticed, recognizing it in an instant. His surprise was palpable. "Wait a minute," Matthew choked out, his mouth half full of avocado toast.

"Wha…. What?" Y/N asked, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor.

Matthew lifted a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to wait as he swallowed. His eyes were wide with excitement as he pointed at her. "You're wearing my necklace," he finally exclaimed.

Her hand instinctively went to the delicate pendant around her neck, feeling its familiar weight. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's my necklace," he repeated, a smile spreading across his face as he pointed at it.

Y/N furrowed her brows. "I think you might be confused," she stated calmly but firmly. "My nephew gave this to me as a present, so it's not yours... I'm pretty sure it's mine."

Matthew chuckled softly, "That's not what I meant..." He trailed off, leaning back slightly on the stool as he took a sip of his latte.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a puzzled expression crossing her features. "I'm so confused right now," she admitted.

"You have no idea, do you?" he said, his smile growing wider.

She shook her head no , feeling a mix of amusement and frustration. "Well, then please enlighten me," she replied, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Matthew set the cup down with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly. His hand moved the scarf around his neck, and with a subtle movement, a small golden chain appeared from under it. His fingers reached inside his shirt, pulling out a pendant identical to Y/N's, hanging from the necklace.

"What the..." was all Y/N could mutter as she lounged forward, holding her upside-down necklace side by side with his. "I had no idea that's what you meant. My nephew talks about him all the time, but I never realized he was so popular," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Matthew grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction. "It's always surprising to see where that little guy pops up."

"It's the first time I've met someone who knows about this book. It's such a cool coincidence." With a gentle release, Y/N let go of his necklace, but she remained there, her arms resting on the counter.

"Oh, I don't just know it, I really know it," he said with a playful smirk.

She raised an eyebrow, "Have you read it a lot or something?" she asked, "Do you also have a small child that begs for the same story every time?"

Matthew shook his head in amusement, leaning down for another bite of his avocado toast. "No," he replied, a chuckle escaping as he chewed.

"So…. just a grown man enjoying children's literature, then?" she quipped. "Not weird at all." she laughed

As Matthew swallowed, a small burst of air escaped through his nostrils, causing a soft laugh. It was incredibly funny how unaware she was of the punchline that was about to be delivered. "Y/N," he said once his mouth was clear, "I wrote the book."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her playful grin faltering for a moment as she processed his words. "Wait, what?"

He was clearly enjoying her flabbergasted expression. "You heard me," he said with a smile.

It was clear that the revelation had caught her off guard, her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies,"

Her mouth snapped shut, and her cheeks flushed faintly as she processed the information. "You're… You´re joking, right?" She managed to stammer.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He replied, his tone playful yet somewhat serious. He continued to watch her, admiring the way her expression shifted from shock to disbelief to realization.

"Matthew?" she asked as her mind connected the dots and her mouth formed a small 'O' shape. "As in Matthew Gray Gubler?"

"The one and only." He laughed, leaning in closer, his voice quieter. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't announce it to the whole café."

Her cheeks flushed once more as she galanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, realizing her faux pas. "You're right, I shouldn't have reacted like that. Sorry."

He, in turn, smiled at her apologetic demeanor. "No worries," he replied, before taking the final bite of his toast. "This was so good," he said pointing at it.

Y/N completely disregarded his compliment. "Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing," she continued, starting to ramble. "I mean, no offense; I should've recognized you. I don't know what I was thinking. I really am sorry for not recognizing you."

He swallowed the bite, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her struggle with her embarrassment. "Why are you apologizing?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting on the countertop. "Well, because you're like a celebrity," she began, stumbling over her words. "I mean, I haven't seen your face on TV in a while, but I should've recognized it." She paused, searching for the right words.

"You really don't need to apologize," he assured her, his voice soft and reassuring as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop, his eyes locked with hers "Believe it or not I enjoyed being just a regular person. It's refreshing to not be recognized every now and then."

She let out a soft exhale, her embarrassment beginning to subside. "I never thought about it that way," she admitted, her hands finally stilling on the countertop.

"Most people think being recognized all the time is a perk," he mused, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "But sometimes, it's nice to just blend in and be treated like everyone else."

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, a small smile forming on her lips. "I can imagine," she replied softly.

"So, you mentioned your nephew earlier, what´s his name?"

"Oh, right," she chuckled softly. "His name is Ethan. Adorable little guy," she said with a warm smile on her face.

"How old is Ethan?" he inquired, genuinely interested.

"He just turned nine," Her eyes sparkled with affection as she spoke of her nephew. "He's such a sweet kid. Always full of imagination." Her voice softened with fondness, "You should see him; he's convinced Rumple Buttercup is real and has adventures all around town. Sometimes I catch him drawing pictures of Rumple saving the day in his notebook." A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "He's got quite the imagination, that one…" She paused, "Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"No… No, pelase, continue." He took one more sip of his coffee before adding, "He sounds like quite a young artist."

"He really is," Y/N agreed. "He's always drawing something, whether it's Rumple or his own little creations. I've lost track of the number of drawings he's left around the house."

"You know," he began, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret, "I'm actually in town for a book signing at the library tomorrow." his voice even quieter as he added, "I'll be dressed as Rumple Buttercup and everything."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "No way, really?" She exclaimed softly.

"Really," he affirmed with a grin.

"Oh my god, we have to go," Y/N blurted out, her enthusiasm bubbling over. "Ethan would be over the moon!"

"Unfortunately, it's sold out," he admitted, his tone apologetic.

Her face fell, disappointment washing over. "Oh no…"

Before she could dwell on the disappointment, Matthew bursted into laughter. "But I might know someone who could get you in… This guuuuuuy" he said, playfully pointing to himself and breaking into a little dance.

Her disappointment quickly melted away as she watched Matthew's playful antics. She leaned against the counter, a wide smile spreading across her face as she giggled at his silly dance moves.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her laughter still bubbling under the surface.

Matthew nodded, his expression earnest and determined. "Dead serious. I can get you invitations," he affirmed.

"You're too much!" Y/N exclaimed with a playful shake of her head, still grinning from ear to ear.

Matthew chuckled softly. "Well, what can I say? I aim to please,"

She reached across the counter, intending to express her gratitude with a light touch on his arm. "I can't thank you enough for this," she said sincerely, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

Matthew smiled warmly as he looked into Y/N's eyes, his hand gently resting on hers "I'm the one who should be thankful," he began, "I got to enjoy this amazing toast with a delicious latte, just like a regular person. And as promised, I got some great company by a saint," he added with a playful wink, "and for free, may I add."

"Well, you did promise you would come back, so next time it's not for free,"

"Ah, you got me there," he admitted, feigning defeat. "I guess I did promise… And I always keep my promises."

"Good to know you're a man of your word," she replied, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

Matthew nodded, feeling a flutter of nervousness in his chest. He cleared his throat gently, watching as Y/N straightened up, her warmth lingering on his arm as she withdrew. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he glanced up at her with a hesitant smile.

"You should… you know… give me your number... for the invites, I mean," he said, his voice slightly uncertain.

Y/N met his gaze with a warm smile. "Sure," she replied softly, reaching for her phone on the counter. After a moment of tapping on the screen, she handed it to him. "Here you go."

Matthew chuckled softly to himself. "Saint Y/N," he remarked as he saw the saved number, "I should have seen this one coming."

"Well, it's so you know it's me," she replied playfully.

Matthew grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I still can't believe I had the pleasure of meeting a saint over avocado toast,"

She chuckled, leaning slightly against the counter. "Aren't you glad John couldn't make it today?" she teased.

Matthew raised an eyebrow playfully. "Really glad," he replied "I mean, John's is probably a great guy and all, but I doubt Sunshine Brews has the budget for two saints… So it looks like I lucked out today."

"Well, consider it a stroke of luck for both of us then," she quipped.

The gentle dinging of the bell at the top of the front door chimed, signaling the entry of a new customer. Y/N glanced up from the counter just in time to see a young woman step inside, followed closely by a man with a briefcase slung over his shoulder. Before she could even greet the first arrivals, another group of friends strolled in, causing the bell to ring again in quick succession.

Matthew chuckled softly at the increasing activity in the café. "It looks like it's getting busy," he remarked.

"Rush hour," she confirmed, her gaze briefly flicking to the clock mounted on the wall.

"I should probably go," Matthew said regretfully, rising from his stool. "I've definitely taken up a pretty considerable amount of your time."

"I'm glad you did," she said sincerely.

"I will text you later... about the … invites, I mean," he trailed off, clearly a bit flustered by his own suggestion.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly at his flustered response. "Bye, Matthew,"

"Bye, Y/N," Matthew replied with a smile, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned towards the door. "See you and Ethan tomorrow," he added, waving slightly as he exited.

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

@ohsnapitzmarvelficrec @crypticlxrsh @louiselouve @karmaswitch @just-pure-trash @yujyujj @cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @ithilwen-blackwood @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner @wolvestitches @idohknow @nyxbranwenn @asteria33 @nina6708 @r-3dlips

[boykisser4]

Humbled by Gojo's Heart

Warning: male reader, smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative, blaming of cheating....

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Gojo manipulates the reader to marry him Gojo treats the reader like a prince, making him fall in love with him, but then one day as Gojo and reader were on a date...reader talks to another guy making Gojo jealous. So he brings him home punishing him for "cheating"

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, where steel and glass skyscrapers kissed the heavens, a young man named Gojo Satoru went about his day with an air of unshakable confidence. His eyes, the color of freshly poured whiskey, scanned the crowded street, his mind racing with thoughts and plans. A gentle smile played upon his lips, hinting at secrets he held close to his chest. Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that whispered of wealth and power, he cut through the throng of people like a knife through warm butter. Gojo's presence was undeniable, a silent force that drew the gazes of passersby, though they couldn't quite place why.

Y/n, a male with a gentle disposition and a heart as vast as the ocean, had been swept off his feet by Gojo's charm. Their courtship had been a whirlwind of extravagant dates and passionate whispers under the moonlit sky. Every gesture, every touch, was a symphony of affection that resonated deep within the Y/n's soul. He felt like a prince in Gojo's arms, treated with a tenderness that bordered on worship. The days melded into a warm embrace, each moment a testament to the love that was growing between them.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Gojo took Y/n to an exclusive rooftop restaurant. The ambiance was perfect: soft jazz played in the background, the scent of exotic flowers filled the air, and the city lights twinkled like a million stars at their feet. They talked, laughed, and shared stories as they sipped on their wine, the conversation flowing as freely as the river that carved through the heart of the city.

But as the night grew darker, an unexpected encounter unfolded. Y/n was approached by an acquaintance—a friendly exchange that seemed innocuous at first. Yet, as the conversation grew longer, Gojo's smile began to waver. His eyes narrowed, the warmth in them retreating like a tide receding from the shore. A storm was brewing beneath his calm exterior, a storm that would soon unleash its fury.

As Y/n turned back to Gojo, a sense of unease settled in his stomach. The handsome man's grip on his glass tightened, the veins in his hand standing out like rivers on a map. "You're flirting with him," Gojo said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You're mine." The accusation was a knife in the reader's heart, a stark contrast to the sweet nothings they had shared just moments ago.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "I wasn't—" he began, but Gojo's hand was already on his arm, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go," he said, his grip painfully firm. Y/n looked back at his friend, who had the decency to look apologetic, before allowing himself to be led away.

In the back of the sleek, black limousine, the tension was palpable. Gojo's jealousy had transformed into a raging inferno, consuming the love-soaked air around them. His fingers dug into the reader's flesh, a silent warning of the punishment to come. Y/n felt a cold shiver run down his spine, a prelude to the tempest that awaited him in their penthouse suite.

Upon arriving home, Gojo didn't bother with pleasantries. He pushed the Y/n against the wall, his body a wall of rage and possession. "You're mine," he repeated, his breath hot and heavy. "You don't talk to other men like that." His words were laced with a dangerous edge, a promise of consequences that left the reader trembling.

With a swiftness that belied his size, Gojo grabbed Y/n's wrists, pinning them above his head. His eyes searched the reader's, looking for any signs of resistance or defiance. Finding none, he leaned in, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Y/n's neck. A bite, not quite hard enough to break the surface, served as a stark reminder of who was in control.

Y/n's heart raced as Gojo's free hand roamed over his body, pulling at his clothes as if they were mere obstacles in his quest for dominance. He didn't ask for permission, didn't bother with sweet nothings or gentle caresses. This was a claiming, a brutal display of ownership that left Y/n gasping for air.

In the harsh light of their apartment, Y/n could see the raw desire in Gojo's eyes, a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He knew that tonight, Gojo would take him without mercy, a punishment for his perceived infidelity. Y/n's mind swam with a mix of fear and arousal, the line between love and obsession blurring before his very eyes.

As Gojo's fingers unbuckled his belt, Y/n felt a jolt of panic. "Wait," he whispered, but Gojo ignored him, his movements driven by a primal need to assert his dominance. He yanked Y/n's pants down, exposing his trembling form to the cool air. Y/n's eyes searched Gojo's, desperately seeking understanding, but found only a fiery determination that sent shivers down his spine.

With a rough hand, Gojo turned the reader around, pushing him face-first into the plush leather couch. The scent of their combined arousal filled the room, a potent cocktail of desire and fear. He stepped closer, his breath hot against the reader's ear. "You're mine," he growled, "and I won't let anyone else have you." Y/n could feel Gojo's hardness pressing against him, a silent declaration of war on his innocence.

Without warning, Gojo's hand connected with the reader's bare skin, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

Y/n yelped, the sting of the slap burning like fire. He could feel the warmth spreading, his cheeks reddening with the force of Gojo's hand. His eyes watered, and his body trembled, but he didn't dare move. Gojo's breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort to contain his fury. "You will not disrespect me," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You will not look at other men."

Y/n's body was a canvas of emotions—fear, anger, and a perverse thrill that made his stomach clench. He knew this was wrong, knew that Gojo had crossed a line, but he couldn't find the strength to fight back. Instead, he whispered, "I'm sorry," his voice shaking.

The apology seemed to satisfy Gojo, if only for a moment. He leaned in closer, his whispers a mix of dominance and possession. "You will learn your place," he said, his hand moving to Y/n's waist. He yanked the reader's underwear down, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. "You will learn to obey me."

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as Gojo ripped his own pants open. Y/n felt the tip of Gojo's erection pressing against his entrance, the heat of it a stark contrast to the cold fear that had taken root inside him. He gritted his teeth, bracing for the pain he knew was coming.

With one swift movement, Gojo pushed into him, the force making Y/n's knees buckle. He bit back a scream, his nails digging into the leather couch. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot brand searing through his body. He could feel Gojo's size, the way he filled him completely, leaving no room for anything else.

Gojo didn't give him time to adjust, didn't bother with pretense. He fucked Y/n hard and fast, his hips slamming into the reader's ass with a brutal rhythm that mirrored the pounding of his heart. The couch squeaked in protest, a cacophony of sounds that seemed to echo the tumult in Y/n's soul.

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out from the corners. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and pain, but his body responded despite his fear. He could feel his own arousal growing, his body betraying him in the most primal way. The pleasure mixed with the pain, creating a toxic cocktail that had him moaning into the cushions.

Gojo's grip on his hips tightened, his breath hot against Y/n's neck. "You're mine," he repeated, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. "You will always be mine."

Y/n could only nod, his voice lost to the sobs that tore from his throat. He didn't know if he could ever love Gojo again after this, didn't know if he could ever trust him. But as Gojo reached around to stroke his cock, he found himself responding, his body arching back to meet each thrust.

The climax was explosive, tearing through him like a tornado. Gojo's roar of release filled his ears, the warmth of his semen a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled in his heart.

As Gojo pulled out, Y/n slumped against the couch, his body aching. He could feel the stickiness between his legs, a stark reminder of what had just transpired.

The silence that followed was deafening, a testament to the shattered trust that lay scattered around them like broken glass. Gojo didn't bother to clean him up, didn't offer a gentle touch or a soft word. He simply zipped up his pants and walked away, leaving Y/n to deal with the aftermath alone.

Y/n pulled up his underwear and pants, his body feeling foreign and violated. He knew he had to get out, had to find a way to escape the clutches of Gojo's obsessive love before it consumed him completely. But for now, he was trapped—trapped in a prison of his own making, with no clear path to freedom in sight.

[strljaem]

“let’s see what we have at home”

lol idk how to feel about this one. 🧍🏻

💿 : make you mine, madison beer

The morning started like any other, with meetings and emails piling up, and my usual cup of coffee not doing much to quell the rising tide of anxiety. The company was growing, deadlines were tight, and I had a department to manage. But the real pressure came from knowing that Jaemin, my husband, was the CEO, and we had to keep our relationship under wraps.

No one knew we were married. To everyone at work, Jaemin was the stoic, intimidating CEO with a penchant for precision and results. His sleek suits, usually charcoal or navy blue, fit him perfectly. The jet-black hair styled in a slick-back comma always seemed to catch the light at just the right angle, making him look every bit the powerful executive. His eyes, though often icy and serious in meetings, held a warmth that only I knew.

That morning, I was heading to the 18th floor, where my office was located, and had a stack of important files in my arms. The elevator was crowded when the doors opened, but I noticed him immediately. Jaemin stood at the back, his broad shoulders filling out the suit jacket, his height towering over everyone else. His gaze was intense, fixed on me as if he were trying to say something without words. Then, as if realizing he was staring, he blinked and looked away, pretending to focus on his phone.

I stepped into the elevator, squeezing into the small space available. The mixed scent of cologne and perfume filled the air, and the hum of conversation died down as the doors closed. I was grateful for the space, but I couldn't help feeling the nervous energy coursing through me. My legs felt weak, my palms dampening with sweat.

When the elevator dinged at the 10th floor, most of the people stepped out, leaving only me and Jaemin. The doors closed, and the silence was deafening. I was standing with my back to him, clutching the files like they were a lifeline. The air felt charged, like a storm was brewing. I fidgeted with the edges of the papers, trying to calm my racing heart.

Suddenly, I felt a hand reach around and grab mine. It was swift and gentle, but it caught me off guard, and I stumbled backward. My head landed squarely on his muscular chest. I looked up, my breath hitching as I saw his eyes. They were warm, a complete contrast to the icy glare he usually wore. He smiled down at me and softly said, "Hi."

"Hi," I replied, my voice almost a whisper. His arm was still around me, holding me steady.

Then he leaned in and kissed me. It started gentle, as if he was afraid to break the spell, but then it grew firm, passionate. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my entire body tingling. I laughed in the middle of the kiss, pulling away and gasping for air. I lightly smacked his arm. "Later, at home."

Jaemin smirked. "Let's see what we have at home," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Jaemin released me and stepped out like nothing happened, his professional mask firmly in place. I was left standing there, flustered and trying to catch my breath. It took me a moment to realize I'd missed my floor.

[omega-e123]

a scenario where Black Doom or Mephiles straight up threateningly taunts Shadow and you know how furious Shadow can be when someone tries to hurt the people he cares about especially that one particular someone he truly treasures or possibly.. love.

“The one thing you cherish the most..” a sickening grin forms on their face as they relish the image of the black hedgehog’s impending despair. He watches with close premise, scrutinizing the way lids of his eyes slowly expanded, and the struck of the foreboding dread brewing in those crimson irises.

“She’s quite the lovely innocent flower, isn’t she? Like an angel incarnate.”

Shadow felt his claws dug against the leather fabric, not realizing how hard he’s clenching his fist. His jaw tightens, teeth grounding against one another, fangs nearly piercing the flesh of his inner lip.

“What the hell are you trying to imply?” he snaps, his voice taking on a dark edge.

They only grinned mockingly at him, further fueling the rising tide in Shadow’s fury. Unsightly images appeared in his mind, dark thoughts clouding it. The idea of this creature ever laying a single hand on her, less even attempting to speak of her name, he might as well exterminate him right on the spot where no one would be even aware of its existence.

You spoil me.

Ommmggggg. Feral Shadow going to great lengths to protect.

He’s not going to even let the CHANCE of his loved one being harmed exist.

Throw hands, throw feet. THROW THE ARK— ok that one may be excessive…

ECLIPSE CANON, SMITE THEM ON THE SPOT-

I would say Team Dark would hold him back from doing stupid but uh, Rouge probably for like a second the. Support him.

Omega is— well he’s Omega LOL

[rafecameroncoke]

Tides of love

Summary: A forbidden romance brews between Rafe Cameron and reader, a local who knows the vibrant dynamics of the island.  As tensions rise and loyalties are tested, will love be enough to overcome the storms of their lives?

Warnings: None all fluff

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange hue over the beautiful obx. The sound of laughter mingled with the crash of the waves as the summer breeze swept through the air, carrying the scent of salt and adventure.

You were sprawled on the sand at the beach getting a nice tan, sipping a cold drink, watching as the Pogues surfed the waves, carefree and loud. Rafe Cameron, the golden boy of the Kooks, had always been a mystery to you. With his tousled hair and piercing blue eyes, he was a dangerous temptation, like a siren calling from the depths of the ocean.

You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest whenever he came around, but today felt different. As the sun dipped lower, Rafe appeared at the edge of your view, leaning against his black Jeep, a mix of bravado and vulnerability etched on his face. He glanced your way, and despite the rivalry between your friends and his, you couldn’t tear your gaze away. 

“Hey,” he called, his voice low and inviting, breaking the comfortable silence. “Hey,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your heart raced. He walked over, hands shoved in his pockets, a slight smirk dancing on his lips. “You come out here often?” You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “Only when I want to enjoy the view,” you quipped, gesturing to the surrounding beauty. Rafe chuckled, his laughter surprisingly genuine. “I meant the beach, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You let the playful banter flow, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world around you faded. Days turned into weeks, and your chance encounters with Rafe became more frequent. Whether it was while you were running errands or grabbing coffee, he always seemed to appear, either by accident or design.

You found solace in those stolen moments, the way his eyes lit up when he caught you smiling, the way he leaned in just a little closer as if sharing a secret. One evening, the sky painted a breathtaking gradient of pinks and purples, you found yourselves alone on the beach again.

The laughter of the Pogues faded into the background, and an electric tension filled the air. “Why do you hang out with them?” Rafe asked suddenly, his tone serious. “They’re my friends,” you replied, confused by the sudden shift. “Why do you care?” you asked “Because they’re… different.” He looked away, frustration etched across his handsome features.

 “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” You leaned closer, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. “I can take care of myself, Rafe. I’ve seen how you live. You’re no stranger to chaos.” His eyes flickered with something—pain, vulnerability, or maybe even longing. “You don’t know half of it.”

In that moment, the barriers between your worlds felt insurmountable, yet the chemistry was undeniable. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. The air crackled as his gaze locked onto yours, and the world around you faded into a blur. 

As summer progressed, the tension between your friends and Rafe’s began to boil over. The rivalry reached a breaking point, culminating in a confrontation that threatened to tear everything apart. You stood in the center, a tug-of-war between loyalty and desire, feeling the weight of their expectations on your shoulders.

“You can’t be serious about him,” your friend Sarah exclaimed, her incredulous expression piercing through your resolve. “He’s a Cameron!” Sarah says “Rafe is more than just his last name and is also your brother!,” you insisted, a hint of defiance in your voice. “He’s not like the others.” But deep down, you were terrified.

Rafe’s life was filled with unpredictability, and you could sense that darkness lurking beneath the surface. That night, you found yourself at the beach, needing to escape the chaos. The beach was your sanctuary, the stars above twinkling like tiny diamonds. Just as you took a sip from your drink, Rafe appeared, his silhouette dark against the glowing backdrop.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Hey,” you replied, your heart racing.“I heard about the argument. I’m sorry if I put you in a tough spot,” he continued, concern lacing his tone. You shook your head, taking a step closer to him. “You didn’t. I want to be with you, Rafe, despite everything.” His gaze softened, and he closed the space between you, his hands finding yours.

“Then let’s not let them dictate what we have.” As your lips met, the kiss was electric, filled with all the unspoken words and desires that you had both held back. The chaos around you faded into the background, and for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The end.

AHHH MY VERY FIRST FIC PLS LMK HOW YOU GUYS LIKE IT! 🥹🩵

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 7

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

“What happened to your hand?”

Again, Black is already in the kitchen, smoking and hanging out of a window, when Remus wakes up.

“Paper cut.”

“You bandaged yourself up like that for a paper cut?”

“I’m prone to infections.”

“Merlin,” Black definitely doesn’t believe the excuse, but that’s the point really. Say something so stupidly improbable and the question of what happened to him becomes second to why won’t he tell me.

People are fickle creatures like that, Remus knows. Selfish even in their concern. He’s not blaming Black for it – they don’t know each other; he’s got no reason to be worried for Remus. Especially not with the way their interactions have been going. It’s a dually convenient thing for Remus: he has no desire to get close to Black, or to be gotten close to. And lack of interest means lack of questions when he has to disappear for a couple nights.

Black finishes his smoke, putts it out. The silver ring on his finger reflects the morning light as he lights another.

“Why didn’t you get your own cigarettes yesterday?”

“I don’t smoke,” Black replies, taking a deep drag and flicking ash out of the window.

“Evidently.”

“Well… only sometimes. Socially.”

There are four butts in the makeshift ashtray by Black’s knee.

“The people keeping you company, they still here with us?”

“The cat is out there again.”

Remus sticks on the kettle, adding in enough water for two cups. To save himself having to repeat the process. “You’re smoking with the cat?”

“Better conversationalist then some people.”

Remus doesn’t raise to the bait. It’s nothing he’s not heard before. Get to the point and why are you telling me about this and look, I’ll listen later but I’m really way too tired now, alright?

The kettle boils, the tea brews. Two mugs, two sachets of Assam. Two sugars and milk for him, black for Black (Remus snickers to himself). An almost perfect builders’ brew. As each morning, Remus takes a moment to miss the box of Yorkshire teabags he’s got in his office back in London.

The crossword has been butchered again. “This isn’t even close to being correct,” he waves it in Black’s direction, “if you want to have a go you could just ask the reception to send up an extra paper.”

Black takes his tea and his spot at the table. “That thing makes no sense.” There is a defensiveness in his posture, an undercurrent of something ready to explode. It’s evident he’s not used to being wrong footed.

“Sure, it does,” Remus dismisses, “you just don’t understand it.”

One raised eyebrow, eyes thinning. There’s that same bit of anger – diminished and contained – that he brought at the market. Remus is sensitive to changing tides, a part of the moon always with him, and Black is like the sea. He can smell it on him, the way his magic builds up and crackles about the fingertips.

Black, however? Doesn’t seem to notice.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[akutasoda]

Congrats on reaching 1k, you totally deserve it. Also, i was wondering if you could do a kunikida from bungo stray dogs x female reader fluffy sorta fic?

coffee with sugar

synopsis - maybe kunikida needs a bit more sweetness in his life

includes - kunikida ft the agency

warnings - fem!reader, fluff, absolute cringe towards the end, wc - 2k

a/n: hehe thank you so much!

'thank you again for allowing me a part time here' you gave the man a smile as he welcomed you into the small café uzunaki, he reciprocated before responding 'it's no problem, it may not be the busiest place but help is appreciated'. truth be told, you moved to yokohama a few days ago and you were in the middle of job hunting here, so you decided to earn atleast some income bt working at a local café. it was only meant to be a part time job to tide you over until you could find somewhere else so you assumed that the quaint café would offer a nice way to pay your bills.

the owner gave you a quick tour of the café before showing you the ins and outs of how to make some popular drinks. 'like i said, we don't really have many customers so we only have one other waitress but the customers we do have are regulars' you finished the latte he instructed you to try making and slided it over to him and enquiring 'who are the regulars?', he took a quick sip before nodding in approval and adding 'the local agency, an interesting bunch that come here practically every day' he paused and pointed to a small post it on the counter 'may want to get familiar with those orders'. you nodded before taking a quick look.

you finished your first day by practicing making a variety of the drinks and plating of food while the owner gave you hints and tips. the café didn't actually open that day, so you appreciated having the time to learn in peace - the other waitress visited for a while to meet her new coworker and even helped you learn some trickier drinks to brew. it really seemed like the perfect way to open up your new life in yokohama.

the next day was your first proper shift, it was up until lunch time and then you offered a few hours toward the closing shift. a simple day that made you rather glad you landed this job. the owner was there to open up the shop and soon retreated elsewhere when he made sure you were okay with everything. a couple of early morning workers stopped by and ordered basic coffee's so your real challenge was when an eccentric ravenette burst through the doors followed by a decent sized group. there was the ravenette, a tall brunette, a taller blonde and a ginger haired boy with a black haired girl hanging off his arm - you didn't quite know what to expect with them but you vaguely remember some of them from descriptions about the agency members.

as soon as they sat down in a booth you picked up your small notepad and walked over to the table, almost immediately the brunette spoke up 'i didn't know the old man hired a new waitress?' he stared at you for a second before complaining 'what? don't kick me' he stared down the blonde opposite him and before either of them could speakthe ginger haired boy caught your attention 'you are new aren't you? don't mind them-' he was cut off with the ravenette's declaration for his usual, extra sweet, and the blonde sighed before adding 'we will all have our usual please'. you simply nodded and went to search for the post it on the counter to look for their orders, the only issue was that you didn't know any of their names so you didn't really know what order went with who.

well you could figure out the eccentric raventte easily as he wanted it extra sweet and you could take an effective guess that the blonde man would want the order that simply read 'black coffee' but the other three were a bit difficult. you eventually managed to guess that the two part order belonged to the duo and had managed to overhear the name 'dazai' while making the orders and assumed that would be the brunette. now you just had to finish making the orders.

if kunikida didn't have half the patience he did, he reckoned he would have jumped across the table and beat dazai senseless already. he knew his coworker was a bit of a slacker and easily would be distracted with the idea of asking a woman to perform 'double-suicide' with him but today was just not the day to deal with him. kunikida could take a guess that it didn't help that you were new, he didn't want you to quit your job because dazai was an idiot - the whole reason they were here was to talk about the tiger case but dazai really couldn't keep his focus.

your cheery voice broke him out of his thoughts and he thanked you for dealing with them, you smiled back and went to clear up the empty cups left by the previous patron. eventually they managed to finalise a plan and decided to report back to the office to set out, unfortunately both dazai and ranpo seemed to forgets you were a new waitress and left as usual expecting you to immediately add it to their tab. kunikida sighed and noticed how you looked slightly panicked taht they just left so he let tanizaki and naomi go ahead and he walked over to you behind the counter.

'the agency has a tab set up, please exuse their rude behaviour' he explained and you slowly remembered the owner explaining something about that so you went to check. kunikida glanced over and asked out of pure concern 'do you know how to access it?' you smiled and responded 'i remember being told how, give me a second and i'll remember'. kunikida waited until you managed to add to their tab and informed you that he'd send them back down to apologise and you only stiffled a laugh before adding 'no need, i should've remembered who you guys were'.

you left during lunch and greeted the other waitress when she came in as you left, you greeted her again when you joined her for the closing shift. the last customer was a dark haired woman, she spotted you when you came in and introduced herself as yosano - one of the other agency members. she told you how she heard about the morning mishap and told you that you might have to get used to them behaving like that, then she left and informed you that she'd be the unfortunate recipient of their presnce soon.

your next shift was another early one, this time your first customers where the same brunette you know knew for sure was dazai, the duo which you again now knew as tanizaki and naomi, kunikida and a new white haired boy. you were lucky enough that the other waitress was there with you this time and she offered to take the table - you looked away to clean out a few cups and by the time you looked back kunikida had smacked dazai over the head and the other waitress walked away from dazai. she smiled at you before telling you that you should ignore anything dazai said to you. you stared at her with confusion.

within the first couple of weeks you had grown quite accustomed to working at the café - and unfortunately came to learn what the other waitress warned you about with dazai. the agency members all had their unique quirks and you didn't know if you should be proud that you knew their orders off by heart, over patrons were also equally nice to talk to but the agency were the most common guest. you had almost forgotten completely about your attempts to find another job and most of the messages you got back from places offering interviews were forgotten - the café was a job that you even considered working full time sometimes.

if you had to pick a favourite agency member, you'd probably have to say kunikida. from day one, he had helped you with the slight inconveniences some of the agnecy members gave you when they visited - mainly dazai and ranpo and sometimes kenji but that was when he tried bringing one of his cows into the café. kunikida was also quite the good listener and talker, it felt unprofessional at first when you starrted telling him about how you ended up in yokohama but he did ask you how you landed the job and seemed to show genuine interest. you also enjoyed listening to him talk about some of the agency's stories while you closed up for the night.

kunikida always seemed to visit later at night or early in the morning. if it was early in the morning he would be accompanied by a few agency members and he would order a black coffee, if it was before closing he would sit on the chairs at the counter and have - depending on his day - either another black coffee or simply a glass of water. kunikida didn't really notice how much he visited the café during your shifts until dazai pointed it out to him obnoxiously loud in the café while you were within hearing distance, you either pretended not to hear or were too engrossed in a task to notice.

although after dazai pointed it out, kunikida really couldn't help but read his book of ideals and think about you. sure you didn't cross of all the requirements for his ideal lover but this was the first time he felt like he could make a few exceptions. maybe it was the fact that you were so hardworking that helped attract him to you initially and maybe it was your personality that kept him longing for another interaction. he would always ask you about your plans for the future and whenever you told him you were still looking for a job it pained him for some reason but for the time being you always assured him you had no plans on leaving soon.

it got so painstakingly obvious to over members of the agency that kunikida was in fact pining for you, that yosano told him to pack his ideals to the side and ask you out before it was too late. the only issue was that kunikida wasn't sure on how to go about it and he could only think of one way, one really cringey way that was going to be something yosano and dazai would forever tease him with.

you watched kunikida enter through the café's door and you smiled at him before taking a drink to another customer, you swiftly returned to behind the counter and said 'what will it be today hm? let me guess a coffee?' he let a small smile crack his face before he nodded and hesitantly added 'yeah, but it'd like it with a few sugars today'

'what gives huh?' you questioned and almost liked he'd rehearsed this exact scenario he answered immediately 'i just reckon it's time to add something sweeter to my life'. you would normally brush this off but he was sttaring at you so intently that you, felt a bit confused, you also swore you saw a faint blush on his face. 'what do you mean kunikida?' he let out a long sigh before looking back at you directly 'you don't mean..' you trailed off slightly before taking a full understanding of the situation. you smiled and responded confidently 'well maybe i should try adding a handsome blonde man into my life' you laughed as he deadpanned at you. eventually he started looking a bit more hopeful

'does this mean-'

'if you want it be kuni, because i know i want us to be'

akutasoda's 1k event

[kaitokitty19]

Pandora AU: Home pt. 2

Part 1

This is a Hakukai fic. Kaito found Pandora but became immortal while everyone around him aged. Full synopsis here

Warning: WoT, (physical) age gap, angst

-- Kaito woke alone. The other side of the bed cold as he stretched over, tried and failed to fill the empty space. He remembered going to bed alone last night, too. 

There were two unopened messages in his inbox from Saguru, telling him it was a case and not to wait up. Kaito liked the messages belatedly while brewing a pot of coffee. He was already asleep when they were sent; he wondered since when had he stopped waiting up for his lover.

Lately, Saguru worked overtime a lot. If it wasn’t shareholders meetings at the Hakuba Corps then it was consulting with local and international law enforcement. Not that Kaito didn’t understand. He had watched Aoko wait for her dad enough times to know that patience is always a necessity being around people like Inspector Nakamori and Saguru. And more than anyone, Kaito understood the need to spread his wings unhindered. The older Saguru had gotten, the more responsibility he shouldered. His family business needed him. MI6 needed him. So did Interpol and the Mets. He just thought that… 

Kaito huffed, blowing on the steam rising from his mug. He didn’t even like the taste of coffee, but Saguru did. He missed the essence of him in the morning. 

Well, whatever it was, he was sure it would tide over quickly.

------ “This point of the investigation is most crucial,” Saguru cracked up from poor signal on the other end, his voice apologetic over the speaker, but not enough to quench the bitterness that had started to creep into Kaito’s ribcage, spreading fast like poison. His trip to Prague with MI6 would extend to three weeks instead of just the one – if he was even in Prague at all, so classified was the nature of his work. This hadn’t been the first business trip extension, either. And next week was February 23rd.

“I see,” Kaito echoed from a faraway place, straining to stamp down the need for a screaming match. He was at work, he reminded himself, and the Collection Care and Research department at the Lourve isn’t the most bustling of places – Madeleine from one desk over had already piqued up sensing gossip. Besides, how could he point an accusatory finger at Saguru proclaiming the man heartless when he was out there saving people? He dusted off his poker face and put on a smile, even though Saguru couldn’t see it: “Tough case, huh?”

“Yeah,” Saguru returned, before bidding him a speedy goodbye and ending the call. 

Kaito didn’t hear from him for an entire week afterward.

Ah, just like high school, Kaito thought, returning another day to a dark, deserted apartment, endless strings of days waiting for a presence that is forever absent. He tossed the phone onto his pillow and threw himself onto the bed to look at the gorgeous ceiling moldings, gorgeous tall windows, and gorgeous view beyond the glass panels. Gorgeous and lonely and not much else. 

Kaito had free rein of the house, of course. Even Hakuba's beloved Aston Martin, his unlimited black card were here, liberatingly under his disposal… But the man himself was never around anymore. It was almost insulting. Kaito had started to feel more like a piece of collectible ornament than someone’s partner.

February 23rd came and went. For their anniversary, Saguru sent him rare gemstones and an ancient sculpture he didn’t care for, cakes and sweets he had no one to share with, and a teddy bear from Prague that he wanted to strangle. 

Kaito tried to be understanding. After all, just like Ekoda, Saguru would always come back to him… right?

One month passed. Then two months. At the three-month mark, Kaito sent Saguru a curt text, took an absence from work, and traveled. He bought one-way tickets, hopped from one continent to another and then back again, flying first class, living lavishly, determined to max out Saguru’s stupid credit card – that had to at least get his attention! 

To his dismay, he found the task seemingly insurmountable. And all his provocations received from Saguru was a lackluster “Do as you like.”

------

Kaito ended up where he had avoided for so long: Tokyo. And though he had notified no one of his visit, the moment he stepped through baggage claim, Kaito was greeted by one Koizumi Akako. 

"Not only had your body not aged but you stayed a child mentally,” She scoffed at him from across the table, over her cup of tea. One red, sharp fingernail tapped a slow rhythm onto the ceramic rim. “You really do stay true to your name. Just a KID after all." 

Kaito darted his eyes around, alerted. But Akihabara was as crowded as he remembered it; no one would mind a stranger’s conversation. The corner of Akako’s mouth stretched into a glossy, amused smirk in deep rouge as she watched him fidgeted. Over the years, she had aged gracefully. Youthful skirts and flats traded in for elegant pearls and stiletto. Her outfit simple in details but bold in its cut and its shade of scarlet. There was hardly any pepper in her hair, but he could see faint lines where she smiled. The enchantress was as intimidating as ever.

Kaito, too, had aged himself appropriately with prosthetics. But Akako always had her ways of knowing things. He frowned:

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are here to run.” She accused cryptically, leaning over into his personal space and narrowing her eyes, “He’s drifting away from you, isn’t he?”

Kaito backed away, crossing his hands over his chest, defensive.

“It’s good to see you, Akako. But I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Akako pressed on as if he hadn’t spoken:

“Why are you waiting? You have nothing tethering you back anymore. No more secrets. Why haven't you run after him?” Suddenly, she pulled back. With her petit teaspoon, the woman stirred her cup of Darjeeling tea once, twice. The swirling liquid barely had time to settle before Akako reached over and dumped the tea into his half-empty cup of hot chocolate.

“Hey!” Kaito yelped. 

Akako ignored him to keenly observe the bottom of her cup. She clicked her tongue and spoke without making eye contact.

“You might have all the time in the world, Kuroba, but the rest of us don’t. Especially him, your White Knight."

A thousand horrid scenarios flashed across his mind. Akako might be a cryptid and an occasional sadist, but he had never known her to joke around with people’s lives. Finally, it was fear that made Kaito bite:

“What am I supposed to do? He won’t talk to me! I don’t know what I did wrong.”

His old classmate looked at him like he was stupid before that crease between her brows eased into an exasperated look. She placed both elbows on the table and laced her fingers before resting her chin on top:

“My, my; are you saying that the legendary KID had no way of garnering the attention of one detective? How awfully out of practice you are.”

Something inside Kaito clicked. A lightbulb lit up. He stood at once, almost clumsily knocked over his chair. 

"Sorry, Akako, I have to go. And thanks!"

He simultaneously apologized and thanked her before beating a hasty retreat. Kaito had meant to check in on the Nakamoris, but it seemed reunion with Aoko would have to wait.

Looking out the window at his disappearing form, Akako could only huff:

"Idiots, the both of them." 

------

The Heist note was sent in two nights before the full moon, to the National Palace Museum of Korea. Kaito spent time making sure the note was perfect, that there would be no chance it could be disregarded as a mere prank, and went through the building blueprint five dozen times. The note’s arrival didn’t cause as much ruckus as he would have liked – people have grown skeptical during his absence. He couldn’t blame them; it had been nearly three decades after all. But, as the saying goes, the show must go on. He just hoped the Black Organization, too, belonged to the group of skeptics.

The target this time was a royal jade seal carved in the shape of a dragon. Once obtained without much challenge from the Seoul Metropolitan police, as a habit, Kaito raised the object toward the moonlight. The moon only cast a dim halo around it. The taste of disappointment was one Kaito found familiar.

Just when he was done putting the gem back, a troop of officers burst into the chamber. Kaito smiled at them and yielded himself over without a fight.

------

The officers didn’t know what to do with him. His ID, fingerprints, and passport were all legit in the immigration database, but his look didn’t match that of someone halfway over forty. He technically had yet to commit any major crime, and, as a legal alien, he was entitled to representation before they could proceed with the investigation. In the end, they threw him into one of those interrogation rooms with a one-way mirror to await further instructions from higher-ups.

He was slouching uncomfortably on his creaky metal chair when a Korean officer unlocked the heavy metal door. In walked Hakuba Saguru, tired and sleep-deprived, but dignified. He still donned that long, tan trench coat, and his height towered over that of the attending police officer. 

Their eyes met. They had not seen each other in half a year at that point. 

At the nod of his head, the officer went to uncuff Kaito. They were led out via the back entrance. In the hallway, Saguru put a black cap over Kaito’s messy mop of hair. Kaito wanted to reach up and take his hand; he didn’t. Instead, he was guided into the back of a nondescript black car while Saguru and the inspector in charge of the case chatted. Before long, they shook hands. His detective entered into the car next to Kaito, and tapped twice on the glass to signal their chauffeur to “drive”.

Just like that, Kaito was bailed out. He was half impressed, honestly. With his affluence and his various connections in the intelligence world, Hakuba Saguru wasn’t a man one could say no to. Kaito bet all the records and footage, too, had been wiped clean.

Their ride from the Seodaemun police station was quiet.

"Well?” He started. Saguru shot him a questioning look, “Say something." He urged.

"What do you want me to say?" Saguru gruffed out; he sounded tired. This was one of those rare moments when he looked his age to Kaito. Sometimes, he often forgot that everyone else around him had aged; Saguru was no exception. They stewed in that silence for long enough that the car stopped before a fancy hotel lobby. Kaito waited until the two of them were alone in the elevator before continuing.

"Oh, I don't know; ‘How did you gain access to the vault?’ ‘Why did you do it?’” He mimicked that sickly sweet voice to the T, “Isn't that what you detectives do? Prodding?"

Saguru breathed out a sigh. Kaito knew that sound. Just when he was about to be rejected and an end was put to their conversation, the elevator stopped, admitting two hotel patrons. They stayed in the background while the two American tourists chatted loudly, the tension thick and palpable.

At the forty-seventh floor, they emerged. Saguru made a beeline for the presidential suite. Kaito followed.

"Why did you do it?" At the door, Saguru’s curiosity finally won over. Kaito felt himself bodily piqued at an opening.

"I was waiting for you to show up.” Saguru had finished unlocking the door and turned to pass him a look of utter bewilderment. “My turn, where have you been."

“This isn’t ‘twenty questions’, Kaito,” Saguru groused, his temper rising, but he did not slam the door behind them, no. Hakuba Saguru is too well-bred for one such action. The door closed with a muted ‘click’. “What if they had shown up? We don’t know the extent of their reach. What if they had got to you while under custody?”

“Hmm… should have been ‘twenty questions’,” Replied Kaito impertinently, “So? Where were you?” 

Saguru gave up.

"All over North America. Argentina. Germany. Then… England, mostly."

"So you've been at home while I..." Kaito bit his tongue. Bit back the hurt. "Why are you avoiding me?" That part came out more of an accusation than a question.

Did I do something wrong? Was left on the tip of his tongue, unsaid.

"I don't know, Kaito, I thought I was giving you space. I don't want to... suffocate you," Kaito’s own word said carelessly months ago was suddenly thrown back at him, ringing in his ears like a piercing slap in the face.

"What the actual fuck, Hakubastard?!” He bellowed, “Is this all this is about?”

"You said it yourself, it’s suffocating building your life around another person. You don't need to feel indebted to me or anything. You owe me nothing.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Now it was Kaito’s turn to be bewildered. Saguru couldn’t meet his eyes. “Fuck, you are!”

“I'm not the same wild-eye high schooler when we met, Kai. I have aged much and I am weighed down by my commitments; you have the privilege of youth and you need your freedom, I get it. I’ll only hold you back."

Kaito barked out a hysterical laughter:

"And whose fucking fault was that? Who wished on Pandora? Who turned me into this freak of nature?"

Saguru cringed away as if burned.

"That's not entirely fair, Kaito."

Hah! Fair! Kaito turned around, found the nearest breakable object, and threw it on the floor. It was a fine ceramic vase. Looked expensive, but he didn’t care. Months of pent-up hurt and frustration were finally let loose and Kaito wanted to go to fucking war. Fuck Saguru. He can afford it. Kaito stomped away. He couldn’t even look at that idiot right now.

Kaito’s tantrum only served to aggravate Saguru further. The man was hot on Kaito’s heels into the next room instead of letting it go like Kaito had become accustomed to him doing.

"I... You...” his words stumbled, anger rendering such a man inarticulate, “What would you have me do, Kaito?! You were shot. You fell from a seven-story building. You were a bloody mess on the pavement. I couldn't even touch you for fear you would crumble under my fingers. The red staining your white regalia still haunts my dream to this day. No medic could have saved you. What would you have me do, Kaito? Watch the person I love die?"

"And now I get to watch mine die? You get to live the rest of your life with the person you love. What about me? I've been 17 for 28 years! Even when you pass away, I'll likely still be 17. And even before that you're already leaving me!"

Saguru staggered. 

“I’m not abandoning you. I’d never…” And just like that, all the fights were drained from his person. Saguru sat down on the edge of the bed, defeated. He was at once very weary: weary of the long flight and the time difference, of keeping himself away from Kaito, of this fight… and now the guilt he carried since that incident decades ago had finally done eating him up. "I didn't know about Pandora then. I'm sorry. I'd have happily traded my life if it meant you could continue living as you were"

"Don't. You. Dare." Kaito grunted out each word. Suddenly, Saguru was seized by the collar of his shirt and Kaito’s face was inches away from his. Blue sapphire alight with furry. He growled, "You made me this way, Hakubastard. You're not allowed to leave me. Ever."

And suddenly, Saguru was being kissed roughly. He hesitated for one millisecond but quickly found that he had no choice but to kiss back. Kaito tasted like desperation on his tongue, and he chased that acute flavor until it mellowed down into neediness. Kaito’s fingers half tangled, half tugged painfully on the hair at the base of his neck; and Saguru looped his arms around Kaito to steady him when he climbed onto his lap. What an intertwined mess they were, physically, emotionally.

Kaito bit him, and Saguru thought he sensed the tangy note of copper. Very well. Served him right for putting his Kaito through what he did. Somehow he always managed to make the wrong decision around Kaito. Logic seemed to escape him when it came to the man he loved.

They detangled at last. Both flushed and gaped for air. But Kaito immediately clung onto Saguru’s neck and tip them over onto the bed. He made no move to remove their coat or adjust them both into a more comfortable position. Right now, he just wanted to hold Saguru and be held. Saguru traced small circles onto his spine. Kaito shuddered.

"I'm sorry.” Saguru whispered lowly after a moment of silence, “I won't do it again. I just thought..."

"Shut up. For a world-renowned detective, you really are just a hebo Tantei."

"Sorry," Saguru chuckled and repeated himself.

Another quiet minute went by before the detective spoke again.

“Since you are so opposed to the idea of us ever leading lives independent from one another again; hypothetically, if I ask you to marry me, would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically.” Replied Saguru, trying not to think of his family heirloom ring he had kept in his pocket for 25 years, never finding the right time nor enough courage.

Kaito put on a show of deep contemplation – a fact that Saguru knew yet did not help his nerve one bit – before he took pity on Saguru and said:

“Then, hypothetically, I’d say yes.”

[snowangie]

the right side of rock bottom.

a rafe cameron x fem!oc series

summary : nailea boo seeks refuge from the chaos of constant family travels in the tranquil outer banks, only to find herself entangled with rafe cameron. a charismatic yet troubled figure, rafe is captivated by nailea’s mysterious allure. rafe, relentless in his pursuit and explicit in his desires, becomes fixated on making nailea his own, while nailea navigates the intricate dance of desire and restraint. in this tale of love and resilience, set against the backdrop of the outer banks, the pogues and looks, unaware of the brewing storm, find their worlds colliding. the tale weaves through the unpredictable currents of outer banks life, exploring the intertwined destinies of nailea, rafe, and the residents of this coastal haven.

series warnings: swearing, smut, violence, death, mentions of torture, mentions of sexual harassment, weapons, trauma, mental illnesses

genre: angst, romance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, drama, violence, hurt/comfort, smut

auth. note: this series will be quite lengthy, following the actual outer banks storyline from the first season to the third. im so down bad for rafe cameron and i know u guys are too. im gonna keep his psycho ass as it is in this series because its hot asf it probably concerning to think that but idc fr. please don’t forget to interact with me in the replies or pm me and if u have any ideas for this series, any specific scene you would like to see in the coming chapters, don’t hesitate to share. hihi i love u guys and i hope u enjoy. muahhh

chapter one: baby pink convertible

The golden sunlight bathed the Outer Banks beach, casting a warm glow as Nailea Boo emerged from the crystal-clear waves, her raven-black hair clinging to her like a silken veil. Clad in a striking bikini that accentuated her curves, she epitomized the allure of an enigmatic coastal goddess. Not too far away, the Pogues—John B, JJ, Pope, and Kiara—observed her from afar, a silent conversation of curiosity passing between them.

Unbeknownst to the onlookers, Nailea wrestled with an undercurrent of anxiety that accompanied her every step. The crystal-clear waves mirrored the conflicting currents within her. She had perfected the art of the cold demeanor, a shield crafted from years of navigating a world that demanded toughness. Yet, beneath the poised exterior, anxiety churned like the unpredictable tide.

As she emerged from the waves, clad in a striking bikini that accentuated her curves, Nailea felt the weight of scrutinizing gazes. The Pogues, distant observers of her beachside ritual, couldn’t fathom the delicate balance she maintained. Each step was a careful dance between projecting strength and concealing vulnerability.

Meanwhile, on the same beach, the Kooks strolled along the shore. Rafe, Sarah, and Topper, the latter holding Sarah's hand, spotted Nailea. Rafe, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist making his presence known. “Damn, would you look at that,” he remarked, loud enough for Nailea to hear.

The Kooks exchanged glances as Nailea, unperturbed, rolled her eyes at the crude comment. Ignoring the unwelcome attention, she gracefully slipped into her clothes with an air of nonchalance, the fabric became a second skin, shielding her not only from the prying eyes but also from the relentless whispers of doubt that echoed in her mind.

Rafe, however, continued with his brazen demeanor. “Hey, sweetheart, you're gonna make this beach a whole lot prettier. What's your name?” he called out, breaking through the rhythmic sound of the waves

Nailea shot him a withering glance but remained composed. “Not interested,” she replied, her voice carrying a mixture of disinterest and disdain. Brushing off the sand from her clothes, she walked past the Kooks, not sparing them a second glance. Yet, within the fortress of her mind, a voice echoed louder—a whisper that questioned her every move, analyzing whether she had played her part convincingly enough.

As she walked past the Kooks, her mind echoed with the internal dialogue of anxiety. Her car awaited her, a symbol of sophistication and control. To the surprise of both the Pogues and the Kooks, Nailea sauntered toward a sleek baby pink convertible, the epitome of her sophistication. With an effortless poise, she slid into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life. Little did anyone know that behind the wheel, Nailea gripped it tightly, her knuckles betraying the tension within. The car roared, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake as Nailea skillfully navigated her way off the beach.

The Pogues exchanged intrigued glances, while the Kooks were left in the sand, a mix of bewilderment and newfound curiosity etched on their faces. Nailea Boo had made a memorable entrance, leaving an indelible mark on the shores of the Outer Banks.

As Nailea smoothly glided away in her baby pink convertible, the lingering echoes of Rafe's comment hung in the salty air. The Pogues huddled together, their eyes still fixed on the vanishing speck on the horizon. John B, the de facto leader, broke the silence with a raised eyebrow.

“Who the hell is that?” JJ asked, squinting against the sunlight.

Pope, ever the thoughtful one, chimed in, “New around here, for sure. But why does it feel like we just stepped into a whole different league?”

Kiara, her eyebrows knit in curiosity, observed, “Could just be a touron but I could’ve sworn I’ve seen her car a few days ago with the moving trucks.”

John B nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on the spot where Nailea's convertible had disappeared. “We need to find out who she is.”

Meanwhile, not too far away, the Kooks were left in the wake of Nailea's departure. Rafe's confident smirk remained, but Sarah shot him a disapproving look.

“Really, Rafe? That was so tacky,” Sarah remarked, her eyes narrowing.

Rafe merely shrugged, unapologetic. “Just being honest. She's a total fucking knockout.”

Topper, Sarah's boyfriend, chimed in, “She's definitely got some kind of presence. Did you see the way she handled that? Ignored us like it was nothing.”

Sarah, despite her initial irritation, couldn't help but be intrigued. “Weirdly bold. I wonder what her deal is.”

Back with the Pogues, the discussion continued as they dissected the mysterious newcomer.

“I mean, did you see her car? Who drives a pink fucking convertible around here?” JJ mused, scratching his head.

Pope, ever the voice of reason, offered, “Maybe she's just passing through. But something tells me she's here to stay, at least for a while.”

As the conversations unfolded, Nailea's departure had left an indelible mark on the dynamics of the Outer Banks. Both the Pogues and the Kooks found themselves captivated by the enigmatic stranger who had effortlessly commanded attention and defied expectations.

Nailea, reclining in the plush leather seat of her baby pink convertible, couldn't shake the lingering taste of annoyance that clung to her after the encounter on the beach. The waves of anxiety retreated, only to linger beneath the surface, ready to rise again with each new encounter. Her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, reflected a mix of indifference and disdain. The Pogues and Kooks, to her discerning gaze, seemed like mere pawns on the chessboard of her life in the Outer Banks.

The "baby pink convertible" symbolizes her, embodying sophistication, elegance, and a hint of rebelliousness. Just like the convertible stands out in the coastal landscape, Nailea is an mysterious foreign figure, distinct from the usual dynamics of the Outer Banks. The choice of a convertible reflects her ability to navigate smoothly through the intricate social landscape, while the color pink adds a touch of femininity and complexity that mirrors her naturally.

As the waves receded behind her and the beach dwindled in the rearview mirror, Nailea couldn't help but roll her eyes at the audacity of the boy who had tried to stake a claim on her attention. “Boys,” she muttered under her breath, the word carrying a blend of dismissal and amusement. To Nailea, they were like moths drawn to the flame, oblivious to the fact that they had no chance of catching it.

Arriving at her now-permanent residence, a grand beach house that exuded sophistication, Nailea exhaled a sigh of relief. The crisp sea breeze ruffled her midnight-blue hair as she strolled into the house, her annoyance dissipating with each step. The modern luxury of the interior contrasted sharply with the rawness of the Outer Banks, a juxtaposition that mirrored Nailea's own complexity.

At dinner, Nailea recounted the beach encounter to her sister, Jennie, and her brother-in-law, Tommy. They sat around a polished mahogany table, clinking wine glasses in a semblance of celebration.

“You won't believe what happened, Jennie,” Nailea began, her voice carrying a blend of exasperation and amusement.

Jennie, her older sister, chuckled knowingly. “Do tell, Nai. Did you bewitch the local boys already?”

Tommy, a man with an easy smile and a genuine affection for Nailea, joined in. “Let me guess, they fell head over heels for you?”

Nailea smirked, recounting the scene with theatrical flair. “This one guy, a big asshole, had the audacity to announce to the world that I made the beach a whole lot prettier. Please.”

Jennie laughed, raising her glass. “Well, you do have a way of leaving an impression.”

Tommy chimed in, “The Pogues and Kooks are in for a ride if they think they can compete with you, Nailea.”

Nailea, sipping her wine, smirked in agreement. “They have no idea what they're dealing with.”

The trio shared a moment of laughter, a shared understanding that the coastal drama unfolding outside their beach house was just the beginning of Nailea's reign in the Outer Banks. Little did the Pogues and Kooks know, they were playing a part in a narrative where Nailea Boo held all the cards, and the stakes were higher than they could imagine.

Under the golden hues of the Outer Banks sunset, Nailea strolled through the neighborhood at Figure Eight, an air of elegance accompanying her every step. Her sleek white cat, Winter, in a pet stroller—a stark contrast to the coastal simplicity. The feline, adorned with a silver collar, gazed out with curious green eyes as Nailea moved with the grace of a city girl navigating unfamiliar terrain.

As Nailea approached a familiar stretch of houses, she found herself just around the block from the Camerons. It was here that her path intersected with Sarah Cameron, who was out for an evening stroll of her own.

Sarah, a vision of Kook elegance, her eyes lit up at the sight of Winter in the pet stroller. “Oh, wow, your cat is adorable!” she exclaimed, a genuine smile breaking through her initial surprise.

Nailea, her eyes momentarily softening as she looked at her beloved cat, replied with a reserved acknowledgment. “Thank you. Her name's Winter.”

Sarah, finding common ground, continued the conversation. “I'm Sarah, by the way. Sarah Cameron.”

“Nailea Boo. You can call me Nai, if you want to,” she replied with a nod, her gaze cool and calculating.

Unexpectedly, the conversation flowed. The soft side of Nailea emerged as she spoke fondly of Winter, her icy exterior momentarily melting. Sarah, intrigued by Nailea's New York origins, shared tales of the privileged Kook lifestyle and the exclusive private school they attended.

As they continued their walk, Sarah extended an invitation, her eyes assessing Nailea's reaction. “There's a beach party tonight. You should come. It'll be fun.”

Nailea, maintaining her guarded demeanor, contemplated the offer. “I'll think about it,” she replied, a hint of mystery in her tone.

Sarah, seemingly unfazed by Nailea's reserved nature, smiled. “Cool. It's at the beach, obviously. Just in case you decide to show up.”

As they parted ways, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling of being both intrigued and threatened by Nailea. The New Yorker's elegance and poise posed a potential challenge to Sarah's status as the Kook princess. Still, an unspoken understanding lingered between them, a connection forged in the simplicity of a beachside conversation and the shared appreciation for a feline companion named Winter.

Sarah, choosing not to divulge their encounter to her Kook friends, felt a mix of curiosity and caution. Little did she know that Nailea's presence would continue to disrupt the carefully crafted dynamics of the Outer Banks, setting the stage for a night filled with unexpected twists at the beach party.

Nailea's arrival at the beach party sent ripples through the crowd, capturing the attention of both the Pogues and the Kooks. The pulsating beat of the music seemed to synchronize with the anticipation in the air. Nailea, clad in a skin-tight black maxi dress that accentuated her curves, moved with an otherworldly grace, her pale skin glowing in the ambient light. Her hair, in a high ponytail, cascaded down like a midnight waterfall, and her face, adorned only with a glittering lipgloss, radiated a quiet confidence.

As she ventured into the heart of the party, the chatter around her died down, replaced by hushed whispers and intrigued glances. The typical Outer Banks attire took a backseat as Nailea's unique style commanded attention. The Pogues, in their casual beachwear, exchanged wide-eyed glances, while the Kooks, draped in preppy elegance, observed her with a mix of fascination and uncertainty.

Nailea, aware of the attention she garnered, remained impervious to the external reactions. Instead, she sought solace in the rhythmic pulse of the music and the cool breeze that carried the scent of the ocean. Each step she took was deliberate, a dance of control amidst the chaos.

Sarah, standing amidst the Kooks, spotted Nailea amidst the shifting crowd. With a warm smile, she called out, “Nai!” Nailea turned, her expression momentarily softening as she acknowledged Sarah's call.

The Kooks exchanged surprised glances as Sarah approached Nailea, a subtle curiosity painting their expressions. Sarah, with an air of familiarity, introduced Nailea to the group. “Guys, this is Nailea. Nai, meet the Kooks.”

Rafe, ever the provocateur, decided to make his move. With confident strides, he approached Nailea, a crooked smile playing on his lips. The crowd parted as he reached her, his eyes locking onto hers with a boldness that rarely faced resistance.

He felt a twinge of jealousy at the seemingly instant connection between Sarah and Nailea, decided to step forward. “The mystery girl’s got a name,” Rafe drawled, his tone a blend of arrogance and charm. An attempt to join the conversation. “Hey there, Nailea. I'm Rafe Cameron, Sarah's charming brother.”

As he approached, Nailea's eyes, like two pools of mystery, met his with an unwavering gaze. The crowd hushed, sensing the collision of two forces—Rafe's brazen charisma and Nailea's enigmatic allure.

Nailea, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, regarded him with a cool gaze. “I'm well aware.”

Rafe, smirked, undeterred by Nailea's disinterest, continued, “You can call me Rafe, but I’d love it if you’d scream it out for me instead,”

Nailea rolled her eyes at that as she replied, “Rafe, huh? Noted.”

Rafe, interpreting her response as a challenge, decided to add a personal touch. “Actually, how about I call you Nai? You know, like my sister does.”

Nailea's annoyance flickered briefly again across her face. “Nai is reserved for those I permit to use it.”

Rafe, seemingly oblivious to Nailea's subtle defiance, continued his attempts at charm. “Fair enough, Nai. You’re not like the usual crowd around here. So, what brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

Nailea, her patience wearing thin, replied, “Just taking a break from the chaos of the world. Thought the Outer Banks might offer some serenity.”

Rafe, accustomed to effortless conquests, found himself intrigued by the challenge Nailea presented. He reveled in the attention, leaning in slightly. “Serenity, huh? I can assure you, things tend to get a bit wilder when I’m around.”

Nailea’s gaze remained unwavering. “I suppose we’ll see.”

The Kooks, including Topper and the others, observed the interaction with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sarah, caught between amusement and the realization of the brewing tension, exchanged glances with the Kooks.

Meanwhile, the Pogues, stationed at a distance, watched the unfolding scene with raised eyebrows and exchanged glances. John B, the de facto leader of the Pogues, muttered, “Looks like the Outer Banks is in for a storm.”

As Rafe persisted in his attempts to engage Nailea, the atmosphere became charged with a subtle competition. Nailea, the shining new diamond in the Outer Banks, found herself at the center of attention, a target for Rafe's bold advances and the curiosity of onlooking groups.

As the night wore on at the beach party, the atmosphere became charged with the ebb and flow of conversations, laughter, and the distant crash of waves. Rafe, emboldened by the attention Nailea garnered, decided to take his flirtatious banter to the next level.

Leaning in with a cocky grin, Rafe remarked, "You know, Nai, I can imagine you being quite...pleasing in certain situations." His tone carried a not-so-subtle hint of innuendo, his words intended to provoke a reaction.

Nailea, however, remained unfazed, her expression as cool as the ocean breeze. She met his gaze with a steady, almost indifferent look, and without missing a beat, replied, "Your imagination seems to have quite the vivid spectrum, Rafe."

The Kooks, who overheard the exchange, exchanged glances. Sarah, noticing the tension, shot a disapproving look at her brother, silently signaling him to tone it down.

Undeterred, Rafe persisted with a smug grin. "Come on, Nai, don't tell me you're not the least bit curious."

Nailea, her patience wearing thin once again, simply raised an eyebrow. "Nope."

The Pogues and Kooks observed the dynamic between Rafe and Nailea, sensing a clash of personalities that transcended the usual beach party banter. Nailea, with her poised demeanor, became a fortress against Rafe's advances, navigating the social currents of the Outer Banks with a deliberate grace.

As the night progressed, Rafe's attempts at flirting with Nailea became increasingly audacious. Undeterred by her composed demeanor, he continued to pepper their conversation with suggestive remarks, seemingly determined to break through her unyielding facade.

Rafe, with a smirk that hinted at mischief, leaned in once again. "You know, Nai, there's a lot more to this town than just the scenic views. I could show you some hidden gems." His words carried an obvious undertone, implying a desire for something beyond the ordinary.

Nailea, with an arched eyebrow, responded with a measured tone, "Hidden gems, Rafe? I'm afraid I've already explored more intriguing places than you can offer."

Undeterred by her cool rebuttal, Rafe persisted. "You might be surprised, Nai. The Outer Banks can be quite... a ride.” His eyes bore into hers, a hint of mischief playing in their depths.

As Rafe continued his audacious flirtations, Nailea couldn't deny the magnetic allure he exuded. Inwardly, she admitted to herself that Rafe was undeniably hot, possessing a raw and rugged appeal that resonated with a primal attraction. His features, his confident demeanor—it was impossible to ignore the undeniable charisma that radiated from him.

However, a conflict raged within Nailea. While acknowledging Rafe's physical attractiveness, his typical boyish behavior and brazen attempts to charm her clashed with her desire for genuine connection and respect. She found herself caught in the crossfire of conflicting emotions—the pull of physical attraction and the push against his persistent advances.

As Rafe spoke about wanting to give her the time of her life in bed, Nailea's internal conflict intensified. She maintained her stoic exterior, a façade concealing the tumultuous thoughts beneath. The provocative proposition echoed in her mind, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting feelings.

On one hand, the allure of Rafe's physicality was undeniable, an instinctive response that threatened to override her calculated composure. Yet, on the other hand, his explicit comments and relentless pursuit grated against her desire for genuine connection, leaving her grappling with a sense of inner turmoil.

Nailea, determined to assert control over the narrative of her interactions in the Outer Banks, silently navigated the storm of conflicting emotions. She maintained her poised exterior while internally grappling with the complexity of desire and the need for mutual understanding.

Nailea, maintaining her poise, shot back with a retort that cut through the suggestive tension. “Surprises, Rafe, are subjective. What might thrill some could be mundane for others.”

The Kooks, including Sarah and Topper, observed the exchange with a mix of amusement and concern. Sarah shot Rafe a disapproving look, silently urging him to rein in his audacious remarks. Meanwhile, the Pogues, stationed at a distance, exchanged intrigued glances, recognizing the unfolding drama between the Outer Banks' biggest womanizer and its newest enigma.

Rafe, undeterred by the silent warnings around him, decided to up the ante. “Nai,” he whispered, his tone laden with suggestion, “I bet I could make your night more memorable than any other you've had here.”

Nailea's eyes flickered with a momentary annoyance, but she remained composed. “Your idea of memorable might not align with mine. I prefer to curate my own experiences.”

Rafe, emboldened by the atmosphere of the beach party, leaned in even closer, his words now a provocative whisper. “Nai, you're playing hard to get. I like a challenge. Let's make tonight unforgettable.”

Nailea's gaze remained steady, but a subtle tightening of her jaw hinted at the building irritation. “No thanks.”

Undeterred, Rafe pressed on with his relentless pursuit. “Come on, Nai, live a little. I promise you won't regret it.” His words lingered in the air, charged with a daring invitation.

As Rafe continued his suggestive banter, Nailea couldn't escape the subtle physical reactions her body betrayed. A warmth that crept up her skin, a quickening pulse—signs of an involuntary response to the allure of his words and his magnetic presence.

Internally, Nailea scolded herself for the physiological responses that seemed to betray her composed exterior. She chided the involuntary flush in her cheeks and the faint flutter in her stomach, reminding herself of the boundaries she had set and the desire for genuine connection over mere physical attraction.

While maintaining her outward poise, Nailea's internal monologue chastised the subtle betrayals her body exhibited. ‘Control,’ she reminded herself sternly. ‘Don't let his words and charm blur the lines you've drawn.’

The conflict within her intensified—the tug of attraction warring against her insistence on respect and understanding. Nailea found herself in a silent battle, both with Rafe's suggestive advances and her own body's response, as she navigated the intricate dance of desire and restraint in the vibrant chaos of the beach party.

Amidst the pulsating beats of the music and the lively chatter around them, Nailea confronted the internal conflict head-on. The tug-of-war between physical attraction and the need for emotional connection echoed in her mind, a private struggle unfolding beneath the surface of her composed demeanor.

As the night unfolded, Nailea's internal dialogue became a steady mantra, a reminder to maintain control and not succumb to the allure of the moment. The beach party continued, the unresolved tension creating an invisible thread that connected her to Rafe in a complex dance—one where desire and restraint battled for supremacy in the enigmatic landscape of the Outer Banks.

As Rafe persisted with his explicit innuendos, the crowd around them seemed to ebb and flow, the rhythmic beats of the music providing an unpredictable backdrop to their verbal exchange. The Kooks and Pogues, now more openly watching the drama unfold, exchanged speculative glances.

Sarah, growing increasingly uncomfortable with her brother's relentless advances, intervened. “Rafe, maybe it's time to ease up a bit.”

Rafe, however, was not one to back down easily. With a cheeky grin, he retorted, “Just trying to show Nai a good time, sis. She seems like she could use it.”

Nailea, seemingly unmoved by Rafe's persistence, decided to have the final word. “Rafe, a good time is also subjective. Your version and mine might not align. I suggest you redirect your efforts elsewhere.”

The tension between them lingered, creating a palpable energy in the air. Rafe, seemingly oblivious to the line he was treading, continued his flirtatious banter, intent on unraveling the mystery that was Nailea Boo. As the beach party unfolded, the enigmatic dance between the Outer Banks' most renowned womanizer and its new diamond continued, leaving those who witnessed it with a sense of anticipation about the uncharted territories that lay ahead.

The beach party continued, the music creating a lively backdrop to the unfolding drama. The Pogues and Kooks, each with their distinct reactions, witnessed the power play unfold—a clash of personalities that hinted at the intricate dynamics to come in the coastal haven. Nailea's stoic response to Rafe's flirtations only added to her mystique, leaving those who witnessed the exchange with a sense of anticipation about what lay beneath the surface of the mysterious newcomer in the Outer Banks.

[saffichearts]

Show me some lovin'

Riri Williams x Fem!Black Mermaid!Reader | Reader is half Talokanil | Author been gone for 2 years | Stem!Riri? Stem!Riri. | Pure fluff.

-

I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, the first light of morning fluttering through the window, a soft glow on Riri's skin. There she was beside me, her breath steady, our legs tangled. I was still amazed at how warm she always felt, like the sands after a long day under the sun.

"Morning, ma," she murmured, her voice tussling with the last strands of sleep.

"Good morning.." I replied, my voice still trailing groggily.

She sat up, groaning a little as she stretched. I watched, fascinated with the way she moved — all angles and smooth muscle, a contrast to my own fluid grace. "You wanna hit the shower first, or should I?"

"You go. I'll... figure out the coffee machine?" I said, because making a drink out of ground beans still seemed odd to me.

Riri chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "Aight, but don't fight with it, 'kay? It's older than some of the profs here."

She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me to face the contraption that brewed hot, bitter water. It rumbled and sputtered like a tiny volcano as I fumbled with it, but I did get it to work. Eventually.

We left the dorm together, her arm casually draped over my shoulders. The world beyond was still such a strange mix of sounds and smells and textures, nothing like the soft, muted contours of Talokan.

We spent hours lost in the fabric of the city — museums, parks, diners with greasy spoons and laughter. Riri held my hand, her fingers a lighthouse in the strange sea of foot traffic and honking cars.

By the time we got back, night had wrapped the campus in its quiet, cool blanket.

We found ourselves in her dorm room once again, the door closing with a soft click behind us. I felt the weight of the land dimming, a longing for the crashing waves and the embrace of water.

She must've felt my shift in mood and pulled me onto the bed, into her arms. "Talk to me," she said, her voice a soft rhythm against the quiet of the room.

"It's just... sometimes I wonder how I fit here, in your world," I confessed, tracing a circle on her chest with my finger.

Riri combed her fingers through my hair, a motion as soothing as the tides. "You fit right here," she whispered, pressing her lips to mine in a gentle, grounding kiss. "With me. And I think you're dope — getting the hang of coffee, killing it at crossing streets, and owning my heart."

I laughed, the sound strange in the dry air, but it was full of warmth and trust. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," Riri promised, all earnest eyes and tender hands. "Plus, you teach me too — like how to just be still sometimes, take it all in. You're my mermaid babe."

We settled into the blankets, my doubts melting away as she held me, her heartbeat a new kind of pulse beneath the sea of my thoughts. Together, we were a confluence of two worlds, colliding, blending, coming to life in the quiet tide of the night.

"Goodnight, Ri," I whispered as her breathing deepened.

"Sweet dreams, my ocean treasure," she replied, and there, enveloped in each other, we drifted into dreams where water and land were one, and love was the bridge between two worlds.

-

Short but soft, expect a few more posts today. I had 2 years to write some shit 😭.

[weministertomonsters]

Sin - 1

➤ Wordcount - 1.8k

There was a hush in the air when Lily came back from the market in the next village over. Jericho was the biggest village in the valley of Sarhain, and it was unusual for it to be this quiet. All the adults seemed to have disappeared. When she passed a group of children playing ball on the main street she paused.

"Where is everyone?" She asked.

The motley group was begrudging of adults, but Lily was kind and sometimes passed out sweets, so she was a favorite even among the youngsters.

"They're up in the church," a boy with hair like a pile of thatch said, tossing the ball from one hand to another. "Called a meeting, they did."

"What for?" Lily glanced up at the church, a simple board-wood building perched on a small hill that overlooked the rest of the town.

"Farmer Johnson caught a monster!" One girl exclaimed. "A scary thing with teeth longer than my arm!"

She wasn't much older than six. Her tangled hair was up in pigtails, and she was wearing a dress that had been patched many times over. Her knees were nothing but muddy spots. She had a pair of shoes, but it was rare to see her wearing them.

"Margie, I've told you to keep out of the dirt, haven't I? And look at your hair," Lily sighed. "If you come around my cabin later, I'll brush it for you, alright?"

Margie nodded complacently. Lily had stopped along the way to pick the last of the autumn berries to make pies, so she gave them a small basket of the fruit to share and dropped her things off at her cabin before she hurried to the church to see what was going on. She slipped inside to find the place in turmoil.

Farmer Johnson and the handyman Hendrik Sully were shouting at each other by the communion table, and everyone else was engaging in smaller arguments, with each person picking a side.

"What was I s'posed to do? That thing has been just tearin' up my sheep for weeks! I can't afford to lose an entire flock!" Johnson said, hands on his hips.

With skin the rich color of cocoa beans, and a physique built from physical work, Johnson was quite a sight. He wore his black hair shorn close to the scalp to hide the gray that was peppered throughout, but Lily thought the gray only made him more attractive. He had enough stubbornness in him to rival the unrelenting tide of the sea and wasn't an easy man to argue with. Lily had never seen him raise a hand, though the idea seemed to be brewing as his brown eyes grew darker.

"Well now, you should know better 'n me than to bring a foul creature into the house o' the Lord! I thought you were a god-fearin' man," Hendrik snapped back with his beefy arms folded obstinately, spots of color rising in his pale cheeks.

The whole matter might have been calmed if the town of Jericho had a figure of authority to command the moment. Like the good Reverend, perhaps, but he was visiting his sick mother two towns away. He would not be back for at least two more days. Hendrik and Johnson looked about ready to scrap, so Lily put her fingers in her mouth and whistled the way her father had taught her. The piercing sound was painful to even her ears, but it settled the chaos as heads turned in her direction.

"What's happened?" She asked.

Lily had studied to become a nurse before she had married and settled in Jericho. Mothers came to her for treatments for their coughing children and men often came in with broken bones or cuts. She had even treated a prize cow once. Her skill meant that she held a measure of respect. Excited for a new ear to relay the story to, the villager overlapped each other with their version of the event as they vied for the spotlight. Gradually, Lily understood the story.

Something had been eating Farmer Johnson's sheep, and he had managed to catch it. Shocked that it was not some common predator like a wolf or cougar, he had tied it up in the church cellar for the lack of a better place. Now nobody knew what to do with it because the thing would not die.

"Tis no animal that walks god's green earth, Mrs. Lily," Johnson said, removing his hat. "Tis the devil's work."

As far as Lily was concerned, everything died at some point, so she was intrigued by the claim that two arrows and a cut to the neck had not felled the creature.

"I will take a look at it," she said. "Farmer Johnson, you come with me. Everyone else, wait here. The cellar is too small for all of us."

The crowd remained behind, while she and Johnson walked out to the cellar. The place was used as a refuge in case of heavy storms, but it had been a long time since it was used. Lily winced as Johnson threw open the door and an unpleasant coppery scent met her nose.

"Goodness," she coughed, holding her sleeve over her nose.

Johnson paused on the steps. "Maybe you shouldn't see this, Mrs. Lily," he said.

"I'll be fine. Lead the way."

By the light of the lantern he had brought, they descended the stairs. The cellar was bigger than Lily remembered, and the stone floor sounded dull under her feet. Each step brought up a puff of dust. Johnson hefted the lantern above his head, flooding the room with the weak golden light.

Lily gasped as the thing lifted its head and growled. While the sheer size and look of it alone was intimidating, the growl sounded weak, like a dog beaten into submission.

Humanoid, wolfish, beast. Those words sufficed as a description. Standing on two legs like a human, its body was twisted and hairy, a brown so dark it might as well have been black. It had a tail, hanging like a dead weight against its leg, and it looked to be almost twice her height, pointed ears nearly touching the ceiling.

The yellow eyes were the most remarkable feature. As they met hers, Lily felt the most uncomfortable sensation prickling over her body. This was no animal, though it looked quite like one.

She stepped closer, entranced.

"Never have I seen such a thing," she murmured, awed.

Johnson touched her shoulder. "Don't get too close, now. He's bound up good, but you never know."

"He?" She queried, and only then did she notice the cloth knotted around the lean, tapered waist.

"Caught him like that. Roaming with no clothes on, real improper-like," Johnson said and coughed. "He isn't normal down there either, forgive me for saying."

"Of course," Lily said matter-of-factly. In her line of work, she had seen people in little or no clothes at all.

She took in the creature again. His arms were tied back against one of the wooden pillars, and Lily wondered whether the wood was strong enough to hold him there. The position bared his chest, and she could see the working of his ribcage with each rattling breath.

The two arrows that had been mentioned were lodged in his body, one under the arm and another through the belly. Vital spots. Blood leaked sluggishly from the wounds and soaked into the cloth.

Lily stepped forward again, gently shaking Johnson's warning touch off.

"I want to remove the arrows to see what happens."

Johnson grunted and grabbed the pitchfork resting in the corner, coated with dried blood.

"If he tries anything, I'll stick him, don't you worry."

The declaration did little to calm Lily's nerves, and her hands trembled so badly that it took two tries to grab one of the arrows. The creature moaned as she twisted and wiggled it.

"I'm going to have to pull it out," she mumbled to herself.

Johnson let out a gasp when she planted her hand square on the chest of the creature where the hairs grew into a thick mane. The beast lurched and snapped his teeth, but the ropes held. Flinching from the sight of those fangs- indeed, they were almost as large as a child's arm- she yanked with all her might, and out the arrow came with a sucking sound of parting meat.

"Hand me the lantern," she commanded, her hand already outstretched to receive it.

Johnson gave it to her and inched closer as well. Together they watched the dark hole seam shut, healing into a scar before their eyes.

"Witchcraft," Johnson uttered, but Lily barely heard it.

She removed the next arrow in the same manner, except this time she poked her index finger into the wound afterward. She could feel the flesh squirming against her skin, trying to put itself back together.

"I say, Mrs. Lily!" Johnson said, consternated and looking sick. "You shouldn't-"

"This is fascinating," Lily said. "Get me a knife, will you?"

"Whatever for?" Johnson said uneasily.

Lily turned to him, her eyes flashing in light of this new discovery. "Perhaps I can find a way to kill it," she said evenly.

Johnson brightened. "Yes indeed," he said and took the stairs so quickly he almost tripped.

Lily held the lantern up to the creature's face, wincing at the tangled visage of animal and human as she kept herself well out of the way of his short reach. With no one to witness her curiosity, she felt almost fearless as she poked here and there.

His hairy skin was hot to the touch, the heat branding against her fingers. Her hands mapped out what parts of his body she dared touch, matching this and that to a human body. Other parts, like the legs, could not be resolved. They twisted somewhat like haunches but had enough mobility to let him stand upright. Lily guessed that he could run on all fours, and it would probably be efficient and quick. She shuddered at the thought of this beast lurking in the woods.

She glanced up into those eyes again and felt a touch of sympathy for this strange creature. It was enough for her to murmur,

"You should have stayed hidden."

The creature pushed his head back and let out a howl so ghostly that she fell over, nearly dropping the heavy lantern on herself. Her ears rang long after he had finished, and she sat there on the dusty ground and watched as he snuffled and wheezed and struggled in place.

──────────────

✋😔 How long have I been out? I got hit with a bout of depression and then writer's block and have spent days fighting for every scrap of energy to do anything at all. I am still working on Part 2 of Harcourt btw. It was lingering in the back of my head like an ominous shadow, so much so that yesterday I literally dreamt that I had written it. The stress! 😭

This lycan story has been in my head for a couple of days, and I'm glad I started to write it. I have plans- no promises though, at this point we all know I'm BAD at keeping them. Anyway, I hope someone missed me at least a little bit! ❤

[juuls]

Multi-Fandom Fic Recs

The @fanfic-reading-challenge gives me the opportunity to explore tons of fandoms I normally wouldn't, and I wanted to share some of my favourite so far this year!

Game of Thrones

and in the night, you'll hear me calling by shawsdavid | T | 10k | Jon/Sansa/Margaery: When you met your soulmate, touched them for the first time, you would see everything in all its colorful glory.

A Knight's Watch by DolorousEdditor | M | 670k | Jonsa: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places. All of this in the shadow of the War of Five Kings and the coming of the Others.

Potterverse

Dancing with Draco by diamonddaydream | T | 19k | Dramione: Retelling of the Yule Ball segment of Goblet of Fire as a Dramione story. Hermione Granger needs a dance tutor before she embarrasses her partner, Viktor Krum, and herself at the Yule Ball. Draco Malfoy needs a good deed to make amends for hexing her teeth. Both of them need to keep everyone else for finding out what's going on between them. Fluffy romance with just a touch of angst. NOTE: story continues in "Draco Takes a Mark."

All I Have Never Known by LittleSixx | M | 32k | Dramione: The Ministry of Magic requires all magical people to marry someone of opposite blood status by 25. The Malfoys host a ball to help Draco meet a non-pureblood witch, and the one he falls for isn't who she claims to be.

Divination for Skeptics by olivieblake | M | 98k | Dramione: The latest in magical advancements is an enchantment that reveals the bearer’s romantic compatibility with another person. Effectively eliminating uncertainty from dating, the charm can tell you whether or not you’ve found The One with a precise, Hermione Granger-approved calculation of traits and preferences. It’s a foolproof method of predicting relationship happiness. It’s also, for Hermione, positively dreadful news. Dramione, post-war, soulmate AU.

The Black Rose by DarkCloud190, Rijaya83 | E | 166k | Dreomione: After years of a rocky relationship, Hermione Granger is single again, and for the life of her she cannot stop staring at her two friends. Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott both work with her at the DMLE and she is analyzing everything they say, do, or breathe. Surely, she is just imagining it. They have been dating each other for a year now and couldn't possibly be interested in her. Hermione's troubled love life aside, there is a killer targeting a specific group of people, putting both Hermione and Theo at risk.

Hermione Granger, Demonologist by BrilliantLady | T | 47k | Hermione & Theo: Hermione was eight when she summoned her first demon. She was lonely. He asked what she wanted, and she said a friend to have tea parties with. It confused him a lot. But that wasn’t going to stop him from striking a promising deal with the young witch.

The Accidental Courtship by Lomonaaeren | T | 14k | NottPott: Harry gets a soul-mark during his eighth year at Hogwarts, and is hopeful that he can finally be sure he’ll have someone who loves him for himself. When Theodore Nott rejects him, Harry steps back and goes to live his own life. Theo, who doesn’t want to be trapped in the limelight at Potter’s side, finds himself falling in love anyway.

A Star and Her Dragon by Lizzie_carlile | E | 256k | Theomione, Drarry, Hermione & the Malfoys: “The order took everything from me,” Lucius spoke again. “Now I’ll become the monster they always feared I would be.” The Death of the Malfoy Daughter was the catalyst for Lucius Malfoy becoming the man that everyone feared he would. With a second war brewing and secrets finally coming to light, one girl holds the key to turning the tides of the war.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

Odd Little Family by chimneystacks | T | 1.7k | Xedgin: "Kira found it practical to believe that her father would someday remarry, and even more so to believe that it would be to the woman who was already a trusted, guiding figure to his child. Therefore, it was much to her surprise when a tall, handsome man interrupted her lute practice to ask her blessing in his proposal to her father."

House of the Dragon

The Falcon Becomes a Dragon by MichelleGz | T | 28k | Daemyra & Aemma: What if Rhaenyra and Daemon “woke up” during the tourney that was hosted for Baelon’s impending birth, both remembering their future life. What if Aemma’s labors were not so far along. What if there was time to save her? Will Aemma believe that her beloved husband was going to kill her for the child in her womb?

you and i are made of fire by aur_el_ias | M | 8.6k | Daemyra: Soulmarks are no trivial thing. Indeed, the words inscribed on the wrist are far from frivolous—they are the most important words heard in one's life, spoken by another. Unfortunately, save for a few exceptions, most highborn marriages are not soul-bound marriages. This is the story of one of those exceptions. OR In 105 AC, Daemon Targaryen finds his soulmate.

Viable Alternatives series by madina | T | 375k | Laenor/Rhaenyra, Daemyra, her children, and Viserys' children: So much could have been solved and so many could have been spared if a universe with dragons, magic, wargs and White Walkers had artificial insemination—and if the characters tried to be anything else but a dysfunctional family.

lodestar by aramblingjay | M | 43k | Daemyra: A Targaryen destined for a soulmate is a strange, broken creature, alone in a way that lives in their very bones, waiting for the half that will make them whole. Daemon waits sixteen years for her, and then a whole lot longer. A soulmates share scars au.

From Ashes to Embers by ladyalianora (AmbitiousWitch) | M | 185k | Cregan Stark/Rhaenyra, Daemyra: After burning by Sunfyre's flames, Rhaenyra Targaryen wakes up in her maiden bed, five and ten once more. With her mind broken and a determination to not relive the life she left behind, in a court that still presents a danger and with a father that keeps tripping her path. Can she change the future? Can she give up enough to take her crown? Or will she once again lose to her father's mistakes, her enemies' schemes and her own errors? (Juulna: One of my all-time favourites.)

A Woman Scorned by Shadow_Monarch_14 | E | 96k | WIP | Daemyra, Aemma/OC: After Prince Baelon Targaryen was a miscarriage, Queen Aemma Arryn tells King Viserys I Targaryen that she will have no more children. She has given him a daughter (a heiress) and that should be good enough. Viserys, pressured by his Small Council and his dream of a male heir as well as manipulated by Otto, makes the decision to set Aemma aside and marry Alicent. Aemma, betrayed by the love of her life, agrees… after taking her daughter, Dragonstone and the Islands of the Narrow Sea and the dragons from Viserys and his Small Council. If Otto Hightower wants a dragon King with his blood on the Iron Throne, he'll have to another thing coming.

Ancient Fire by AnaWayne | NR | 198k | WIP | Rhea/Daemon, Jonsa: Bran Stark knew that it wasn’t enough. So he decided to use his sister’s dormant yet growing magic to change the history of the House of Dragons before its fall.

put down that gravestone by darkgods | E | 249k | WIP | Daemyra: they have his mother's eyes, these would-be velaryon boys. not those of their own mother, but his. the king stretches limbs and smiles wide, heedless of his brother's fury mingled with agony, his daughter's frozen gaze. fire and blood has reunited. all must be well. the king thinks nothing of the prince's lack of mourning blacks, for the whole kingdom knew the wife daemon targaryen sought was never found in the vale. ten years after the godsforsaken night in the brothel, daemon targaryen makes his return to court to find it infested with vipers that threaten to coil lethal bodies around his niece. his niece and the nephews that bear his features yet claim the name velaryon. the rogue prince has returned, and a reckoning is set to begin.

Marvel

Some Things Shouldn't Be a Chore by scifigrl47 | T | 22k | Stony, Phlint: Steve takes things like personal responsibility and respect seriously. Tony's got people he pays to take care of that kind of thing, and anyway, he's pretty sure that he's going to die of some exotic disease in his workshop, because Dummy's still a little spotty about what is 'clean' enough to put on an open wound. The rest of the Avengers are in this for personal gain, except for Clint, he just enjoys being a dick. And some things shouldn't be a chore.

Basic Rules by StrivingArtist | T | 7.9k | Tony & Avengers: It said something about Toni’s life that she had an established system in case of kidnapping and torture, and while there had been tweaks, it was still basically the same as from when she was a kid.

Let them underestimate you.

Don’t fight back until you have an exit.

Lie from the start.

Protect what matters.

Assume no one is coming to help.

Tony and the Falcon by ArcticVulpix | T | 10k | IronFalcon: Steve introduced Sam Wilson to Tony Stark after the Fall of SHIELD. He grows to regret that. He grows to regret that very much.

Ramblings by TheSovereigntyofReality | G | 34k | Pepperony, Tony & Peggy: The problem with Alzheimer's is that sufferers sometimes ramble…often with no idea who is sitting with them. Peggy says something that sends Tony Stark on a legal manhunt.

Five Things Darcy Loves About Working for SHIELD by teand | M | 49k | ShieldShock, Phlint: The Bronx was up, the Battery was down and thank freaking Thor that SHIELD provided housing or Darcy suspected she wouldn't have been able to afford to live closer than Vermont.

I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you by Mizzy | T | 62k | Stony: Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD. This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man. Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

The Mechanic, The Soldier, and The Captain by AvocadoLove | M | 6.4k | Stuckony: HYDRA need a replacement for Zola’s genius, and they have years worth of experience breaking and brainwashing a good man into something they can control.

The Evidence by StrivingArtist | T | 16k | WinterIron: Didn’t notice. Right. Sure. Two brilliant minds, two super spies, and a god didn’t notice when the chattiest man they knew stopped making sound. They just seemed happier than before. Brighter and more cheerful than before. They just seemed like they were more comfortable with him around when he was stone silent. Fuck it. He knew they noticed. And he knew they liked him better this way.

In Which The Winter Soldier Might Just Be Wooing Darcy by Out_Of_Custody | T | 28k | WinterShock: Exactly what it says on the tin. (Prompt-Fic) (Juulna: I adore this fic!)

Blood Stained by QueenVee1 | NR | 313k | WinterShieldShock: With a war on the horizon, the Avengers mend bridges that had been burned, relationships are rebuilt, and new friends forged. After a chance encounter with Steve Rogers, Darcy Lewis figures she's had her fill of Avenger-related activities. Turns out she's more entrenched than she ever thought possible. When she forms an unlikely friendship with James "Bucky" Barnes, she thinks her life can't get any weirder. Spoiler alert: IT CAN! A (double!?!?) meet!cute and secret!sibling story! They said it couldn't be done. B**** YOU THOUGHT!

Shadow & Bone/Six of Crows

Quiet Miracles by goatsandgangsters | G | 10k | Darklina, Zoya & Nikolai & Alina & Aleksander: Alina knew miracles. She was no Saint and no savior, she knew this. But she knew the light in someone’s eyes when they smiled. She knew the warmth of an arm slung around her shoulder, the squeeze of a hand, the elbow in her side, the tight squeeze of an embrace. She knew the moment the room held its breath and then broke into the brilliant cascade of laughter. She knew the glimmer of tears wiped from her cheeks by careful fingers. Alina knew miracles. Ravka had never been so full of them. Or: sometimes a government is the beloved sun saint of the people, a young king determined to fix what has long been broken, the eminently practical head of the newly formed Grisha council, and the heretic who’s no longer going it alone.

Without a Mouth I Can Swear Your Name by tothewillofthepeople | T | 32k | Wesper, Kinej | Helnik: Kaz looked at Matthias coldly. “What do you want?” “I want to know where Wylan Van Eck is,” Matthias said. (A Six of Crows Hogwarts AU)

Star Trek Discovery

Respite series by Alethia | E | 22k | Michael/Pike: The Terran Pike comes to visit the newly-resurrected Captain Burnham on the Shenzhou and things get…heated.

Stargate Atlantis

Desert Rose by mific | E | 18k | McShep | John, a downed Hurricane pilot in WWII, is rescued by Rodney who's tracking strange energy readings in the Sahara. And in another life, their story makes another John and Rodney unwilling Atlantis celebrities.

Ted Lasso

At the Right Time by Annaelle | E | 25k | RoyJamie: Roy doesn't like to think he's taking advantage of Jamie. He's making him better, stronger, faster, a better player, and now that he's got the fucking muppet actually behaving for him, he'll be damned if he lets him go. For the PepPerVerse Bottom!Roy Challenge.

The Hunger Games

The Victors of District Twelve by DustyAttic | G | 49k | Everlark & Lucy Gray Baird & Haymitch: night What if Lucy Gray survived that night in the woods with Snow? What if she made it up north, found those people rumored to be surviving without the Capitol, and realized District Thirteen wasn't quite as obliterated as she'd been taught? And what if, sixty-five years later and after watching a certain Mockingjay end Snow's reign, she came back to District Twelve? This is the story of Katniss and Peeta meeting Lucy Gray Baird, and learning her story-- the story that Snow so desperately tried to erase.

The Locked Tomb

Your Necro Questions Answered by Magichorse | T | 8.8k | Griddlehark: Syndicated columnist "Nav the Cav" offers a sympathetic ear to cavaliers across the galaxy and dispenses practical, no-nonsense, real talk advice on how to properly manage and care for your necromancer.

Cake by the Ocean by zoicite | T | 15k | Griddlehark: Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. Everyone knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the least memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.

who ya gonna call? by igneousbitch | E | 24k | Griddlehark: (Casual sex and paranormal investigation. Not necessarily in that order.) (Or: the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU in which Gideon is ready to fight a ghost, and Harrow just wants to be haunted.)

Behind the Locked Door by UnseelieWench | T | 98k | Griddlehark: It figures that the only college with the badass Cavalier program is also the college that Harrow Nonagesimus wants to attend. Oh well. Campus is big, right? She'll probably never see that pointed little face again.

The Mummy

Best Laid Plans by kyaticlikestea | T | 6.6k | Ardeth Bay/Jonathan Carnahan: After 20 years of being subjected to more yearning than any sister should ever have to witness, Evy decides that enough's enough.

Wednesday

A Torment of the Mind by cherrybirch | M | 58k | Wenvier: In which Wednesday and Xavier sign up for Hermione’s course in Legilimency. Two overdramatic darkness-loving teens with crushes on each other, trying to master their psychic powers by learning to read each other's minds… what could go wrong? NOTE: Canon non-compliance has been tagged for three things: Hermione’s presence at Nevermore, Larissa acting as principal (as if nothing happened), and the complete removal of the stalker subplot. (I find stalkers terrifying and don’t want to write about one.)

[ivanttakethis]

Before Round 7 - Tov’s Log

Daiki (?) vs. Tallis (?) - ??? Win

————————————————————

Aurien was gone.

So was Solei.

The only thing left behind was the bloody stage.

Tov learned about all of the new security measures in a message from the production team the next morning.

Each contestant’s threat level would be reassessed. The number of guards patrolling the complex was doubled. Anyone who misbehaved would be collared permanently.

Agents from the AREPH had set up a satellite base in the complex to continue their investigation and deter any further escape attempts.

The rescue was a miracle for Aurien, and a death knell for everyone else.

No one was coming to save them.

There were only two ways out.

Win or die.

Tov didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat either.

To someone on the outside looking in, she likely appeared stoic. But there was a storm simmering just below the surface.

It had been brewing since Azure took his last breath, ebbing and flowing like the tide as the season dragged on and claimed more victims.

Now it was Tallis’s turn.

Whatever fate the stars had for him, Tov would be there to witness it.

Her biggest regret had been not getting to see Moran one last time before her round. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Even if it ended in the death of another one of her stars.

Trying to convince Cassio to let her go with them would be the hardest part.

There was a rhythmic knock at her bedroom door.

“Tov?”

“Come in.”

Cassio opened the door just enough to peek their head in and smiled. “Ah, good. You’re already up and about.” They said. “Would you like to join me backstage for Round 7?”

Tov blinked. Cassio blinked back.

What?

There was no way it was this easy.

She was expecting pushback, a counter argument, outright denial, something.

But all she got was a little smile and slightly raised eyebrows expectantly awaiting her answer.

“Uh,” Tov struggled to recover from the blindside, “Sure?”

“Wonderful. Get dressed then, we’ll need to leave soon.” Cassio said, shutting the door behind them.

Tov felt… uneasy.

After Cassio’s insistence that she stay home for the last three rounds, she thought for sure she would have to fight to go this time. Or at the very least, she would have to be the one to approach the topic first.

Why are you asking me to go now?

What changed?

It didn’t matter right now. She could figure out Cassio’s motivations later. What mattered was getting to Alien Stage and seeing Tallis.

———

Tov was back in the maze of hallways that made up Alien Stage’s backstage area.

She wasn’t as frantic as she had been during Round 3.

Some of the signs and marked doors rang familiar as she passed them.

Despite the lack of sleep and sustenance, Tov’s head only got clearer the further she wound her way through the tunnels.

She knew what her goal was and had a general idea of where she needed to go.

“The contestants will be in their dressing rooms by the time we arrive.” Cassio had told her. “They’ll be situated at the end of a long, wide hallway and around a corner on the first underground floor. It’s secluded, so you should be able to speak freely without fear of being overheard.”

The last part of their explanation had caught Tov off guard, but there was no time to question it.

She waved her badge over a card scanner and pushed open the electronic doors to a long, wide hallway. It was completely empty.

Tov felt her heart skip a beat.

“At the end of a long, wide hallway and around a corner.” She muttered to herself, quickening her pace and making a sharp left.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she turned the corner.

In front of her were two matching doors side by side. Both doors had a white card tapped in the center with a name written in black ink.

On the left: Daiki.

On the right: Tallis.

Only one door separated Tov from one of her closest friends.

Tov knocked three times. One for each of them. Tov. Himei. Tallis.

“The door is open!” A familiar voice called from the other side.

She slowly opened the door and stepped inside.

Tallis was at the large vanity with his back to her. She could see him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the reflection of the mirror. A nervous habit he hadn’t grown out of.

Tov stepped closer, making her presence known, “Tallis?”

Tallis’s eyes widened at the sound of her voice and he quickly turned around, his mouth slightly agape.

“Tov?” His voice was soft around the edges, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” She said.

Tallis nodded, trying to collect his thoughts. “Well, here I am.” His voice wavered a bit at the end.

She could tell he was nervous, yes. But there was something else underneath it.

They didn’t have time to dig any of that up. Tov wasn’t even sure how to.

She and Tallis stood there for a moment, looking at each other.

There was so much she thought about saying to him once she got here, but the growing lump in her throat refused to allow it.

She would just have to show him.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Tov closed the distance between them and pulled Tallis into a hug.

He stiffened at first, likely from shock, but wrapped his arms around her in return. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He was warmer than Himei was when she hugged her. His heart was beating faster too.

Tov couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged. Now she wished they had done it more often.

The very thought made her heart ache.

Tov wasn’t the type to beg. But if she could ask the stars for anything, it would be for Tallis to survive.

Please. She chanted. Please please please.

She pulled back from the hug just enough the cradle his face in her hands. His cheeks burned against her palms.

Up this close, she could see the different shades of green in his irises and all of the freckles across his nose.

Growing up, Tov was jealous of them. Tallis’s freckles looked like the clusters of stars she worshipped.

She remembered trying to count them all when they would lounge under the shade of the big tree in Anakt Garden, or when she couldn’t sleep during nap time. They were fascinating.

Tallis was fascinating.

She never told him that. There were a lot of things she didn’t tell him. But there was one thing she wouldn’t let go unsaid.

Their eyes met, and Tov held his gaze like a lifeline. “Do your best.” She said quietly,

“I love you.”

————————————————————

So anyways, I cried while writing this. I love that even though Tov and Tallis aren’t the most talkative people, they share a deep understanding of one another that’s unique to them 🥹

This is also the first time that Tov has told Tallis that she loves him. Usually she shows she cares through actions, but she wanted him to know exactly how she felt.

I didn’t want Tallis to say too much because he’s not my oc and I don’t want to mischaracterize him, so the ending is basically me kicking this over to @lookatmysillies if they want to expand on it (no pressure, of course).

Tallis, Himei, and AREPH belong to @lookatmysillies.

Solei belongs to @solei-eclipse.

Aurien belongs to @aurienneirua.

Azure belongs to @azureitri.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓃮 Even the Sun Influences the Tide: Chapter Ten

Even the Sun Influences the Tide: After the death of your foster brother, King T’Challa, you had spent much of your year of mourning in isolation. When your mother gathers you and your sister to end your mourning period, you encounter the newest threat to Wakanda: Namor. You don’t know what to think of Namor, but you do know one thing: he probably shouldn’t be making trips to see you at your beach hut.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Namor/K’uk’ulkan x Fem!Reader, I Tried To Make The Yucatec Maya & Xhosa Translations/Traditions As Accurate As I Can Get.

Word Count: ~2.0k

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He led you through the caves, surely heading deeper into the ground as the stone beneath your feet was gently sloped. K’uk’ulkan’s grasp in your own was strong and warm, emanating a level of comfort you hadn’t experienced in a long time. Then again, had you ever experience the grasp of someone who was privvy to your moments of intimacy? None that you could remember. It felt nice and you were more than happy to indulge. As you walked, you passed more murals, faded in color but still just as beautiful as the ones K’uk’ulkan was currently working on.

“How long have you been painting these?” You questioned, lifting your free hand and running your fingers along the faded paint in admiration. K’uk’ulkan’s eyes flickered to your face and he smiled, pleased that you were so interested in the paintings that depicted the history of his people.

“Several centuries,” He answered you, smile growing as your head snapped around and you stared at him. “I began in the early 1600s, when I was still a boy.” Why did you keep forgetting that he was much older than you?

“I keep forgetting how old you are,” You muttered weakly to yourself. It was way too easily to be convinced that he was in his thirties… beautiful muscled body aside. K’uk’ulkan chuckled again and squeezed your hand.

“I told you I age slowly, In k'iino’,” He reminded you, eyes trailing along your lush and painted lips. You felt a flush burn its way up your neck to your cheeks in reminder of the intimate kiss you had shared with him. Could you even call that a kiss? It was more like making out you had to point out to yourself, remembering the way his lips had urged yours open. It definitely wasn’t just a kiss when he had you pinned to the wall with his tongue tangled against yours, hungry and searching. You weren’t helping yourself thinking about it, and cleared your throat.

“Yeah, well, you don’t look over five hundred years old, K’uk’ulkan.” You softly spoke, running your tongue over your lip ring. “I don’t exactly look at you and think ‘slow aging mutant’.”

He hummed before looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Then what do you think when you look at me, In reina,” K’uk’ulkan questioned, almost like he knew what had been brewing behind your eyes the last few weeks. You blinked at him, the flush in your cheeks getting even hotter, before you looked away, not knowing how to answer that. You didn’t have the confidence to straight up tell him how you felt. Tell him how spun up he made you. Emerging in a smaller cavern, you spotted gorgeous blue water that disappeared into a black underwater cave and redirected your attention there.

“Where does that cave lead to?” You asked, your eyes glancing at a few bulky scuba diving like suits off to the side. No, those suits weren’t for scuba diving, they were for something deeper. Much deeper. He knew exactly what you were doing, avoiding answering his question, distracting (or at least attempting to) him with something else. You were good at avoiding talking about your true feelings. He’d give you this one just this once, for he would hate to put anything but a smile upon your face this day.

“It leads to the gateway to Talokan,” K’uk’ulkan explained, bringing you to the edge of the pool. He placed a woven blanket on the rock at the edge, and helped you kneel down before joining you. “One day soon, I shall take you there so you may see our home with your own eyes.” Your brow crinkled together.

“Wouldn’t I die from the water pressure?” You aired out while K’uk’ulkan placed the bowl of seeds and petals between you. He had a knowing smile upon his lips but didn’t broach the topic further. Settling your eyes on the bowl, your head tilted as you reached for the bowl and took a handful of seeds and petals, letting them run through your fingers. “How exactly do we make our offer?”

“Don’t start overthinking things now, In k'iino’,” K’uk’ulkan teased, placing his hand over yours. You had a handful of the seed and petals within your grasp and he brought your joined hands to the water in front of you. Fingers slipped across the back of your hand and pushed between your own, indicating for you to open your fingers. You did and the seeds and petals slipped from your grasp, floating through the blue crystal water. There wasn’t much you were expecting from this, but your eyes widened when a glimmer of electric blue appeared around the individual offerings. Lurching forwards where you knelt, you watched as the glowing offerings disappeared into the dark depths.

“You didn’t spike that drink, did you?” You questioned weakly, your mind thinking back to the old traditions that your mother had taught you. You weren’t as resistant in your beliefs as Shuri was, but you still had trouble believing in the gods. Then again, you were sitting next to a man likened to one so perhaps you should be changing your view point.

“Your nation has Gods you worship, Talokan has theirs,” K’uk’ulkan replied with a sly smile. “But you know that, Y/N.” Of course you knew that, you were thinking about it right now, but seeing was believing and it was only the Black Panther who had the pleasure of experiencing Bast’s gift, of traveling to the spiritual plane.

“I do not have the ancestral blood,” You softly mentioned. “I am an outsider who will never truly experience the touch of Bast, no matter how much I wish for it. Sometimes it is hard to believe in something that you may never touch.” Taking another handful of seed and petals, you released them into the water and watched as they glowed, letting your fingers linger in the water. You were wistful for that touch of the Gods that you had been surrounded by most of your life, but never the honor of experiencing. “I hate how envious I have become.”

“You shouldn’t hate yourself, Y/N,” K’uk’ulkan told you, observing your face and seeing the underlying emotions boiling within your body. You may have been adopted into the royal family and treated like one, but you had always been an outsider. He reached up and traced one of the red lines running down your chin with his thumb. The paintings of his people fit you well. “You just haven’t found your way in the world.”

Pursing your lips, you ran your tongue over your new lip ring. Then you swirled your fingers through the water once last time and withdrew.

“Do you mind telling me about these marks, symbols?” You asked, eyes dropping to the red symbols painstakingly painted all over your body. “The women who did them were arguing over them for quite a while.”

K’uk’ulkan chuckled, knowing that his people had probably wanted to paint only the most honorable of marks upon your body, as were the traditions of his people long before they descended beneath the waves. He couldn’t help but reach up and trace one of the red lines running down your cheek, indicating your royal status.

“Painting of skin has long since been used within my people to signify ones status or role.” K’uk’ulkan explained, his thumb now migrating over your lower lip and stroking the piercing. “Red is for royalty and the lines on your face signify youth and beauty.” His mouth twitched at the corner when he felt heat blooming beneath your skin. You were always so modest about yourself, especially with the way you dressed and the way you portrayed yourself. “The rest of your markings, I am going to have to take a closer look,” Your eyes went round from the way he said that, so cheekily and with full confidence that he would be doing so later…. Which had your mind reeling and your flush burning with an incendiary flame. “From what I can guess I can imagine that they have put symbols of reverence and promise upon your delicate flesh, In reina. For they’ve never had the pleasure of tending to someone of your position.”

Which was what, exactly? An adopted commoner turned princess? Someone who was trying to bring peace?

Trying his best not to tease you about your embarrassment, K’uk’ulkan then went to explain the history behind your piercings.

“Piercings were worn by those of high social status,” He continued, looking at all the piercings you now had. His people certainly held you in high regard given all the jade you now wore. “They bestowed you with many gifts, as jade is a great symbol of wealth within Mayan culture.” K’uk’ulkan dropped his eyes to the betrothal necklace wrapped around your neck. “They compliment your necklace quite well, In reina.”

“I’ve done nothing to earn these gifts.”K’uk’ulkan’s eyebrow popped up and he smirked.

“If you had to earn these,” He brushed his fingers over your ear, admiring how the jade looked against your skin. “Then they wouldn’t be gifts.” You wanted to argue with him but knew that he was, technically, right. So you backed down with a huff and looked at the bowl once more.

“Do I need to do anything else?” You asked, getting back to business. K’uk’ulkan arched an eyebrow yet again, before offering his hand to you. You glanced at it before looking back up into his face, wordlessly taking the offered hand.

“Now it it is time we take care of you,” K’uk’ulkan spoke, pulling you to your feet. “I promised you food did I not?” Much to your embarrassment, your stomach decided to make a complaint and rumbled. Swearing in Xhosa, you felt a flush of heat run up your neck. K’uk’ulkan found your embarrassment adorable, but misplaced, what reason did you need to be embarrassed about? Was hunger not a natural occurrence?

Walking back to K’uk’ulkan’s painting cavern, he lead you to the shack where he was currently working on his latest mural and were met with the sight of a Talokanil woman fussing over a table spread that made your mouth water.

“Níib óolal, Eleuia,”(Thank you) K’uk’ulkan spoke, the women, Eleuia, bowed and made the hand sign.

“K’uk’ulkan, In reina,” She said softly before excusing herself. You watched her go before glancing at the food once more. It all looked lovingly home made, just like the spreads you used to enjoy with the Nana’s of the village you frequented when you slipped out of the citadel.

“Our people are eager to know if you like our food.” K’uk’ulkan explained, tugging you over to one of the chairs. You took a seat and looked closer at the food. “You can imagine that we cannot cook conventional meals you are used to in Talokan, but we do take pride in what we are able to cultivate.”

“Since I was taken in, I was taught that all food is sacred, especially that which is cultivated by hand.” You answered, taking a small piece of either a fruit or vegetable and eating it. There was a saline quality to it, but you found it enjoyable to eat, licking the juice that ran down the side of your hand. “You shouldn’t take what is given to you for granted, because someone else might not have the luxury of such easy access.”

“Your mother has instilled good values, Y/N, perhaps there is some hope on the surface.” You observed K’uk’ulkan, noting the pained anger within his eyes. You had no doubt what happened centuries ago still haunted him.

“It’s my belief that there is good everywhere, K’uk’ulkan,” You told him with a gentle look, wishing that you could erase the pain you saw. “But when you only focus on the bad, it becomes all you can see.” You and K’uk’ulkan stared at each other, and you chewed on your lip, playing with the lip ring. “Will you tell me more stories of your people? I’d like to learn more if you’ll allow it.”

K’uk’ulkan smiled at you, pleased at your interest and more than happy to tell you all the stories you wished to hear. As his yatan, you would benefit from knowing such stories and learning about the Talokan way of life. Even if you weren’t one of them quite yet.

“It would be my honor, In reina,”

Date Published: 5/7/23

Last Edit: 4/30/23

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