#Fools Gold Chapter One | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jimxnslight · 6 months ago

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Fool's Gold || Part II

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. gun/physical violence, blood, dead bodies, etc), very vague indication of past sexual assault, additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

A/N: thank you guys so much for all the love you gave the first part, it means so much to me 🥺 Hope you enjoy this chapter too (Y/N and Jungkook bicker for like half of it 💀)

<< previous part || masterlist || next part >>

It was supposed to be simple.

You kill Jungkook, breaking up the alliance between the Lees and the Jeons, blame his murder on a rival mafia, and then be on your merry way back to your father’s home before you could be caught up in the chaos you’d have started. Sure it hadn’t been the most complex of plans you’ve come up with, you hardly had the time to map out a plan like that anyway, but sometimes simple was all one needed.

Unfortunately, this had clearly not been one of those times.

The problem was Jungkook. Your first husband had been an idiot and completely fooled by your featherbrained facade, so much so that even after you’d stolen the gun from his waistband and shot him twice in the chest he’d stared at you like you’d grown two heads. He just couldn’t comprehend the fact that a seemingly frivolous girl could have the courage to pull the trigger. Even after what he’d tried to do to you. After he almost-

You felt a shudder sweep across your spine.

But Jungkook was different. He had been assessing you the second you appeared before him during the wedding ceremony and, even though he had seemed to take in your carefully crafted performance, his gaze still refused to complete its assessment. At first you thought it was just lust -most men in the mafia couldn’t seem to be rid of that tenacious emotion- however, the lack of sexual initiation on his part despite being alone together in his room made you realise that perhaps Jungkook was a lot less like the mafia leaders you had grown up with than you realised.

For one, he was scarily observant, and it was this skill that had ultimately led to the downfall of your assassination attempt.

A huff escaped your lips at the thought, your hands continuing to expertly manoeuvre two pins inside the lock of the door you were currently crouched in front of. You had stayed sat on Jungkook’s bed the entire night, too wary to even attempt sleeping in the bedroom that was entirely unfamiliar to you. You half expected Jungkook to sneak into the room while you were out cold and enact a fitting revenge; you’d be unable to even blame him, you’d tried to kill the man after all. But Jungkook hadn’t left the mystery room all night, only emerging once the clock had struck 7 in the morning to wordlessly grab a black coat from the top of his dresser and disappear behind the front door with nothing but a single, hasty glance in your direction.

Your brow had raised as you watched him get into his black car and drive off through the window, wondering how he could just leave you unattended in his home after the threat you had dropped near the end of your conversation earlier. Sure he probably had people monitoring his house at all times, but there was still a lot you could get done in front of people that wouldn’t suspect the girl with fluffy dresses and doe eyes to be much of a threat.

Luckily for him though, you were beyond tired, and that meant that his absence was just a window of opportunity to get some actual rest without the constant fear of his retaliation keeping you awake. So following a long yawn, you had naturally felt yourself drift towards the bed, eyeing the soft duvet and fluffy pillows sleepily. But then, before you could lose yourself to the comfort of his mattress, your curious gaze had slowly wandered to the door Jungkook had disappeared behind last night and, next thing you knew, you were crouched in front of its gold lock and jabbing two pins into its keyhole.

Your focus snapped back to the door before you as a familiar click sounded from the lock, causing it to swing open just a few centimetres. You pocketed the two pins, muttering a small “finally...” while your fingers wrapped around the gold handle. But before you could push it open, the muffled sound of an object dropping suddenly startled you. You whirled around, eyes immediately scanning the bedroom with intense precision as your hand grabbed the closest thing to you: a vase. Had someone managed to get into the room without you knowing? Perhaps you weren’t as observant as Jungkook seemed to be, but you’ve never been so absentminded that you could’ve been this caught off guard-

“Oh my god,” you gasped abruptly, a recollection surfacing as you quickly placed the vase back on the bedside table and scurried over to the closet. You couldn’t believe you had forgotten something so important… She must have been waiting in there the entire night.

You hastily threw open the closet door, gaze scanning the space until it finally fell on a small shadow peeking from behind the white and fawn island. The black shadow stood still for a moment, as if identifying the intruder, before the familiar cat sauntered out of the small space, black fur gleaming under the light. She looked up at you with an expression that eerily resembled a scowl.

“Hi Persilla,” you cooed, crouching down to run a hand apologetically through the creature’s fur. Persilla evaded it at first, almost punishing you for forgetting her in the small, dark walk-in closet for the entire night, but eventually she gave in, purring as she brushed her soft tail against your still bare legs. While you could understand being stuck in a place like that for hours might’ve been slightly uncomfortable, she really had no right to act like that after how damn hard it had been to have her smuggled into Jungkook’s house without alerting anyone. It had been a huge risk, one that you might have a little trouble justifying, but you swear there was just something calming about her presence and you needed that desperately, especially in such a foreign place.

“I failed to kill him,” you frowned, watching as Persilla’s feline eyes raised to watch you, “which means we’re going to have to stay here a little longer than I thought.”

You pulled yourself from the floor, shifting your focus back to Jungkook’s mystery room as you felt a pang of irritation hit you. You needed Jungkook dead, the delay in his death getting in the way of everything you’ve been working towards. Yet here you were now, stuck in the house you thought you wouldn’t be spending more than a night in.

You cautiously walked over to the door you’d lock picked earlier, taking special care not to step on Persilla as she skittered between your feet, before grabbing the handle and pushing it open. The room turned out to be a seemingly simple office, which you found unsurprising for the most part. There was a wall full of books on one side, a glass cabinet of liquor wedged between its centre, while another wall was made up entirely of glass that showed off an enormous portion of Jungkook’s estate. It was the large desk to your right that really caught your attention, the sight of a map sprawled over its smooth surface particularly piquing your interest.

You walked towards the glass cabinet first, pulling out a crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey to pour yourself a drink, before you walked over to the desk and glanced at the map curiously. Persilla jumped onto the surface, circling the piece of paper like a predator surveying its prey.

“It’s a map of the North,” you noted, taking a sip of the drink in your hand momentarily as you recognised the illustration instantly. You’d spend months studying a similar map back home before marrying Jungkook after all.

Handmade lines ran throughout the northern portion of the country, separating the territories run by different mafia leaders. You recognised Jungkook’s territory first, one of the bigger ones in the region, while Taehyung’s was right next to his, both of which were detailed with the locations of different landmarks: docks, hotels, residential areas, etc. You noticed that the other territories hadn’t been labelled like that, with the territory above Jungkook’s labelled “Park Territory” simply containing one or two locations and the territory labelled “Min Territory” containing no locations. There was a region above those two territories that hadn’t even been labelled at all, similar to your own map of the North back at home.

“Aside from Taehyung’s territory, Jungkook doesn’t seem to know much about the northern region. I guess we’re similar in that aspect,” you muttered, speaking to Persilla as if you were giving her a report of the current situation. She turned towards you, tilting her head for a moment before she nudged the corner of the paper with her paw. You narrowed your gaze at the action, deciding to flip the paper. To your surprise there was another map, this time illustrating the southern portion of the country; the one where your father’s territory, the Lees, was situated and where you’d grown up your entire life.

You smiled at Persilla, scratching under her chin while she purred in delight at the attention. What would you do without her?

It was surprising to see this map so much more detailed than the first, you thought, taking another sip of the whiskey in your hand. While Taehyung’s territory had been the only one littered with details in the northern region, all the territories in the South were full of details upon details. You could make out each one labelled with its respective mafia leader, a number of important locations, and even predictions about possible actions each leader might take in the future, all of which you could confirm to be highly accurate.

You flipped the map back to how it had been initially, gaze raising to move onto scanning the rest of the room while Persilla dropped to the floor quietly.

“How could Jungkook know so little about the northern region, yet so much about the South?” You thought out loud, tracking Persilla’s movements as she began pacing around the room. He was clearly great at collecting intel, the amount of information he had on the southern region was evidence of that, yet the North, his own region, was practically blank aside from Taehyung’s territory. Having grown up in the southern region yourself, you knew it better than the back of your hand. So if Jungkook had grown up in the North, how could he know so little about it? Was there some kind of history between the mafias in the North?

Like your thoughts, you began absentmindedly drifting towards the enormous bookshelf, fingers brushing against the hardcover spines.

If there really was history between the northern mafias, then knowing that history could be useful. Once you killed Jungkook and blamed his death on Park Jimin, there would be war between the Jeons and the Parks, and since the Kims and Mins are allied with the Jeons and Parks, respectively, it would be a full on war of the North. It’s that kind of instability you were aiming for, but knowing the more personal history of the northern mafias might help you create further tensions between the alliances, making things even more unstable. It would be perfect; the messier the better. That’s what your ultimate plan called for. That’s how you’ll finally-

You suddenly came to an abrupt stop, your fingers freezing as they came in contact with a particular book. It was a hardcover, just like the others, entirely black aside from the title, which had been written in bright gold, and the off-white pages.

Persilla was back to skittering between your ankles once again, as if sensing the change in your thoughts. Her soft, black tail brushed against your bare legs as you delicately brought out the book with both your hands, wide eyes scanning it almost in disbelief.

The Choice of a Nation.

It was the book that had changed your life. A fictitious book about a protagonist that lived in a world of human rights, justice, and structure. A world where everyone, more or less, was defined by their achievements and hard work rather than who they were born to.

Reality was far from that. It was an enormous country cut up into territories based on which mafia leader ruled it. It was having to grow up watching innocent people be slaughtered because of petty disputes between said mafia leaders. It was watching people from mafia families be automatically rich and educated and powerful while people born to those under their rule automatically be poor, uneducated, and stepped on again and again and again. You were taught that this way of living was normal, that it was the only way of living in this world.

Reality was something you’ve always found difficult to come to terms with because of this, because despite being taught the normalcy of such a way of living, it never seemed right to you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of people’s entire lives being dependent on who they were born to, something that wasn’t in their control. If you were born a servant, you and the rest of your generations would stay servants forever. If you were born a mafia leader, you and your future generations would stay in power forever. Your sentiments made you feel alien when you realised no one else around you seemed to share the same thoughts, so much so that you started wondering that perhaps you really were being too unrealistic.

But then came The Choice of a Nation, a book that introduced to you concepts like governments and elections and courts. It was all entirely fiction, every term having to be explained in great detail to be understandable, but all that mattered to you was that it was doable. Having different levels of governments, having a justice system that judged everyone fairly no matter who they were, and having the people decide who they want leading them. It was realistic.

And you’re convinced that the mafia families knew it too, because despite its fictitious nature, the book was immediately banned the second it was published, while its author had been killed just as quickly. You yourself had only gotten your hands on the book out of sheer dumb luck. Distantly you wondered how and why Jungkook had this copy.

After that you had become dead set on making the book’s world a reality. But in order for things to go as you’ve planned, you need things to be unstable, because unstable things are weak. The South has always been like that, with mafia leaders constantly at each other’s throats. You doubt any of them even know what the word ‘alliance’ even means. It was perfect for you.

The North, on the other hand, was a bit different. There were two alliances and the most northern region was a complete mystery to you. At first, you were stumped with how you were going to weaken the region, but then the opportunity had presented itself when your father had announced your hasty marriage to Jungkook. And once again, it was perfect.

All you needed was Jungkook to be dead, and the rest would fall in place just like you’d planned.

A meowing noise suddenly sounded from your feet, causing you to look down and find Persilla standing on her hind legs, her front paws brushing against your bare shins repeatedly. Her impatience was clear as day, making you smile.

“You’re right, that’s enough snooping for today I think,” you nodded, running a hand over her small head while the other clutched the book firmly, “you deserve some expensive salmon for being such a good girl.”

As if she understood your words, Persilla dropped to the floor and purred, rubbing her furry body against your ankle. You gave the room one last look, as if expecting to find something else worth surveying, but ultimately decided you were way too tired from your all-nighter to continue on.

At this point in his life, Jungkook could say with certainty that he was a pretty patient man. He wasn’t born with the trait, if anything impatience seemed to have been stitched well into his personality the second he’d entered this world. But, over time, he’d learned to get rid of the pesky trait and replace it with the much more effective and fruitful quality that was patience.

Yet, not even all those years of cultivating the characteristic could have prepared him for how late Kim Taehyung was.

Jungkook had been standing at the West docks, hands in the pockets of his long, black coat, since 8:00 AM in the morning, waiting almost 4 hours for his friend with furrowed brows and an unimpressed frown. He’d left the house as early as appropriately possible, partly because of your presence and partly because of the urgency in addressing the dock’s issue. Now it was almost noon and Taehyung, who’d promised to be here by 9:00 AM was still nowhere in sight.

An annoyed sigh escaped his lips as he felt the ocean air breeze through the nearly black strands of his hair. Taehyung being late had given him more time to think about earlier this morning, when he’d shot you a glance before he was out the front door. You looked like you hadn’t slept a wink, which Jungkook could relate to, but he supposed that was for the best. You’d threatened to kill him at the end of your conversation last night, so having you sleep deprived would probably work in his favour.

Not that you could really do anything anyway. Jungkook had made sure to set guards in every entrance to the kitchen and stripped the house of every weapon that wasn’t locked in a hefty safe. There was no way you could get your hands on any kind of gun or knife, so he was pretty confident that you couldn’t be a threat to him at the moment. Though, the memory of your fiery eyes from last night had seemed so determined…

“What are you smirking about?” Taehyung asked as he strolled along the boardwalk, making his way towards the younger man.

Jungkook’s scowl instantly returned, causing Taehyung to raise his hands in surrender, “it took Chaewon and I a whole hour to get Suho to bed, who’s also sick by the way. Cut me some slack, man.”

“I told you guys to stay over at my place and not some hotel,” Jungkook chastised, feeling bad for the little guy. He made a note to send some sweets to their hotel room when he got back, “the maid could have helped you guys out.”

“The newlyweds deserve to have the house to themselves,” Taehyung waved him off before he smirked, “besides, I didn’t know how freaky you guys were going to get and I couldn’t risk Suho hearing, he’s way too young for that stuff.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, motioning for Taehyung to start following him. They started walking along the boardwalk, Jungkook’s hands still shoved into his coat’s pockets while Taehyung’s were covered in black leather gloves.

“Okay,” Taehyung said, “I’m just going to ask one question, and then we’ll drop it and you can explain this whole dock’s situation to me.”

That earned him a raised brow, but the lack of the younger’s refusal spurred him on.

“What do you think of her?”

Jungkook didn’t answer for a moment, mulling over his reply before he finally answered.

“She’s fine.”

He didn’t know why he wasn’t telling Taehyung the truth about you, about how your entire ditzy personality was a front and about how hellbent you were on killing him to get a divorce. Maybe it was because he didn’t really see the need to. Jungkook had concluded that you were only trying to kill him because you wanted a divorce, allowing you to go back to whichever boyfriend was waiting for you back in the south.

“Your words are saying she’s fine, but your face is saying you’re mad,” Taehyung noted with a brow raised. But Jungkook waved him off, ready to end this conversation and get onto more important business.

“Anyways, as you know, the Parks decided to attack the West docks last week,” Jungkook began, pointing towards his left to show Taehyung the damage sustained. One of the enormous warehouses, which collectively formed a neat line leading farther than his eye could decipher, had caved into itself, its walls charred almost entirely. The two warehouses by its side seemed more salvageable, with only a wall or two affected by the evident fire that had taken place. Construction workers could already be seen surrounding the area, hard at work to replace the damaged structures.

Taehyung nodded as he took in the scene, “an attack at the docks… they’re checking to see how strong the Jeons are at the moment.”

“They’re doing it because they want to know if they can take over our territory.”

That was the standard protocol after all. When a mafia attacks another mafia’s docks, it’s usually because they want to test how weak or strong they are and whether they can take them over or not. The fact that the Parks pulled something like this right after their alliance with the Mins was no coincidence to Jungkook.

But to his surprise, Taehyung paused, as if mulling over Jungkook’s words. He watched Taehyung’s gaze drift over to the vast sea on their right, a contemplative look shadowing over his eyes before they flickered back to Jungkook.

“Is that really what you think Jimin is doing?”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook frowned, “this is the textbook procedure for taking over another territory.”

When Taehyung didn’t answer him, Jungkook placed a hand in front of his chest, blocking his path so the two could stand facing each other as they spoke.

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung finally explained, “it seems a bit out of character for him. Wasn’t he always the one that was going on about how dumb it is to want to take over other territories instead of cultivating your own?”

Jungkook scoffed, “yeah, in university, which was years ago. Jimin has changed since then.”

Taehyung’s lips formed a grim line at the animosity in his voice.

“Look, I know you both-”

“No,” Jungkook cut him off quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going, “this isn’t the hatred from what happened years ago talking. Jimin has changed, and I have the evidence to prove it.”

Jungkook turned around to resume his earlier path, Taehyung walking slowly behind him as they passed by the workers sighing in relief at the cool breeze of the ocean and large ships anchored alongside the piers. In a matter of minutes, Jungkook had led him to the entrance of an enormous warehouse. Taehyung’s brows furrowed when Jungkook turned around to face him, a grim expression washing over his strong features.

“When the Parks attacked the docks last week, I managed to prevent them from seizing control of it by bringing out some old blackmail. Obviously I didn’t think it would hold them off for long if their plan really is to take over my territory, but I didn’t expect them to retaliate so soon,” Jungkook explained, “nor did I expect them to retaliate in this way.”

He turned back to face the warehouse's door, hand wrapping around its handle, “the night before my wedding, I was called to the docks because some of the worker’s had found something in this warehouse.”

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door wide open, revealing its inside.

“This is what I found.”

It was awful.

The entire warehouse was full of dead bodies, some thrown haphazardly on the ground while others were thrown over the equipment spanning the room. Taehyung could make out bodies of men, women, and even some children -he couldn’t look at them for too long without thinking of his own son- all of which had clearly been killed in varying ways. Some looked like they had been burned, while others looked like they’d been thrown into a blender. Being in the mafia, Taehyung was no stranger to blood and gore, but this… this was too much, even for him.

But then his gaze caught onto a wall in the far corner of the warehouse, particularly the sight of dried blood smeared against the grey metal. He took in each stroke of red, processing each letter it had been made to resemble until he could read what had been written.

“‘We’re coming,’” Jungkook read out loud, keeping his stoic gaze fixed on Taehyung.

He shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was seeing, “I knew Yoongi was brutal, but I never could have expected he’d be capable of… this.”

Jungkook’s gaze drifted around the room, grimacing at the scene before him.

“Jimin and Yoongi clearly aren’t who they used to be,” he concluded, looking towards Taehyung for confirmation. Thankfully, Taehyung nodded this time, gaze becoming hard as he agreed without protest.

“Well, they’ve warned us that they’re coming,” he said, gesturing towards the bloody message, “what are we going to do about it?”

Jungkook motioned for Taehyung to follow him back outside, where the air didn’t smell like death and the sights didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with one of the unaffiliated gangs located in the West in about an hour. As long as we pay them well, they’ll do just about anything for us. Having extra manpower should tip the odds in our favour. Not to mention, I’ll make good use of the Lees.”

Taehyung nodded as he watched Jungkook close the door of the warehouse, “are you going to contact Jimin first?”

“No,” he shook his head, beginning to walk back to the parking lot alongside Taehyung, “I’ve had a headcount done and it doesn’t seem like any of the people in the warehouse were one of ours. I think the Parks were just trying to send a message to scare us.”

“I’ll get a headcount done for my people too just in case,” Taehyung said, to which Jungkook agreed.

Once they had made it back to the parking lot, Taehyung turned to face him.

“I was thinking of heading back to my territory tonight, since I have a few things I need to take care of,” he explained, opening the door of his bright orange car before leaning against it casually, “but Chaewon wanted to have a late lunch or dinner with the bride and groom before we left. I hope you don’t mind.”

Jungkook’s interest piqued as a thought suddenly came to mind. This would be a good opportunity to assess how you and him were going to act like a couple in front of others. If the two of you failed, it would be fine since it was just Taehyung and Chaewon, two people that he trusted with his life. Then you and him could learn from the experience and hopefully get it together before having to make any public appearances.

“Does 6 work?” He asked, to which Taehyung nodded.

The two then exchanged quick goodbyes, Taehyung explaining that he should probably get back as soon as possible to get things in order, before Jungkook watched as he got into his car and drove off, standing for a few minutes until someone came to stand behind him.

“Sir?”

He turned to find a man bowing in his direction, waiting for permission to speak. Jungkook motioned for him to go on, already getting an idea of what this was about.

“Our informant within the Lees just contacted us,” he explained, “he said that Lee Y/N’s father believes his daughter to be a frivolous and naive girl, her sole purpose being to marry someone that will benefit the Lees.”

Jungkook nodded at the news. So you had been telling the truth when you said that you’d fooled everyone, including your father, with your performance… Distantly he wondered why you would decide to resort to such an act.

“Have there been any talks of betraying this alliance?” Jungkook asked, to which the man shook his head.

“The informant said there were none. Lee Y/N’s father seems dependent on this alliance to protect himself from neighbouring mafias. The South is quite unsettled in that aspect.”

“I see, and have there been any talks of Y/N having some sort of significant other in the Lee territory?”

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, “the informant said that there weren’t really any talks of that… but he did mention that before your marriage, when Lee Y/N was still living in the Lee territory, he’d accidentally overheard a hushed phone conversation she’d had in her bedroom. He couldn’t make out what they had been talking about, but he was able to confirm that the voice on the other line was male. The informant hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but since you’re asking now, he decided it would be safer to let you know just in case.”

It could have been anyone, hell, you could have been talking to a relative or something, but Jungkook’s mind went straight to his initial theory. It made sense, especially considering you wanted a divorce so badly. He couldn’t really think of any other reason besides your heart already belonging to someone else… even though you were his wife.

“Sir? Was there anything else?” The man asked, causing Jungkook to reel in his scowl.

“Contact Lee Y/N’s father and schedule a meeting with him as soon as he can,” Jungkook said, “that’s all, thank you.”

The man bowed, instantly scurrying away from sight to get to the assigned task, while Jungkook turned to start making his way to his car.

For some reason, his mood had suddenly soured.

“So we finally get to meet the famous Y/N.”

You smiled shyly as you walked into the grand dining hall, automatically taking in the spiralling chandelier, marble floor, and dark brown dining table filled with formal decoration pieces. Only after this assessment did you let your gaze fall on the two sitting on the dining chairs; the first one you already knew to be Taehyung, who was dressed in a rich grey suit, while the other was a woman -you automatically assumed she was Taehyung’s wife considering the maid had told you you’d be dining with the two today.

She had been the one that had spoken, but the first thing you noticed when your eyes landed on her was that she was gorgeous. Her straight, long black hair and hazel eyes sparkled under the glittering light of the chandelier overhead, while her dark maroon dress fit elegantly into the rich ambience of the room.

As she stood from her seat, you felt yourself automatically tense. Back in the South, the wives of mafia leaders were always vicious and constantly at each other's throats, a reflection of their husbands’ animosity towards each other. Now that you were married, you supposed you’d have to be subjected to the same, but the only difference was that your ditzy facade would bar you from being able to fight back. Whatever Taehyung’s wife threw at you, you’d have to take it.

But after she made her way towards you, her actions as smooth as silk, you were surprised when she pulled you in for a quick and formal embrace.

“The wedding was absolutely beautiful,” she praised, even the flow of her voice silk-like, “and of course your dress, it was exquisite! You must tell me the designer you went with- or perhaps it was all just your figure. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.”

For a moment all you could do was stare at her; this woman… she was being so… nice. Too nice, if you were being honest. It was a little unnerving, instantly making you sceptical of her intentions. Perhaps the wives of northern mafia leaders were more cunning in the way they sniped at each other? They greeted each other politely during occasions, but behind the scenes they would attack each other to obtain what they wanted? But then again, what could anyone possibly want from you? To them you were just some featherbrained girl that dressed like a fancy pastel tablecloth.

You’d decided to still dress the part this evening, with a fluffy light pink dress that fell right at your knees and a matching silk ribbon tied into a bow pulling up half your hair, even if you didn’t know for sure how much Jungkook would have revealed to Taehyung. You had the feeling that Jungkook wouldn’t tell him anything, since it would work in his favour having the least amount of people knowing, but you’ve also heard how close the two men were so it wouldn’t entirely surprise you if he had.

Taehyung certainly was staring at you like he knew your secret. Unlike his wife, he stayed seated at the dining table, offering you a polite greeting from there instead, but you could recognise the calculating nature of his gaze as clear as day. He was assessing your every movement as you interacted with his wife, which made you straighten up. It wouldn’t be the biggest deal if he did know, because who would believe him if he went around spreading that kind of news, but if he didn’t, then you would have to up the quality of your act.

“Has Jungkook told you anything about us?” Taehyung’s wife asked as she took the seat next to her husband once again, while you decided to take the seat across from her, “ah- who am I kidding? You’ve only been here a night. I’m Chaewon and this is Taehyung, he’s the leader of the Kims.”

You nodded, making sure to keep your voice light and airy, “you’re pretty.”

She tried to hide it well, but the comment had Chaewon’s eyes flickering to her husband for a moment. It was better that you started dropping a dumb comment here and there to really seal the ‘dumb as rocks’ trait.

Chaewon quickly recovered from the surprise, letting out a breathy chuckle, “you’re sweet, but you’re so pretty yourself. I love the light sparkles you’ve added to your lids, it’s such a subtle but dainty thing.”

Her tone was so formal that you couldn’t tell if she was passively mocking you or not. You would’ve preferred she just pull a gun on you or something; it would be way less confusing than sitting here and trying to read between the lines of her words. Confrontational individuals were dangerous, but individuals who planned their strikes in the shadows were the real threats. You’d know that best.

At that moment, before you could reply with an even dumber comment, the sound of the door opening caught everyone’s attention. You turned just to catch Jungkook closing the door behind him, his hair slightly damp, likely from a shower, and dressed in a simple black collar shirt tucked into matching black dress pants. He paused at the doorway, scanning the room for a moment until his eyes dropped on you.

Your brows furrowed when he held your gaze for a second longer than normal, a hidden question in your expression. He looked almost thoughtful, an idea clearly waltzing through his mind, before he finally started making his way towards the three of you.

You thought that was the end of the odd moment, and that Jungkook would finally initiate a conversation with the other two sitting at the table as he pulled out the chair next to you. But just as he was about to settle into the soft cushion, he stalled for a second, turned to face you…

And then placed a quick peck on your cheek.

You froze, shock making your limbs rigid as you used every bit of your self control to stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the action.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jungkook apologised as he casually plopped down into his seat, gaze fixing on the couple before you.

But Chaewon smiled, a graceful hand going to her chest.

“Aww look at how flustered she looks, aren’t they just adorable, Taehyung?” She said with a smile. Your hands instantly went to your cheeks, annoyed to find them burning underneath your palms.

Before you could think much of it though, the servers started spilling into the room to place steaming plates of food before you all. This evening’s menu seemed to be seafood themed, with plates of crab, lobster, and shrimp filling the initially empty surface of the dark dining table. It made sense to you, considering almost half of Jungkook’s territory bordered the ocean.

Once the plates had been placed, a server stepped beside you, bringing out a bottle of red wine to pour into the empty glass beside your plate. But you brought up a hand to stop him.

“Not a fan of wine, Y/N?” Chaewon asked as she noticed the gesture, and once again the ambiguity in her formal tone made it hard to tell whether she was mocking you or not.

You shook her head in response, “I don’t like alcohol, it tastes gross.”

Yes, ditzy Y/N didn’t like alcohol, but the real Y/N was seriously craving that expensive whiskey you knew Jungkook had stashed in his office at this very moment. He clearly had good taste, it was a shame you’d had to drop a gram of lethal toxin into the bottle before you’d left the room and passed out on Jungkook’s bed for nearly two hours. You scowled inwardly as you remembered how much more you could have slept had it not been for the maid who had woken you up to give you a tour of the house and then helped you get ready for the early dinner you and Jungkook were supposed to have with Taehyung and Chaewon.

“I apologise ma’am, is there anything else I can interest you in instead?” The server asked, moving the bottle of wine away from your glass. You mused over your answer for a moment, before you smiled up at him.

“I’d like some banana milk, please.”

Once again, Chaewon subtly threw an unreadable look towards Taehyung, but this time she wasn’t alone as Taehyung and Jungkook each threw their own odd looks in your direction at the wildly childish choice. Back when you first started acting naive your reaction would have consisted of an intense feeling of embarrassment washing over you, but now the others’ reactions only seemed to amuse you. Although, you were inwardly groaning at how gross having seafood alongside milk was going to be. But the show had to go on, didn’t it?

Taehyung cleared his throat when the server returned with a wine glass filled with banana milk -you had to pinch your arm to stop yourself from laughing at that- before he turned to face Jungkook, eager to break the awkward silence that had ensued.

“I hope you both enjoyed your wedding present, Chaewon spent so long on making that gift basket I thought it was going to be for your one year anniversary,” he joked, causing Chaewon to playfully slap his shoulder.

“I just wanted it to be nice,” she defended instantly, “we’ve known Jungkook for years, seeing him get married makes me feel like a proud older sister.”

It was such a contrasting sight seeing two mafia families be so fond and at ease with each other when you’d grown up seeing the southern mafia families at each other’s throats constantly. Chaewon seemed so comfortable here, and even though Taehyung was mostly quiet -you were starting to think he was trying to decipher the relationship between you and Jungkook with the way he kept staring back and forth between you two- even he didn’t seem to be guarded despite being in another mafia leader’s territory.

“We enjoyed the basket, thank you,” Jungkook said, bringing your focus back to the conversation. You watched him lean back in his seat as his gaze drifted to you, the ghost of an amused look haunting his features, “the champagne particularly was quite the ice breaker.”

You’d tried to kill him using that bottle and yet here he was practically mocking you about it not even 24 hours later. You threw him a sweet smile, as if you were reliving a fond memory, hoping he would pick up on the hidden glare in your gaze. But that only made his grin widen.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Chaewon clapped, not seeming to pick up on the tension between you both, “I wasn’t aware of your distaste for alcohol though, Y/N. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind in the future.”

You faced her with what you hoped was a grateful smile, “it’s okay, I really liked the scented candles.”

It had actually been Persilla that had been obsessed with them, the vanilla scented one seeming to be her favourite.

The dining room was mostly quiet following that, the four of you finishing up your food in a comfortable silence. Inwardly you were gagging at the combination of shrimp and banana milk you’d decided to torment yourself with. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, every few minutes or so you’d catch Jungkook trying to suppress a sly grin, the man being the only one in the room, to your knowledge at least, who knew the reality of your predicament. You scowled, annoyed by his satisfaction until an idea came to mind.

Well, you could always hit two birds with one stone.

You reached over your plate to grab your glass of banana milk, bringing it towards yourself to give the impression that you were going to drink from it. But at the last moment, you let the bottom of the glass catch on your plate, causing the entire thing to tip from your fingers. It clattered onto the table, splashing all over Jungkook’s plate and seated form, making him flinch.

You instantly gasped dramatically, hands going to cover your mouth and eyes widening as you squeaked, “I’m so sorry!”

With Taehyung and Chaewon’s focus shifting to the spill on the table, the roll of Jungkook’s eyes went unnoticed by them.

“It’s okay, it was only an accident,” he forced out, pushing his chair away from the table’s edge and widening his thighs to evade the rest of the milk. You had to hide your smile behind your hands as you watched the no doubt cold milk seep into his pants.

Taehyung picked up the box of napkins, which had been near his plate, and held it out to the younger man, causing Jungkook to stretch over the table to receive it. But just as Jungkook grabbed the box, you noticed Taehyung’s brows suddenly furrow, his eyes seeming to stay fixed at a particular spot on Jungkook’s neck.

You followed his gaze curiously. The first few buttons of Jungkook’s black shirt had been undone, revealing a sliver of his collarbone and chest, but as Jungkook stretched you noticed the fabric shift to expose more of the area, which you realised was covered in red patches that looked a lot like… hickies. You and Taehyung weren’t the only ones that caught this as you noticed Chaewon smirk, her gaze travelling between you both.

Jungkook himself was the last to notice the stares as he pressed some tissues against the wet material of his pants, most of which was prominent on his lap. Yet when he did notice them, even you knew that Taehyung and Chaewon’s questioning looks wouldn’t allow for him to get out of this without an explanation.

You expected him to wave them off with a lame excuse anyway, like it was a rash or he’d burned himself somehow. You could call Jungkook many things, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy that enjoyed making suggestive jokes or conversation. Nor did he seem like the kind of guy to divulge in his sexual escapades.

But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead he paused, similar to earlier when he had entered the room, and seemed to think something over. Then his gaze dropped on you, and the mischief in his eyes gave you the odd feeling that you should prepare yourself for what he was about to say.

You should have listened to that feeling.

Jungkook broke his eye contact with you, his lips twitching into what suspiciously seemed like a smirk, before he turned to face Taehyung and Chaewon.

“I guess Y/N got a bit carried away earlier.”

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped open as Chaewon gasped, her hands instantly going to her chest as if she couldn’t believe it. From your peripheral vision you could make out Taehyung slumping against the back of his chair, as if he had finally given up on trying to figure the two of you out.

“Y/N! I would have never guessed you were the freaky type,” Chaewon laughed, her gaze seeming to take you in a different light. Your hands curled into fists under the table.

Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing by dropping a comment like that, and you were far from stupid enough not to see it. By insinuating that there was a more suggestive side of you, he was slowly starting to break down your performance of an innocent girl capable of doing no wrong in the eyes of others.

You’d promised to kill him, and now he’d seemingly decided he wanted to kill the image you’d spent years cultivating.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as Jungkook’s hand hooked under your chair to drag it towards him, allowing him to wrap an arm around your shoulder when he was close enough. Even in the midst of your subdued anger you noticed just how close the sharp cut of his jawline was in this position, and not to mention the tiny mole under his bottom lip that you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s okay, princess,” he said, sounding sweet but you knew it was meant to be mocking, “you don’t have to be shy in front of them.”

You were going to kill him. You were going to shoot him so many times that by the time you were done with him he was going to look like a giant block of swiss cheese-

“Well, we should probably get going,” Taehyung said suddenly, his eyes focused on reading something on his phone before pocketing the device, “I think Suho is starting to get fussy again, plus we should get going if we want to get back home before it gets too dark.”

Taehyung offered a hand to Chaewon to help her get up from her seat, a classy smile gracing her lips as her gaze met yours, “that’s our son by the way. You must meet him the next time we meet.”

“I would love to. I love children,” you said with a tight smile as you and Jungkook got up from your seats, exchanging polite pleasantries all the way to the front door.

“You know, that’s not very surprising to me,” Chaewon commented while Taehyung looped an arm around hers. You waved to each other with smiles, watching him guide her into an orange car before driving around the fountain and disappearing through the tall gates.

The second the front door closed your smile dropped, replaced by an annoyed scowl that you threw in Jungkook’s direction. He regarded you as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know about the North, but in the South we have this thing called personal space. You should try it out some time,” you said, to which Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever seen a married couple have personal space? Really Y/N, must I explain the birds and the bees to you?

You huffed as he walked past you, climbing up the stairs casually while you started following behind him.

“Why does it even matter if people know how dysfunctional this marriage is? We’re married, how is that not enough?”

It really did not make sense to you why he was so dead set on selling this image of a perfect marriage to others. Back in the South, there was not one marriage a mafia leader was a part of where it wasn’t in complete shambles, and that was very public knowledge to everyone in, and even outside of, the territory. Yet, that didn’t seem to affect the level of control or power the southern mafia leaders had. So why was Jungkook making it out to be such a big deal?

But the question stopped him in his tracks, causing him to turn around on the stairs to give you an incredulous look, as if what you had asked was almost alien.

“I don’t know how it works in the South, but in the North it very much matters,” he said slowly, gaze fixed on yours, “we must present ourselves as perfect in every aspect of our lives, or there are a number of enemies that would have no problem taking advantage of even the most miniscule flaw.”

You scoffed, “that’s dumb.”

Jungkook turned away from you, not bothering to comment on the mindless remark, as he continued to resume his path up the stairs. When he finally made it to the top and walked up to his bedroom’s door, he pushed it open and walked inside.

Your breath instantly stalled as you followed behind him, gaze darting around the room quickly to see if Persilla was anywhere in his sights. You knew you didn’t need to worry, Persilla was a master of remaining unseen, she’d managed to hide from everyone in the house when you’d been living in the South with your father after all. You’d even opened the door to the balcony slightly, allowing her to roam outside freely if she wanted to, so she might not have even been in the room anyway. You exhaled slowly, successful in convincing yourself that the little black cat you’d grown to care for and love would be fine.

Jungkook’s breath, on the other hand, came out as a low huff when he noticed the balcony door ajar. He walked over to it quickly, closing it before giving you a chastising look. One you ignored obviously.

Instead you casually turned away from him to enter into the bathroom, grabbing a few makeup wipes before returning back into the bedroom and plopping yourself down on the fluffy duvet of the bed. You began wiping off the various light sparkles and pinks that softened your face, as if you were taking off a doll-like mask.

“You’re an annoying little thing, aren’t you?” He commented as he watched your nonchalant demeanour.

Then it was your turn to watch him disappear into his closet for a moment, the muffled sounds of clothes moving around reaching your ears, before he emerged in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black short sleeve t-shirt.

But you particularly noticed his right arm, which was covered in a full sleeve of tattoos ending just above his wrist. The ink travelled over the smooth ridges of his skin, taut from the firm muscles underneath. Your gaze immediately dropped to the small trash can next to the bedside table, hoping he didn’t notice your staring, as you focused on throwing the used wipes into the bin.

You then leaned back on the mattress, arms holding you upright, trying to get your focus back on track, “I like how forgetting to close the balcony door annoys you and not the fact that I want you dead.”

That made Jungkook smile, amusement clear in his eyes, “I’m still standing here though, aren’t I?”

Your reply was quick.

“It won’t be for long.”

“Right,” Jungkook nodded, his words laced into a patronising chuckle, “but while you’re working on that, I need you to actually act like my wife. We’re lucky Taehyung and Chaewon didn’t notice anything, the public won’t be so inattentive.”

You tilted your head, “yes, I wonder what the public would have said about the hickies on your neck.”

Jungkook mirrored your movements, the edges of his lips twitching.

“I think they would be glad to be under the impression that we’re hard at work trying to produce an heir.”

“That’s only if your side piece stays quiet.”

“Careful, Y/N,” Jungkook tutted, “you sound almost jealous.”

“Jealous?” You repeated incredulously, sitting up straighter with an evidently offended expression, “your girl is sleeping with a dead man walking. Is that something to be jealous of?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, continuing to direct an amused gaze in your direction, before he turned away, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, “relax, princess, there’s no other girl. I just went hunting earlier and got a few mosquito bites. Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t make a difference to me,” you shrugged before falling back onto the mattress, the softness of the duvet making your limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. The position caused your dress to ride up to the middle of your thighs, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. He looked away when he realised he was staring, choosing instead to focus his gaze on the bright moon outside the window.

“We may be as far from in love with each other as the moon is to the earth, but I still won’t risk messing around with others outside this relationship,” he said. There was a pause after his words, as if he were expecting you to say something, but you let the silence ensue. There really was nothing you wanted to add anyway.

A noise made you lift your head, allowing you to see Jungkook unlocking the door to his office before he turned his head to you, “just get used to whatever happened at dinner today. There will be much more where that came from in the future.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the room while locking the door behind him. Jungkook immediately walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey to place them on the desk.

The loud clink of the glass against the wood of the desk made Jungkook frown, annoyed by his getting annoyed at your lack of reply. Yet, it was evident that he was indeed irritated by it. Of course you wouldn’t agree not to mess around with others, you had your ‘boyfriend’ waiting for you back in the South.

He certainly wasn’t messing around with anyone. After meeting Taehyung at the docks, Jungkook had gone to meet with the leader of an independent gang in the West, who, to his distaste, was a huge fan of hunting. So naturally they’d met in a forest to hunt for a few hours, before Jungkook had convinced the man to be at his disposal. Jungkook has always been prone to mosquito bites, but that day the mosquitos seemed to have taken a particular liking to his neck and arms, despite what Taehyung and Chaewon might have thought.

It didn’t matter to him, though, that you had a boyfriend. Yes, it really didn’t. He was just annoyed because if someone found out about him, then Jungkook’s reputation would take a hit. The news would spread like a wildfire, and the outcome would be far from good.

He didn’t even know how well you could hide a secret like that. What if you slipped up somewhere? What if the dude did? It would be a disaster.

Jungkook placed his glass down, the whiskey momentarily forgotten as he grabbed his phone and leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen in thought. This was for the good of his leadership, not anything personal. Yes, that’s right.

Mind made, Jungkook quickly dialled a familiar number, waiting barely a single ring before a male voice sounded from the device.

“Hello sir, was there something I could help you with?”

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around the glass on his desk, “tell the informant I want him to investigate Lee Y/N’s room at the Lee mansion. I want to find out everything we can about the man Y/N was talking on the phone with before our marriage, and if there’s anything else unusual I want to be informed of it as well.”

“Yes, of course sir,” the voice said immediately, “I’ll let him know as soon as possible. Is that all?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, thinking over the question. This had been an impromptu call after all.

Stuck in his thoughts, he brought the glass into his hand, swirling the liquid in it for a second before taking a modest sip.

His reflexes acted before his mind did; the second he registered the hint of a metallic taste he lurched forward, spitting the liquid back into the glass in a matter of a second. Even with that little exposure he could start to feel his tongue burn slightly, causing him to instantly open the drawer of his desk and grab a water bottle. The water soothed his mouth as he quickly swished it between his teeth before spitting it out and repeating the process a few times.

“Sir? Sir?! Is everything okay?” The voice rang from his phone, Jungkook almost forgetting about him for a second. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, it was nothing. That will be all, thank you.”

He ended the call, grimacing in discomfort at the feel of his slightly sensitive tongue against the roof of his mouth. So you’d managed to find a way to sneak into his office. He shouldn’t have been very surprised by that, you seemed to have a talent for getting into places where you shouldn’t.

Jungkook sighed as he eyed his liquor cabinet, realising that he’d have to throw it all. But as his gaze raised, it seemed to catch an empty slot in his bookshelf. Curiously he walked over to it, hand hovering over the hollow space between a book about war tactics and a book about his family’s history.

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. You’d obviously taken one of his books, but whether it was for casual reading or for something more he couldn’t tell.

He ignored the pang of pain that rippled throughout his mouth as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, his gaze falling back to his desk. With Jimin’s attacks, he had a lot of work he was going to have to do, and now seemed like the perfect time to get that done considering he was not going to go back into his bedroom, which you had taken over.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

You remained seated on the bed as you watched Jungkook lock the door behind him, leaving you alone in his bedroom once again. You hoped he enjoyed the nice present you’d dropped into his liquor bottles this morning, because you were just about ready to be shipped off back to the Lee mansion and watch your plan unfold in the perfect way you’d outlined it to.

The sound of something tapping against glass caught your attention, causing you to turn towards the balcony. It was hard to spot her in the dead of night, her black fur blending into the dark so well that her feline eyes were the only thing about her you could really make out. But even then, there was no doubt in your mind that it was Persilla trying to get your attention from outside of the balcony door.

You stood, sending a wary glance in the direction of Jungkook’s office’s door, before slowly pushing yourself off the mattress and making your way towards the glass. You paused in front of it for a moment, taking a deep breath before closing your eyes. Your hands blindly felt in front of you, moving erratically in the air for a moment before you could feel the handle between your fingers. You pulled on it, hearing the sound of the door opening as well as the feel of the fresh airy breeze on your face.

The second you felt Persilla’s small body walking between your feet, you pushed the door close, sighing in relief when you opened your eyes.

You crouched down to pet Persilla’s head, scratching against her chin when she purred delightfully. It was only when she moved her head upwards, showcasing her collar, when you paused, your gaze catching onto something white wedged between the sleek leather and her furry neck.

“Do you have something for me, Persilla?” You asked, fingers pinching the thing, which you realised was a folded note, and bringing it out of its confines. You unfolded it, eyes widening after scanning it and recognising the familiar strokes of black pen on its surface.

It’s done.

We should meet soon.

~ H

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Also Jungkook when he finds out about Persilla: 🧍‍♂️

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sitepathos · 4 months ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 1: The Change

“Happy birthday, to you,” your teacher, Mrs. Palmer, and classmates finish singing to you.

“Thank you, everyone,” you giggle, happy that everyone did something special for your birthday in the middle of class.

You’re now six-years-old and your Momma’s promised to take you to Little Luigi’s Pizza Place after school, where you’ll get to open your presents from her, as well as eat all the pizza you want and have a cookie pizza for free! You begged her to let you stay home, but she laughed and said that she had to meet her publisher for her upcoming book, but she promised that after she was done, she’d come check you out and the two of you would go celebrate your birthday.

You look up at the clock (good thing it’s digital, because you haven’t learned to read the old clocks yet!) and see that it’s almost time for lunch.

“Come on, Momma,” you mutter to yourself. “Get here, already.”

Seriously, you didn’t plan to eat lunch, so you didn’t bother packing lunch today!

Just then, the intercom above the door chimes.

“Mrs. Palmer,” the school secretary asks.

“Yes?”

“Can you please send Y/N Gould to the office, please? There’s someone here to see him.”

“Yes,” you cheer, making a few in the class laugh.

“Of course,” she responds before the device clicks off.

You grab your backpack and toss it over your back before rushing towards the door.

“Bye, Y/N,” one classmate says as you pass her.

“Happy birthday,” another says as you near the door.

“Enjoy your birthday, Y/N,” Mrs. Palmer says, her usual bright smile on her face. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Remember to have your worksheet done.”

And with that, you leave the room and skip down the hall to the main office, happy that your school is small so you don’t have to walk far. As you do, all you can think about is all the pizza you’re about to eat! And the chocolate chip cookie pizza that you get after that! And don’t forget about the presents! Maybe you’ll get the new Pokémon Platinum game for your DS, or a new stuffed animal, or maybe a new movie!

The suspense is practically tearing you apart and you enter the office, ready to greet your Momma when you see… Sheriff Foley. And he looks… sad. You look to the secretary, who’s standing behind him, and she has the same sad look.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Sheriff Foley,” you say, looking around to find Momma, but not finding her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Momma?”

“Son,” he says as the secretary begins to cry a bit. “I have some bad news.”

You feel a weird feeling in your stomach, like when you eat a bunch of ice cream and get sick, but this feeling is worse than that.

“What?”

“It’s about your momma. I got a call from the police in Vegas and they said there had been a car accident. Some drunk fool leaving a casino hit your mother’s car.”

You feel your heart stop at the words “hit” and “mother.”

“Is she ok,” you manage to say. “She’s at the hospital, right?”

The secretary’s crying becomes louder.

“I’m sorry, son,” he says, a tear falling from his eye. “He was going too fast when he hit her. She’s gone.”

“Gone? Like missing?” Now, you’re crying. “Why can’t they find her?”

“No, gone as in she’s no longer with us.”

“Like… she’s gone to heaven,” you whisper.

He nods and it’s then you feel your entire world collapse. You remember what Momma said about going to heaven when you saw a squirrel asleep on the side of the road. She’d said that he had gone to heaven after falling asleep and that he wouldn’t be waking up again. That he’d always be there.

“No,” you cry, tears and snot falling from your face. “No, she can’t be in heaven! She said she’d be here!”

Sheriff Foley takes you into his arms as you cry.

The next few days go by in a blur. You stay with Sheriff Foley and his wife until the funeral. Unfortunately, the accident was so bad that the casket had to stay closed, so you weren’t able to see her one last time before she’s put in her grave. The whole town of Goodsprings is there; she was an author writing best-selling romance novels set during the Age of Sail and a pillar of the community, so everyone wanted to be there to say their final goodbyes to her and their condolences to you.

You said nothing during the whole thing. You hadn’t said anything since Sheriff Foley told you that Momma had gone to heaven and that she wouldn’t be back. The only noise to leave you is the sound of crying.

“Y/N,” he says as you watch the grave be filled with dirt. “When we leave, we’ll have to go by your house. You need to pack anything you need.”

“Why,” you ask, your voice sore from crying for days.

“Because a man is waiting there for you and when you have everything you need, he’ll take you to McCarran Airport. From there, you’ll go to Gotham City in New Jersey.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, first you lose Momma and now you’re losing your home?

“Why do I have to leave,” you say, tears streaming down your face.

“Because the county did some checking and found your father through a DNA test.”

You freeze at that. Your Daddy?

“Momma, do I have a Daddy,” you asked her once.

“You do, baby, but he doesn’t know about you,” she answered. “We met years ago, back when Momma was young and dumb. When I found out I was having you, I couldn’t find him. That’s when I realized I had to act right.” She rubbed her hand through your hair. “It’s thanks to you that I’m not like that anymore.”

That conversation goes through your head as you ride back to your house. You’re actually going to meet your Daddy? When you pull up to your house you see a fancy car sitting in the driveway and an elderly man in a suit standing next to it, watching you as you get out.

“I’m sorry, who’re you,” Sheriff Foley asks.

“Alfred Pennyworth,” the man says, bowing a little. “Butler to the Wayne Family. I apologize, Sheriff, but I’m afraid Master Bruce was unable to get away. Urgent business at Wayne Enterprises demanded his attention.”

“More urgent than his son?”

You can see the butler slightly flinch at that, despite how good he tries to hide it.

“I understand your frustration. I expressed the same sentiments, but Master Bruce couldn’t be persuaded to leave the matter to Mr. Fox.” He looks down at you. “I trust this is young Master Y/N?”

You can’t help but duck behind the sheriff’s legs to hide from him.

“Yeah, this is him.”

“I’m glad to meet you, though I wish it was under more joyous circumstances. You have my most sincere condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the ground.

“Come on, son, let’s get all your stuff packed.”

The three of you spend the next hour packing all your toys and clothes into cardboard boxes. When asked about your bed, dresser, and other larger things, Alfred said a room had already been prepared for you with a king sized bed and a dresser with room for all your clothes and more.

“Should you require anything else, I will ensure Master Bruce provides it.”

“What will happen to the house,” you finally ask Sheriff Foley, afraid for what he would say.

“Your momma already paid off her house and her will said that everything that’s hers goes to you. For now, the county will care for it until you turn eighteen, which is when you can inherit it.”

Hearing that should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t because you’d have to wait so long to come back and even then, Momma still wouldn’t be here. As the two adults packed up the last of the boxes in the fancy rental car, you slipped away into your Momma’s office at the back of the first story. You slide open the doors, expecting to see her at her desk, working on her latest story like you’d done so many times before, but this time, an empty room and silence greets you.

You enter her office and hop into the big revolving chair, her favorite perfume still lingering from the morning of your birthday. You look at the desk and find something that takes your breath away: her favorite gold ink pen. One day, you’d asked her why your last name was Gould and she’d told you that your family came from a long line of goldsmiths who once made jewelry and other small things for rich people. Momma’s Daddy still worked with metal, even after the family practice was shut down, and when she said she was going to become a writer, he made her a gold ink pen to bring her good luck. You pick it up, looking at the beautiful design, and begin to tear up.

She carried it everywhere she went, so seeing it here cements the fact that she’s not coming back. Maybe if she wasn’t in a big hurry that morning, she would’ve remembered to take it with her and the accident never would’ve happened. And she’d still be here with you.

“Y/N,” the Sheriff says as he enters the office. “We finished packing everything. Are you ready to go?”

You want to say no and refuse to leave, but you know that you can’t stay here. You quietly pocket the pen and follow him to the car, where Alfred waits for you.

“Alright, son, be good for Mr. Pennyworth here. Do what he says and be a good boy like your momma taught you.” He gives you a hug and you wish it would never end, because then you’d never have to leave your home. “You’ll be back before you know it, and your home will be here waiting for you.”

A with that, you get into the car with Mr. Pennyworth and begin the drive to the airport. You use the mirror to see your house one last time, seeing it get smaller and smaller until it’s out of sight.

“I know this is sudden after the loss of your mother, but I promise Master Bruce and I will do everything we can to make Wayne Manor a home for you.”

“What’s it like?”

“The manor? It’s a large estate with a long and storied history that dates back to the early days of Gotham. There’s plenty of rooms for you to explore.”

“And what about my Daddy? What’s he like?”

“Master Bruce is a skilled businessman and one of Gotham’s biggest socialites. He’s also the adoptive father of Masters Dick and Jason.”

“He already has kids? Would they be my brothers?”

You’d heard of several of your classmates having older and younger siblings and had thought about having a brother or a sister. What would it be like to carry around someone younger than you or be care for by someone older than you.

“Master Dick would be your older brother, but he’s now living at the manor right now. He’s off finding himself right now, but I have no doubt that he’ll be back one day.”

“What about Jason?”

Mr. Pennyworth frowns at your words and you feel afraid that you’ve said something wrong.

“Master Jason would be your older brother, as well, but he was taken from us. With any luck, he and your mother have met one another.”

Oh…

“When did he go to heaven?”

“He left us a few months ago, but it feels just like yesterday.”

And with that, the talk is over. You two arrive at the airport and after the butler returns the rental car, he guides you to the gate where a private jet awaits the two of you. You can’t help but be amazed that you’re riding in a private jet that looks so much better than the ones you’ve seen on tv. You sit in one of the seats and it’s way softer than your bed.

“Master Y/N, we’re getting ready for takeoff,” the butler says as he puts his seatbelt on. “Put your seatbelt on.”

You do as you’re told and before you know it, you feel the jet begin to move. You hurry to look out the window to see everything moving past before the jet begins to fly. You stare out the window, watching Nevada, the state you’ve called home, get smaller and smaller until you’re above the clouds, unable to see anything, even the massive buildings of the Strip, which could be seen for miles.

It’s then you realize that this is real, that you’re leaving everything you’ve ever known and won’t be back for years and tears begin to fall from your face. You’ve spent the last few days crying so much that you’d think that you’d think that you would run out of tears, but apparently not. Not wanting to disturb Mr. Pennyworth, you face the window and bite your lower lip to stop making noises.

Somehow the flight seemed to be both long lasting and not long enough, because eventually, you saw a city show up below you. You squint your eyes to get a better look through the smog and see many tall buildings, all of the having those scary stone creatures you saw on a movie once.

“Welcome to Gotham City, Master Y/N.”

A/N: I’m hoping to make this a series that sees somewhat regular updates, but don’t quote me on that. I’ve been getting back into Resident Evil and I look up Yandere Batfamily stuff on this site so much it’s not even funny. Sorry if the first chapter was so long, but I thought if the first chapter was long enough, people would forgive me if future chapters are a bit lacking. Also, this series is heavily influenced by several of my favorite users, like @acid-ixx , @gotham-daydreams , @luludeluluramblings , and @darkstaria . You should totally check them all out.

#yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dc x male reader #batfamily #yandere batfam #batman #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere cassandra cain #yandere stephanie brown #yandere alfred pennyworth #male reader #batfamily x male reader #from gold to mold

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catsteeth · 10 months ago

Text

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 4 ✿:+ Candle Flames

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, -, 5

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it.

CW: SMUT, MINORS DNI, afab reader, thigh fucking, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage, LOTS OF VIOLENCE, blood, implied threat of non-con,

Word Count: 4738

After you’d spoken to Loras, you’d felt even more alone than before. The talk offered no comfort other than the fact he didn’t want you dead. Sansa was fine company but she was something you felt the strong urge to protect. You put yourself in harm's way constantly just to prevent her from facing any pain.

Specifically one incident when you and her were walking with the Royal Party after watching the Princess sail away to Dorne to be wed off. It was hard to watch the crying girl sail away, especially when you’d been in her very place.

It was easy to keep your eyes averted to such a sight when The Hound was there to accompany Joffrey. You kept your head low but your eyes stayed on him. You’d still had so many questions about the night you both shared, but now was not the time to ask.

Later making your way back through the capital city you were sickened by the sights you saw. The Lannisters and Baretheons were supposed to be the wealthiest and most powerful houses. And yet the people of their cities sit in filth and starve. Starving over a war they did not want nor started.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be even the least bit angry when the crowd began to shout vile things. However you found yourself slightly confused once you heard the words ‘bastard’, ‘incest monster’, and ‘brother-fucker’ being sworn towards the royal party.

However your confusion only occupied your mind for a brief moment before someone within the crowd hurled cow manure at the King's face. You felt a brief sense of enjoyment when you saw it hit his face, but it was soon replaced by fear when the King ordered for the execution of the entire crowd,

“Find the man who did that and bring him to me! Kill them, Kill them all!” The King shouted.

Foolish it was, he’d only a few gold cloaks, some kingsguard, and even less knights. Outnumbered by the hundreds of rioting starving people.

Sandor grabbed hold of Joffrey protecting him.

“What are you doing? I want these people executed!” Joffrey whined loudly

“And they want the same for you!” He shouted back

The city watch was quickly overpowered. And the High Septon that you and the royal party was traveling with was pulled into the crowd. You were horrified to witness him being pulled limb from limb, never seen such a thing in your life.

“Move, Move!” Tyrion shouted at you

As the Kingsgaurd were able to eventually carve somewhat of a path towards the entrance of the Red Keep, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tyrion were all rushed inside quickly.

Before you could make your way inside you noticed your cousin Sansa being derailed and separated from the rest.

You grabbed ahold of her quickly and pushed her into a Kingsguard who brought her inside. However once she was in, without seeing you they closed the doors.

Alone.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

Inside the keep

“You blind bloody fool!” Tyrion scolded Joffrey’s moronic behavior by hitting and cursing at him. “We’ve had vicious kings, we’ve had idiot kings, but I don’t know if we’ve ever had an idiot king!”

“You��re talking to a King!” Joffrey shouted back like an embarrassed child.

Tyrion raised his hand and slapped him “And now I’ve struck a King, did my hand fall from my wrist?” He shouted back, he turned around and noticed you were not there, “Where is the Arryn girl?” He shouted at the men.

“Let them have her!” Joffrey retorted

“If she dies her relatives in the North won't forget it! She’s cared for in the vale and might I remind you she shares blood with the Starks! You need her alive!” He shouted back before frantically calling upon all the king's men to return to save you.

“Gather your men and find her!” He shouted to Ser Meryn

“I only take orders from my king, imp.” Meryn responded coldy.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

Meanwhile as you attempted to hide in a dark hall, winding up in some kind of stable. You thought for a moment you’d made it there unnoticed and alone. However four men soon walked in behind you as you backed yourself against a wall. Your hand found his way around the handle of a small sharp shovel of some kind. The blade of it was sharp and flat.

You’d not said a word, you knew if you shouted for them to get back or to fuck off it would be of no use.

“Look at this little bird's eyes, she’s furious.” One of the men with short hair was mocked.

“I’ve no gold, no silver, no bread.” You said in a low tone, firm voice.

“Aye, but you’ve got something.” The taller man said with a crooked grin.

As that man began to take a step towards you, you grasped the handle of the shovel firmly and stabbed it into him. Between his neck and his collarbone.

As the other men began to shuffle towards you, you pulled the shovel back out and pointed it at them as their friend fell to the ground holding his bleeding wound.

The man with short hair managed to grab ahold of you whilst his other friend grabbed ahold of your wrist, yanking the shovel out of your hand. The man with short hair placed his hand over your mouth, in response you bit down onto his fingers so hard you were afraid your teeth would shatter. You could taste the blood rush into your mouth.

In response to your bite, with his other hand he hit you creating a cut over your eyebrow. It threw you off just enough to make you fall back and into the other man's arms.

The three men began to pin you down shouting vulgar remarks, as they did you kicking at them and scratching at them. Just as the one with short hair began to undo his pants, he was stopped.

Picked up by the back of his neck like a puppy, practically lifted off of the ground. His guts were cut out of him. As his body fell to the ground you saw him, it wasn’t Sandor, it was The Hound. This is what everyone spoke of.

The men who held your wrists were next. He cut with precision. His swords swung and took off the man's head. The next he grabbed before he could escape. Slamming his fist into his head, and shoving his blade deep into his stomach. Once he was done he put away his sword. He turned back towards you, and it was him again, Sandor.

He bent his knee to you and spoke softly “You’re alright now, little bird, you're alright.” He said as he picked you up in both arms and carried you back to safety.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧

As the two of you entered the keep Tyrion was shocked.

Once Sandor placed you down gently, a few ladies including Sansa rushed to your side pawing at your bloody face.

“My Lady are you hurt?” Tyrion asked as he tried to assess whether the blood on your mouth and hands were yours or not.

“Little birds hurt, get her back to her cage. See that cut on her head.” Sandor commanded the women as he walked away,

as he did Tyrion shouted back to him. “Well done, Clegane.”

To which Sandor responded,

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Tyrion, confused by his words, went back to your side and asked again before your ladies could take you away. “My lady, are you hurt? There’s blood- your hands and-“ he said reaching his to touch your chin where the blood from your mouth dropped.

“I bit one.” You said plainly, exhaustion in your eyes, unwilling to attempt that you’d murdered a man.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

As you laid in your bed that night, you looked at the one candle you had burning beside your bed. Contemplating whether or not to blow it out. Watching the flame kept your mind away from the memories you’d made today. You’d never seen such horrid things before, and much less partook in them. You’d killed a man. And yet, felt no remorse, which made you feel terrible, but maybe that alone counted for something. But soon even that left as your memories shifted to the feeling of being in Sandor's arms.

Before you could blow it out,

you began to hear the sounds of metal clanking up the hall. Sandor thought you’d never notice, but he often walked up and down your halls more than he was meant to. Simply to make sure you were alright.

Every time you heard the metal clanking pass you’d smile to yourself. Only this time it stopped, in front of your door. You sat up slightly on your elbows and peered towards the door. Without knocking, he came inside your chamber.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked in a whisper.

He didn’t respond, but made his way to that same golden pitcher in the corner of your room.

“It’s water, remember?” You said. He huffed and put it back down without taking a swig of it.

“What are you-” You began before he spoke in a low deep husky voice.

“You could’ve been killed.” He said without looking at you.

“But I wasn’t.” You said in a sweet whisper.

He began to walk towards your bed. “The fucking cunts would ‘ave taken you bloody every which way, that pretty throat would’ve been slit open. You’d been left for the fucking rats.”

You took his hand and pulled him onto the bed, his metal scrapping the delicate sheets as he sat on it.

“You saved me, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever seen.” You said with a strange kind of adornment, one he’d never heard before.

“Brave?” He dryly scoffed, “Dogs don't need courage to chase rats.”

“You’re no dog.” You say with that same sweet whisper, it’s as if you’d realized you’d began to fall deeper into whatever emotional trap you two had created here.

“You killed that man?” He asked in a low whisper.

“I did.”

“How’d that feel.”

“Necessary.”

He stared at you for a moment, not in judgment or disgust but in understanding and some other emotion you couldn’t quite understand just yet.

“You can’t do that again.”

“Kill?”

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed, he couldn’t give less of a shit who you killed or why, “You risked your life for that Stark girl.”

“You saw that?”

“She kept yapping about it.” His tone husky

“I needed her safe first.”

“Too bad.” He said not giving you any room to argue as his thumb ran over the cut on your eyebrow, you winced slightly. “I’d kill those cock sucking rats a million times again if I could. Died too quickly. I should have cut their arms off, their hands, taken their eyes for even looking at you.”

Your hand came to his jaw, pulling yourself to his lips but he pulled away. with a sigh he came close again. He rested his forehead on yours.

“I don’t know how to- do this- gently.” He let out a small rumble, “fuck” he hissed “i want to do this gently. I want to be gentle with you.”

He was like a dog given a bone that he so badly wanted to preserve.

His hand came to your lap, and fisted the fabric of your nightgown. You placed your hands on top of his, you smoothed out his hand to lay flat on your lap.

“Like this..” you whispered as you guided his hand up, making the fabric ride up. As your thighs became more and more visible he stopped and backed away,

“No, no this isn’t right.” He grumbled as he walked over towards a large chair in the corner of your room. His face was illuminated by that single candle light. You could see his frustration and desperation in a battle with one another.

You stood, and walked towards him. He slumped forwards. Resting his forearms against his strong thighs.

“I can’t be what you wan- what you need.” He corrected. His voice was low and deep.

You pushed him back by his shoulders, making him lean against the back of the chair. His deep scowl was ever present but it didn’t stop you from running your fingers through his coarse hair.

“I shouldn’t have come back here. Should’ve stayed the fuck away. Left you be,”

“I don’t think either of us have much a choice.” You said as you moved yourself between his large thighs. Standing in front of him still running your hands through his hair. “Do you think of that night?” You asked in a whisper.

“Fuck do you think-“ He barked back before you stopped him,

“Gentle.” You corrected him

“Aye.” He conceded painfully, his hands coming to your sides holding you by your waist. His large hands engulfed your ribs.

“What part of it do you think of?” You whispered sweetly as you began to move on top of him. Your thighs spread across his as you straddled him. His eyes never leave yours.

He grumbled something low, you couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like “Your eyes.”

You didn’t want to push him, to make him repeat it.

Your hand cupped his chin, as you slowly pressed your lips against his. You pecked at his lips for a moment. Then pulling away, looking into his eyes waiting for his response. His eyes filled with shame, he looked away.

You pressed a kiss into the scarred tissue on his cheek, he flinched at the feelings and his eyes darted back to you,

“My face, why did you-“ He rasped suddenly

“Don’t you want me?”

“Course’ I do but I-“ he cut himself off as his lips hit yours once again, he sucked on your lips as hardly audible groans escaped his throat.

You pressed your thinly clothed cunt against his hardening bulge. However as soon as he felt it he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up. You whined, and his forehead slumped forward and rested on your chest. “Fuck-“ he said breathlessly, “Can’t do that shit to me.” he panted.

“Why?” you whined a little too loudly, his grip on you tightened.

“Told you, stubborn fucking girl.” He finally caught his breathe, “Ye poke at me too much and i’ll fuck you bloody.” His eyes leaving yours in what looked like guilt.

“That’s what I want-“

“Don’t matter.” He snipped back quickly, his eyes snapping back to yours. “Once you're wed that imp will stick his cock in ya’ and know you’re not his.” He said, his words harsh, sharp and cold

“I’m not.” you said, his eyes went a little wide, with what? adornment?

You slowly lowered your hips onto his once again. Waiting for his push back but were met with none. You let out a small gasp as the bulge separated your lips through the thin fabric that covered your cunt. Another moan left your lips once you felt the hardened mound poke at your entrance. You grinded against it, your cunt began to clench around nothing.

“At’s it” He groaned into your neck, “Grin’ yerself on my cock.” He grumbled low and deep.

His face contorted, his muscles tensed, and his groans became more and more primal. His grip on your hips began to sting a little how tightly he held you. Your cheeks began to heat up, and that knot in your stomach tightened.

He picked you up abruptly, kissing your neck.

“On your back, now.” He commanded as he placed you onto the fur rug on your bed chambers floor.

He untied his breeches that clearly had a wet spot on it, unclear if it was your doing or his. He was still fully covered in his armor, as he pulled out his cock. Harder than you’d seen it before.

You rode up your night gown to your hips and slipped out of the thin underclothes you’d had on.

He was on his knees before you, you on your back, legs bent and spread, ready and inviting.

He stared at you, admiring you.

He placed his heavy aching member between your folds. Rubbing up and down, his tip hitting your clit in the most perfect way.

He pressed your thighs together, and he let out a long drawn out groan.

“Fuck!” He hissed as he began to buck himself against your cunt. “So fuckin’ wet” He growled as his bucking continued in a more erratic pace.

You arched your back and squeezed your thighs together as his fat tip kept hitting your clit

“Don’t- Don’t stop.” You whimpered looking up at his hair falling into his face, his eyes trailing all over you, from your wet thighs to your breasts that bounced with every thrust to your pouting lips all the way back to your eyes.

“Not fuckin’ stopping.” He said through gritted teeth. “But,” He was stopped by a deep guttural moan, “Don’t look at me like that.” He said panting, “You’ll make me finish too quickly.” He said once more through gritted teeth.

You took it as a challenge, stubborn as you were. You gave him a smile, and a giggle.

“Fuckin' stubborn girl.” He said through gritted teeth, then picking you up and turning you around. Your back flesh with his armored chest.

He pressed your thighs together again, and pushed his cock back in between them, but slightly missing and catching your entrance. Even though he graced it only slightly you moaned so beautifully it almost made him cum right then. That's when you realized how truly lovely it would feel to have him inside of you.

“I want it inside” You moaned as one of your arms reached over and behind you to wrap around his broad shoulders. While your other hand held his large forearm that draped over your stomach holding you in place.

“Can’t do that to you.” He said breathlessly, as his other hand removed the straps of your gown. As it fell to your waist, he cupped your breasts, his large hand completely engulfing it.

You whined again. You didn’t care if you were ruined, you wanted to be. But you couldn’t force him.

His tongue and teeth danced along your neck, you begged in your mind that he’d bite down or suck on your skin but no, never. Never to burden you with evidence that this ever happened.

You felt that heat rise and the knot in your belly begin to snap. He could feel you clenching and it produced a vulgar moan from him,

“That’s alright, you can cum,” He grunted, as he said that you moved your head back and faced him. “MH-” He gave you a sloppy and passionate kiss to mute your moan as you came over his cock. As your high was ridden out, he continued to thrust, he separated the kiss and looked deeply into your now exhausted and satisfied eyes, “Sandor” You whispered, sweetly, “Sandor,”

He didn’t break your eye contact, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold back his moans as he began to spill out and over your thighs, “(Y/N)” He growled with a final deep and long thrust.

As you laid there, on the fur rug of your room catching your breath. He laid with you.

You peered over to him, “I meant what I said.” He peered over to you, raising one eyebrow. “I’m not his.” You said softly.

“Aye.” He looked away, “But for your sake he’d better think you are.” He said in a low husky voice.

You raised your hand to his scarred cheek, you began to run your fingers over it when he pulled away.

“I don’t mind it, really,” You whispered.

“Every one fucking minds it.” He hissed

“I don’t.” You said back defiantly

He huffed, and laid there in silence, he looked over at you, feelings somewhat bad he’d snapped at you. ‘Gentle’ he remembered.

“When I was a boy, my brother caught me with one of his toys. Thought I stole it. I didn’t, just playing with it. Pressed my head to the fire. All like Baelish told you.” He let out another sigh, “But the worst part was that it was my brother who did it. And my father who protected him. Told everyone my bedding caught fire.”

You moved closer to him and rested your head on his chest. You tried to listen to his heart beating through the armor, only making out a few muffled thumps. Your eyes heavy, closed soon enough.

When you woke in the middle of the night you were in your alone bed, your legs were cleaned and you were dressed.

And

Your candle was out.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Every Morning since the riots you were awoken by a handmaiden, sometimes two. They’d dress you in red or gold. Braiding your hair, being sure to put lots of intricate, and no doubt expensive hair pins in it. You were beginning to feel more like the ornate decor that was scattered around kings landing than you felt like an actual woman anymore.

As you walked the halls your handmaidens were like guards, guards of a prisoner.

You passed a mirror as you walked and caught a glimpse of yourself, hardly recognizable. “As high as honour” what a joke you thought. Look at you now, looking more and more like a Lannister with each passing day. The red and gold you were forced to wear was a stark contrast from the blues and silvers you’d grown to love. But now you’d really had no home. You didn’t align yourself with the rest of your house anymore either. Lysa and Robin felt like intruders in your home, and they treated you the same. And now, Baelish was a true intruder in it. Being allowed in by your stepmother who’d no right to allow him entrance. Entrance to your home and now your titles. Rightfully yours.

To gain your titles the Lannister's were your only hope now, so for now you’d be Cersei’s doll and Tyrion's wife. For now, you’d play along.

But where did that leave Sandor?

You knew that first night he was angry, not at you. He was angry you were the one thing he couldn’t protect. You were his master's thing and couldn’t stop them from toying with you. He was angry you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, and just like everything he couldn’t have. He was angry he couldn’t tell you how much he wanted you.

And the second night, he was scared, and vulnerable.

You’d stopped eating since the riot. Normally, that would have gone unnoticed. However your now doting husband has made sure to keep eyes on you at all times. Your handmaidens are unwilling to engage in an argument with you knowing you aren’t the person to pick a fight with, told Tyrion.

As your ladies ceaselessly brought you trays of food whilst you attempted to lounge on your balcony while you read you simply waved your hand at each tray, now not even bothering with a “No, thank you.” As it didn’t seem to stop them.

Tyrion stepped onto the balcony, your eyes went towards him but snapped back onto your book as soon as you knew who was joining your handmaidens in disturbing your peace.

“Lord Tyrion.” You said in greeting, hardly exerting any energy into it. You would have felt badly about discarding your virtue once more for another man if he’d hadn’t made you feel even more like a prisoner.

“Lady (Y/N)” He said back, sitting across from you, “What are you reading?”

“Something of little consequence,” You said, closing the book and looking over your shoulder at the women who surrounded you “May we be left alone?” You asked, the women didn’t budge but looked to Tyrion who nodded at them, once at his command they left.

“They don’t listen to me.” You said with harsh eyes.

“I told them not to.” He said with a huff as he repositioned himself in his seat and putting on a half hearted smile.

“Did you tell them to dress me like this too?” You said tossing the closed book to the side table next to you.

“I asked them to help you fit in,” He said, leaning closer to you, his eyes filled with some kind of concern. “Joffrey has a tendency to single you out I wanted to see if I could correct that... Aesthetically.. Cersei had some dresses made for you and-”

“If you wish for me to continue to view you favorably, you are failing.” You said stoically, "Was I inadequate before?"

"No- no I-" He stopped himself, “I just want to do all I can to ensure your safety.” He conceded. You did appreciate it, but your need for freedom overweighed that appreciation heavily.

You sighed and looked away, off towards the near distant ocean of blue. You fidgeted with your new golden rings on your fingers. “And, you’re not eating.” He said in a lower tone,

“And, you’re spying on me?” You said now focusing back on him.

“Your ladies told me-”

“Your ladies.” You corrected.

“I am concerned. Ever since the riots you’ve not eaten a meal.” He huffed, “You need to eat. Name any food you want and I wish to have it made.”

“I don’t want to eat.” You responded bluntly.

“I am your husband to be, It is my duty-”

“Your duty? Your duty to imprison me in this place, in this engagement?” Your angry scowl dropped soon as you realized how cutting your words were. To him he was keeping you from further harm, and you knew that. You sighed and looked back to the sea, “It is hard for me to eat, it is hard for me to sleep.”

“Tell me how to help and I will.” He said almost pleading as he leaned forward and held his hands out palms up. "I’d do anything for my lady wife.” The words ‘lady wife’ made you want to vomit, especially after the previous night.

“I want to go home. I want to claim my titles.”

“You and I both.” He said with a dry chuckle. “I have wanted to claim my own birthrights long enough to know the feeling.”

“Were they stolen from under your grieving feet by Petyr Baelish?”

“No-”

“Mine were. And I am powerless to stop it, because I sit here in this castle in these red gowns and Lannister gold. I am presenting myself as indifferent to my own birthright being stolen from me.” You sighed, “I understand what you are trying to do. I do, I may be angry but I do understand. But you need to understand this, in doing what you feel is protecting me, whether it is or is not, you have taken whatever independence I had left.”

“I understand.” He said sitting back into his seat, “And I will do all I can to help you proclaim your titles. But, it would seem Stannis aims to attack this city.”

“Stannis Baretheon?” You asked in some confusion, no one ever told you anything.

“It seems we are not the only ones who wish to claim titles.” He said in an attempt to jest, “So we're not the men to fight for you yet, however we aim to win this war. Once it is, I will see to it that your titles are restored.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Tyrion.” Although not in the slightest comforted by the idea of war approaching your doorstep

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

As you walked down the halls of the castle you were hit with a brick wall, Sandor.

“you’re not eating.” Sandor said in a hushed but deep and husky tone

“How’d you-” You began before he interrupted you.

“All those fucking handmaidens tell the royals.” He said in annoyance

“I eat when I'm hungry. haven’t been in a while.”

“you don’t eat, you’ll starve.” His voice was like he was warning you.

“unlikely. That takes time. Stannis aims to attack the city. I'm sure I'll be dead then.” You responded stoically.

“You won’t die.” He said as if it were fact,

“How can you be certain?” You retorted defiantly

“Cause I fucking said so.” He said stomping off, his cape flowing behind him.

NOTE: Hey all you cool cats and kittens I hope you like this one!!! The next two are going to be a wittle cwazy just a warning... ALSO yall I wrote the smut part during jury duty LMAO... anyways

Also the last few chapters have gotten so much love and I am so very grateful thank you!!! <3

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deliciousangelfestival · 6 months ago

Text

"Darling, bad luck seems endless." - Bucky Barnes

Summary: You've always been haunted by bad luck your entire life, despising it deeply, until you meet someone who finds it amusing.

Character: dark!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Author's Note: Hello, everyone; this story is for the sleepover event hosted by @the-slumberparty. What I chose is a strawberry sundae with gummy bears as the topping.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 .

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Bad luck.

You always felt that bad luck followed you everywhere. Growing up, you didn't realize it, but it became clear to you after becoming an adult.

There was one time when you had prepared for an exam, but two days before, you got a high fever and had to take the exam all by yourself.

When you got an offer to study piano abroad, your father's business went bankrupt.

Then, when you finally got into your dream college, your father's business went bankrupt. Again.

When you wanted to study and paid for an extra course, the teacher lied and told you to study alone. It turned out you could learn everything from the internet. You were taken in by his sweet talk because of his experience working in the industry.

After you graduated, you went to work at a studio, but it went bankrupt because the owner embezzled the money to buy a Ferrari.

Then, you were introduced by a relative to an investment. Because you saw her enjoying the profit, you put all your money into the investment. For eight months, it went great, but after that, everything went to hell because it was a scam. You lost the money, the money that your father had left you. It still pains you.

Each time it feels like life is going your way, it soon comes crashing down when you face another misfortune.

As a last resort, you went to a priest but received no answers. You visited a shaman but still found no answers. Then, you went to a paranormal who said, “Bad luck fucks you like Zeus fucks his prey.”

‘Well, shit,’ you thought.

Not knowing what life would bring you, you tried to find another way to make money by taking a class in jewelry making. You pretended to hate it and not enjoy making jewelry.

You were scared that each time you enjoyed or liked something, bad luck would come like judgment day with no warning and take all the joy from you.

But bad luck can't be fooled. It appeared again in another form. It turned out the jewelry store owner was actually a gangster in the diamond business. It was a risky job, but it helped to pay the bills.

Sir Galileo, with his grey hair and special glasses that he always wore to appraise diamonds, was an eccentric man. He always dressed as royalty and wore white gloves. He insisted from the beginning that you call him a 'sir.'

He always brought you with him whenever he went to see a client. Specifically, your job was to drive the car, take notes, and design jewelry for clients. The clients were unique, too: mafia, drug dealers, etc.

Of all the clients, there was only one that caught your attention. You liked him because he was a regular customer and always paid upfront.

James Buchanan Barnes, or his nickname ‘Bucky’. You didn’t know much about him, but he was loaded with money. His mansion, his vintage car collection, and the rings he wore on his fingers were all testaments to his wealth.

Every time you met him, it was always at a different place. It was never the same location.

Damn, each gold and diamond in his rings could solve world hunger. Even Sir Galileo respected Bucky.

Today, Bucky called both of you again.

When you both arrived at a new location, another mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed by its grandeur. The sprawling estate was surrounded by lush gardens and towering gates. The mansion itself was a blend of modern architecture and classic elegance, with large windows reflecting the sunlight and intricate details on every corner.

Bucky looked at you while opening his arms wide. “My Da Vinci,” he greeted warmly.

You blushed when he called you that. His nickname for you always made you feel a mixture of pride and embarrassment. You looked down briefly, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

“I can't wait to see the design you've made,” he said, turning to Sir Galileo. “And I want you to take a look at that ruby stone I got.”

“Sure,” Sir Galileo replied with a nod.

Once everyone was seated in the lavishly decorated living room, you grabbed your tablet and showed Bucky the jewelry design you had created for him. Instead of the usual ring or bracelet, you had designed a watch that fit his character perfectly—sleek, elegant, and powerful.

Bucky inhaled his cigar, examining the design closely. “This is great,” he said, a rare smile forming on his lips.

You felt a surge of pride when your work was appreciated, but you quickly dismissed the feeling. You didn’t want another bout of bad luck to hit you like a truck.

“How did you get this ruby?” Sir Galileo asked, still scrutinizing the stone with his special glasses.

“Tsk,” Bucky clicked his tongue. “Don’t remind me. My man got hurt getting that.”

“Another incident?” Sir Galileo inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky exhaled smoke from his mouth, his expression darkening. “We’ve never had a casualty like this before. I feel like we have bad luck.”

You flinched when you heard ‘bad luck.’ Could it be that your bad luck had moved to Bucky?

You hoped nothing bad would happen to Bucky because you enjoyed working for him.

But once again, bad luck visited you. This time, it came in the form of a bullet shooting through the window. It was a surprise attack.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed as he shielded you from the bullet and hid behind a chair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face close to yours, making your heartbeat quicken.

“I… I'm fine,” you stammered.

Bucky took a peek out the window, his eyes narrowing. “How did they find out my hideout?” he cursed.

You stayed quiet. Could it be because of you?

Sir Galileo, hiding behind a table, said urgently, “We should run.”

“No shit,” Bucky responded. He called his guards to prepare for an escape.

The three of you stayed low until you reached the garage. You all piled into a black SUV, the engine roaring to life.

Never had you imagined you’d be in a car chase. The adrenaline pumped through your veins as the SUV sped down the driveway, bullets ricocheting off the sides.

The roar of the engine filled your ears as the black SUV tore down the narrow streets. Bucky was driving with a fierce determination, weaving in and out of traffic, while Sir Galileo barked directions from the passenger seat. Behind you, the pursuing cars kept gaining, their headlights piercing through the dusk like the eyes of predators closing in on their prey. Bullets shattered the rear window, and the vehicle swerved violently as you tried to avoid the onslaught.

The situation felt hopeless. You could see the grim set of Bucky’s jaw, the way Sir Galileo’s hands gripped the dashboard. They were in danger because of you. You had to do something. You took a deep breath and made a decision.

“Leave me here,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute.

Bucky glanced at you, confusion and anger flashing across his face. “What? You've got nothing to do with this.”

“I think I do,” you whispered, feeling the weight of your bad luck pressing down on you. You reached for the door handle and flung the door open, the rush of wind pulling at you.

“You're crazy!!!” Bucky yelled, reaching for you, but you were already tumbling out of the car. The asphalt rushed up to meet you, and you hit the ground hard, rolling painfully to a stop. Your body ached all over, but you forced yourself to sit up. Through the haze of pain, you saw Bucky’s car speeding away. Relief washed over you, knowing they had a chance to escape.

“Click.”

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked froze you in place. You looked up to see several men emerging from the pursuing cars, their guns trained on you.

“You’re coming with us,” one of them said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

They hauled you to your feet, roughly searching you for weapons. You winced at the pain but felt a grim satisfaction knowing Bucky and Sir Galileo were getting away. The men shoved you towards one of their cars, and you knew your fate was now in their hands.

🍀🍀🍀🍀

The days blurred together as you sat in a dimly lit room, the only illumination coming from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Your captors had bound your wrists to the chair, and the rough rope chafed against your skin. They had been relentless, taking turns to interrogate you, their questions a mix of frustration and suspicion.

“Tell us about Bucky,” one of them demanded, leaning in close, his breath reeking of tobacco and stale beer.

“I’m just a jewelry designer,” you insisted, your voice hoarse from hours of questioning.

“No. You’re more than that,” he sneered. “Barnes never invited the same person more than twice. You must mean something to him.”

You blinked in surprise. That was news to you. Bucky had always seemed so casual, so composed. You had no idea he had such strict rules.

“I told you, I’m just a designer,” you repeated, trying to maintain your composure.

‘BANG.’

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the hideout. The walls shook, and dust rained down from the ceiling. Panic spread through the room as your captors scrambled, their plans falling apart.

“Fuck! Nothing’s going our way!” one of them shouted, his voice tinged with fear.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe this was your fault, that your bad luck had followed you here and was now wreaking havoc on these gangsters. The thought made your stomach churn with guilt.

Then, you heard gunshots. The sharp cracks echoed through the building, and you instinctively covered your ears, trying to block out the chaos. Moments later, the door burst open, and you saw Bucky standing there, a fierce determination in his eyes. He quickly dispatched your captors with a series of precise shots, his movements fluid and lethal.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, surveying the scene before his eyes locked onto you. He holstered his gun and hurried to your side, cutting the ropes that bound you.

Bucky helped you stand up, his eyes searching your face. “I still can't believe you."

“Me?” you began, trying to find the right words.

Bucky cut you off, a rare, almost gentle smile touching his lips. “You’re the only woman willing to sacrifice for me.”

He still can't believe that a girl like you, whom he only knew as a designer, was willing to sacrifice for him. Bucky has been interested in you because of your background, wondering how a good girl like you could end up working with Sir Galileo.

“It’s all…” You started, but then you felt something cold press against the side of your forehead.

'Click.'

You gasped in shock, your heart pounding as you realized Bucky was pointing a gun at you.

Bucky’s smile turned cold and frightening. “Now, dear, tell me why you said it’s all because of you before you jumped off the car.”

“Because I'm bad luck,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Huh?” Bucky's eyes narrowed.

“You probably think I’m insane, but I bring bad luck wherever I go,” you explained, your voice shaking.

“Hah!” Bucky's eyes widened for a moment before he burst into laughter. “Hahahaha…”

He laughed so hard that he wiped a tear from his eye. “This is getting more interesting.”

His laughter sent chills down your spine. He found it amusing, but to you, it was a curse. His grip on the gun didn’t waver as he stepped closer, his presence overpowering.

Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll get along just fine,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

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#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #buckybarnes #dark!bucky x reader #bucky au #soft!dark bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female!reader

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 5 months ago

Text

The Soldier Of Death (1)- Mission Complete

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.8k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Mission Complete

Chapter Warnings: Graphic Depictions of murder and violence.

The sound of heavy footsteps reached your ears as you stared straight ahead of you at the stone wall, the boots that crunched against the dirt littering the concrete floors gradually increasing as the men walked down the hallways into the room you were in. They grew closer, and closer, and closer until one of their hands met your shoulder, your body fighting against the instinct to abruptly pull away from the man's touch. He moved around your body, his fingers gripping your chin and forcing your head up to look at him, a cruel smirk plastered on his face.

"Soldat (soldier)," his tone sinister as he addressed you, his teeth on show as he grinned at you maliciously. His gold tooth reflected the light from the dangling, rusting light, the rest of his teeth rotting to match his awful personality. "Are you ready to comply?"

"Da, sare (yes sir)," your tone almost robotic, his smile only widening as he stretched his arm out for another man to pass him a file, tossing the paper into your lap, motioning for you to read it.

"That is Ulysses Klaue," his tone containing a little annoyance while briefing you on the mission. "He was supposed to be helping us with obtaining vibranium but the bastard tried to cross us," you flip through the file, noting that he was going to sell of the vibranium intended for Hydra to some other organisation who weren't even willing to pay as much, offering something else the man must have deemed more valuable in turn. "It's your job to make sure he is made an example of, do you understand?"

"Da, sare," you repeat, knowing he didn't appreciate people who felt they could dare challenge Hydra. There would be consequences of trying to make a fool of your general. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to make him suffer," he grits out, anger written across his face as he towers over you. He places his hands on the side of your head, pressing in slightly, your face remaining stoic as he digs his finger into your skin, "I want you to do this," he emphasises by pressing harder against you, "Crush him until he's not even recognisable, break as many bones as you can, do anything you want as long as he suffers."

"Da, sare."

***

The darkness brought a sense of comfort to you as you wandered through the isolated building, your steps inaudible to a normal human as you crept through the abandoned hallways. The lights would occasionally flicker on, indicating the building still had some life in it, while you walked through the twisting and turning corridors, walking until the steady beating of hearts became louder, the chat that was a low murmur now distinct and audible.

"We can have them to you by midnight," spoke a man with a heavy accent, your eyes counting the two men by either side of him, the guns strapped around their large, toned bodies also being noticed.

"How many of them are there?" Klaue asks, sliding a blue-coloured sweet into his mouth, the man who he was currently dealing with clenching his jaw in frustration.

"Twelve girls, eight women," he answers, one of his body guard's heads snapping to the side when you slip into the room, sensing your presence.

"Perfect," Klaue responds, rubbing his hand on the tattoo that covered his neck, offering the others a crooked smile, "It's a deal then."

Before they can even shake hands, coughing and spluttering can be heard, a mortified look replacing the annoyed one on the man's face as he watches your knife lodge itself in his guard's neck. Red splatters against the faded white walls, his large, rough hands grasping desperately at his neck as crimson stains his skin, oozing out of the gaping wound. No one has time to get over the initial shock when another is thrown into the other man's skull, the force of your throw easily allowing the knife to glide through the bone as if it were nothing, killing the man instantly as he slumps to the floor.

"What have you done?" The heavy accent laced with fear as the man scrambles for a gun, words directed at the tattooed man near him. Revealing yourself from the darkness, you grab his head, making light work of him by snapping his neck, letting him drop inelegantly to the floor like a rag doll.

"Well, aren't you a scary thing?" Klaue says in a humorous tone, unaffected by the gory sight, your fingers deftly pulling the blades out of the lifeless bodies, wiping them clean with your gloves before twirling one of them in your hand, the other sliding back into your pocket.

He admires your stealth suit, the black fabric helping you blend in well to the run down building you were currently in. Your eyes were covered by tinted goggles, the emotionless and empty stare not visible to him while the lower part of your face hidden by a metal mask, Hydra desperate to keep your identity a secret.

"Do you know what's scarier?" He asks, your body unresponsive to his question, his hands popping another sweet into his mouth.

You watch as he folds the wrapper in a delicate manner, twisting and turning the crinkling paper before throwing it back into the bowl on the small desk nearby, smiling at you and showing off his now blue coloured tongue, tinted by the sweet.

His unseriousness doesn't bother you, knowing he was trying to act calm and cocky when in reality his heart rate was exceptionally high, the relentless pounding against his ribs audible to your sensitive hearing. Your ears picked up how the beating of his heart would spike unexpectedly when you moved, fear radiating off his nervous form.

"Puffer fish," he answers his own question, your eyes internally rolling as he continues his rambling, stuttering a little when you step closer. "They are deadly creatures," he looks to his side subconsciously in his state of terror when you step even closer, the incessant beating of his heart ringing annoyingly in your head while he gives away the position of the hidden Vibranium by accident.

You block out his further words, deciding to ignore whatever pointless things spilt from his lips and waited until his fight or flight finally kicked in to make things a little more interesting. Soon, his prosthetic arm swung out with force at you, your hand easily catching it and twisting the false limb, tearing it off his body causing him to gasp at your abrupt show of strength.

Lifting your leg, you kick forward once having lined it up with his knee, the precise angle of the movement allowing your boot to shatter the bone easily. He cries out in pain, tumbling to the ground, the concrete not cushioning his fall.

"You don't have to do this," he manages out between sharp breaths, his hand clutching his splintered knee, your body stepping on the dislocated bone to make him scream in pain. The bone crumbles under the pressure of your boot, your foot twisting and grinding it down further, the once solid bones turning into mush as the blood and flesh of his leg are disgustingly blended with it. "I'll do anything Hydra wants," he pleads with you to spare his life, the decision not up to you as you grab the metal pole to your side, easily snapping it off the wall, his eyes widening with fear.

"Is it the vibranium you want?" Using the strength in his arm, he tries to crawl away from your predatory stance, pathetically sliding against the cool stone. "I can get you even more than what you wanted," your head merely tilts at his words as they were meaningless to you.

You didn't care about the vibranium. You didn't care about the cost. You had a mission to do. That's all that mattered.

The sounds of his ragged breaths filled the small room of the warehouse until an ear splitting scream reverberated around the cramped space when you brought down the metal against his other leg. There was a satisfying snap when the pole was violently forced down on his leg again, another broken noise being torn out of the man.

"Please," he begged, spikes of agony flooding through his body as he was left helpless on the floor, his body too weak to try and escape his inevitable fate.

The sheer desperation in his tone, the anguish evidence in his voice evokes nothing from you. No sympathy, no guilt, no regret, nothing.

Instead, you bring the blood stained pole down onto his last limb, aiming for his shoulder to prevent him from moving his arm at all, a shrill noise painfully ripped out of him. With your enhanced hearing, you could hear when each little part of the bone splintered off from the humerus, stabbing into the tissue that surrounded it.

When his voice begins to slur, mind fogged by the throbbing aches riddled throughout his body, you crouch down next to his immovable figure, your hands reaching for his skull.

Crush him until he's not even recognisable, break as many bones as you can, do anything you want as long as he suffers.

The order echoes in your head, your fingers pressing into his temples, eyes searching his face as his eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching through the pain. He's heard the stories of you, knowing what was about to happen as your grip increased, digging painfully into his head.

Due to the tinted glass covering your eyes, he's unaware of the sinister darkness swirling in them, the sadistic look taking over as your thumbs press in harder, feeling the skin and bone straining under the pressure of your hands.

Agonising cries are brutally torn out of him, the bone reaches its breaking point when your fingertips dig in further, harder, deeper. The crack of his skull is deafening in your ear, the bone caving in on itself as the life is drained out of his body, gradually shutting down.

The squelch of his brain being squished under the bone as you forced it down even further indicates to you that he's dead but you don't stop. You can't stop. You grab as much of his mutilated skull as you can, lifting the base of his head before slamming it back down against the concrete. Revolting crunches echo around the room and your mind until you physically can't break anymore of his skull, your body heaving over his disfigured corpse at the strenuous work.

Crimson seeped through your suit, the blood that splattered leaving a streak across your masked face as you moved to stand above your completed mission, ignoring the warm liquid that could be felt against your cold skin. Your eyes were glued to the dismembered body, the command of 'not even recognisable' ringing in your mind as you ensured you fulfilled your order, stepping over the mass of flesh like it was a mere inconvenience to you.

The thought of what you had done didn't have time to settle in your mind, moving on autopilot as you reached the stone wall Klaue looked at. Your fist knocked against the wall, confirming that it was in fact hollow before your fist went through the stone. Your knuckles shattered with the force of your hit, the stone crumbling away as it was nothing compared to your strength. The bones in your hand didn't have chance to heal as you punched the wall again, and again, until the boxes of the valuable metal were soon revealed.

Mission complete.

***

Fury's arms were behind his back as he stood with authority at the end of the table, waiting for Natasha and Clint to enter the room. The redhead and archer soon strolled in together, power radiating off them both as they were let into the confidential meeting room, Clint flopping into a chair with little dignity while Natasha took the more graceful approach of sitting politely. They both looked over to the man who was staring out of the window, his voice taking control of the room.

"This morning, we received intel that Ulysses Klaue was found dead," his tone was blunt as turned around, the scar peeking over his eyepatch. Clint's posture straightened at the sound of the familiar name, the director passing two files to his most trusted agents.

Once the paper file was flipped open, the room's atmosphere grew tense, confusion and shock taking over as they witnessed what had happened to the man. Natasha's fingers deftly flickered through the pages, her mind trying to comprehend what must have been done to cause a human face to look like that. Her green eyes held a concerned glint in them when reading about the perpetrator, a gnawing feeling bubbling inside her when the page contained little information, Clint sharing an unnerved look with her.

"It seemed Hydra wanted to make a statement," Fury continued, everyone at the table now on edge. "All we know is that they must be enhanced, other than that- nothing."

Clint went back to look at the images of the deformed face, looking up to meet Fury's gaze.

"An attack like this surely must have some sort of personal reason behind it?" he questions, Natasha's eyes glued on the mysterious figure a CCTV camera caught on a nearby building, blood smeared across their suit.

"That's what I thought until I saw this," Fury displays an extremely blurry video on the Tv in the room, the cameras within the building somehow still working despite their age.

With an abnormal interest, they watch as the figure effortlessly murdered the three other people in the room before carrying out the inhumane act on Klaue, the violence causing Clint to look away, eyes flickering back down to the file in front of him.

"There was no emotion behind it," Natasha speaks up, puzzled by the degree of violence you chose to use. "If it was personal, there would have been more tension in the body language but they seemed almost... relaxed? It doesn't make sense," Fury nods in agreement with her, pausing the video on the best angle they had on your front.

The agents noted your outfit, the black suit fitted to your body with a Hydra logo patched onto the side, signalling that it was definitely Hydra putting this message across. Their attention then went to your face, or the lack of, as you were completely covered, any sort of tracking software struggling to get enough of your appearance to search for a match.

"Could it be mind control? Brain-washing?" Clint's voice breaking the silence, the tv being turned off as Fury placed his hands on the table, letting out a sigh.

"It appears so," his tone lacking the confidence he normally presents. "If it is, it means we have another Winter Soldier on our hands to deal with."

The mention of Bucky's past makes Natasha tense a little, her experience with his Hydra side not being a pleasant one. Clint's gaze wanders to his best friend, noticing the change in her demeanour but she brushes it off, wanting to focus on the task at hand.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Research," Natasha's brows furrow at Fury's words, Clint's face containing confusion as they look at their director, expecting him to send them on a mission to look for you.

"What?" Clint's tone in disbelief, "You have just warned us about a deadly enhanced individual and you want us to do research?"

"Exactly," he stands tall again, "We don't know enough about them yet to engage. We need more intel before we risk anything, especially considering they are enhanced." It makes sense to them when they think about it but the idea of getting them two to do it stirs curiosity in Natasha.

"Why do you want us two to do it? You have plenty of researchers that would probably do it quicker," she raises her brow a little at the man, him just smirking a little at her.

"Something isn't right about this whole thing, I want people I can trust on the matter," he dismisses and she accepts his answer with caution, taking the file and sliding it under her arm.

"I'll send you what I can find," she says, standing from her chair when Fury dismisses them both from the meeting, her mind unusually intrigued by the whole situation.

Who were you?

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loggiepj · 3 months ago

Text

To Love A Lannister

chapter 17 | chapter 18

A door softly creaked behind you, the eerie sound making you turn from where you were sitting only to look at the intruder.

Queen Daenerys had typical Valyrian features of silver-gold hair, purple eyes and pale skin. Anyone would be a fool to deny of her beauty. Aside from her slender like figure, what stood out the most was the tough exterior she possessed from her gaze.

One thing was for certain. Your sister looked more Targaryen than you could ever be.

"How's your wound?" Queen Daenerys asked. Missandei was standing behind her with head bowed down.

Forcing out a weak smile her way while massaging your arm, you shrugged. "Pain's barely there anymore, Your Grace."

"Please," she said as she chuckled, moving inside the room then taking a seat beside you on the bed. "You're my sister. . . My only family left. Call me Dany."

"You're my Queen," you declared, the word causing a bitter taste in your mouth. Cersei would always be your Queen. And you'd bleed for her a thousand times if you had to. It sparked a dilemma inside your heart.

"You don't have to prove your loyalty to me," Daenarys said as she stood abruptly, heading towards the window where she could see your dragon Nymeros towering over her children. It was apparent that Nymeros was older and more massive than the Queen's two smallest dragons combined. "We're Targaryen by blood. And the right rulers of the Seven Kingdom. I'm sure nothing could persuade you from that," she paused, "well, not unless you're still devoted to her."

Your gazes met and hers sported a questioning curiosity. You knew she was referring to Cersei and your love affair. Upon knowing Tyrion as her hand when you arrived at Dragonstone just two weeks ago, you believed Daenerys knew more about you than you knew about her. Varys was even one of her counselors. There wasn't a single thing Varys didn't know.

"I'm sure you have heard about what happened in the Capital upon their return," she went on, walking past you as she headed back to the door.

Of course, you had. It was chaos.

Cersei had taken over the throne. It turned out that after her father's death, King Tommen had gone mentally incapable to rule the Kingdom, rendering him bed ridden and mute. You pitied the boy so much but who wouldn't go crazy if your own wife would leave you just like that.

But you couldn't blame Margaery either when she went ballistic upon finding out her grandmother Lady Olenna was assassinated by Ser Jaime himself. It appeared that the Lannisters had finally found out she was the culprit behind late King Joffrey's murder.

They had also taken captive those from Dorne who attempted to execute Princess Myrcella, including Oberyn and your guardian father.

If you had to be honest, you felt a bit hurt that Cersei was now ruling with the support of Prince Doran, your real father, by her side, considering what he did and did not do to claim you as his child.

"People like them have no heart to rule Westeros," Daenerys continued, bringing you back to the present. "It will never change. . . All we have now is each other."

~~~

"I thought I'd never get to see you again," you said, greeting Tyrion as he climbed down a boat along the shores of Dragonstone. There were a group of men following his stead, and a couple of others still on their boats.

"I still have luck on my side, My Lady," he replied, looking at the sky where anyone could see four dragons flying around the castle. "It's a nice addition to the group, you know. If I had known sooner you're more than just a viper from the South, I would have served you well."

A forced cough made you look at the strangers. There was a different kind of aura coming from the burly man with a beard looking at you as if you knew each other.

"Excuse my bad manners, Lady Y/n, this is Jon Snow—"

"King Jon Snow," another man with thin white hair corrected, stepping beside Jon. "He's King in the North now."

"Right." Tyrion could only sigh. "This is Ser Davos, Jon's advisor."

"I thought the Seven Kingdoms only have one ruler," you said, earning a curious look from Jon. "I don't think my sister will appreciate such title."

"We have business to discuss with Queen Daenerys," Jon answered, walking past you, "about the things happening right now in the North. Titles will have no meaning if we're all dead."

You looked at Tyrion in confusion as he shrugged his shoulders. He urged for you to follow them as they headed towards the castle, where you could see from a distance Queen Daenerys looking down below at all of you. "The North is currently at war against the Night King."

"And we need more men," Jon added, his voice sounding urgent, "and we need more dragonglass and forge them into weapons."

"Dragonglass are known to be effective against the White Walkers," Tyrion explained by your side as you walked together. "They had been mining back and forth for months now."

"So it's true then, what they say about the White Walkers?" you asked.

Jon gave one look at you before he nodded, "Either you have dragonglass or Valyrian steel, we have no chance against them."

"What about the dragons?"

Jon bit back his mouth before he turned, walking away from you. Ser Davos gave a small bow before he went after Jon.

Tyrion sighed beside you. "He's still convincing the Queen to fight alongside him."

"What's stopping Dany?"

"Cersei."

You turned to look at him.

He went on. "Queen Daenerys will only fight with Jon if they both bent the knee in her favor. Both Jon and Cersei."

You knew then Jon would have to fight alone because there was no chance Cersei would do such a thing.

~~~

After what seemed like a lifetime discussing about the plans on the war against the White Walkers and how to convince Cersei to give up the Iron Throne, you surrendered to the darkness of the night outside the castle, facing the lonely shores of Dragonstone.

You had visited Nymeros half an hour ago. The dragon was happy it was finally where he belonged yet you could tell he was uneasy for the fight that was about to come.

"You look so much like your mother if you only had silver hair." The alluring accent made you alert and look behind you. It was none other than the Red woman herself, Melisandre. She was wearing her red cloak, a hood over her head as her eyes pierced right through you.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing that came into your mind. The last time you remembered, she was serving Stannis Baratheon, who died during one of the battles in the North.

"Serving the true heir to the throne," she replied, wrapping her arms around her body as the cold breeze from the sea blew towards the both of you.

"My sister have four dragons to her side," you said, chuckling lightly. "I barely think she needs a dedicated follower of the Lord of the Light too."

"I wasn't talking about her," Melisandre replied, now looking at the dark horizon before you.

Her firm response made you stare at the woman. There was no chance she knew about your parentage.

"You were there," you began, slowly remembering, "you were there at the boar hunt Joffrey had planned, at the ambush."

"I was there to protect you," she answered, "as I have sworn since the day you were born."

"What?"

"If I weren't there when Stannis' soldiers attacked you, that arrow would have lunged straight to your heart."

"But you distracted me—"

"Did I really?" Mellisandre looked at you with a smirk on her face before she turned away.

You swallowed nervously. "When you say since the day I was born. . ."

"Yes, I was there when Rhaella gave birth to you," she said. "You were so tiny then, yet your cries were as fierce as a dragon's. Rhaella made me swear to look after you and I did. All these years."

There was a brief silence of you trying to understand what she was telling you. No, she could just be lying to you. She was a witch after all.

"It was me who set Nymeros free from his chains in the cave when you were still young," she went on, "if he'd still be chained, he wouldn't be able to save you from drowning. Or that time you were held hostage by a band of thieves from Braavos, where you mysteriously succeeded in escaping not knowing your captors were already unalived."

"Why? What are you to my mother? Why do you owe her that much to save a child you barely knew?"

Melisandre only went silent, avoiding your gaze.

~~~

"Let me convince her," you said, seeing defeat from your sister and Jon's faces when they came back from the Capital with no good news. Cersei didn't waver. She was stubborn, face stoic as what Ser Davos had observed when she watched a White Walker Jon had captured from the North just to convince everyone in Westeros that death was real.

Daenerys even lost one of her dragons for that quest, yet Cersei was still merciless and selfish.

Daenerys scoffed. "You think she'd bend the knee just because you did? I thought you know her enough."

"I know she'd never bend the knee, but she'd fight alongside with you if she knew what we're facing against—"

"She had enough of that evidence running straight to her face yet it still didn't scare her," Ser Davos butted in.

"Cersei, however less of expression her face shows, is mighty convinced the sea surrounding the Capital will keep the White Walkers away," Varys chimed in. "Unless they have figured out ways to swim or fly."

"Which they can now that they have one of my children," Daenerys hissed.

"I know Cersei since I was a child," Jon interrupted. "She has no heart—"

"You're wrong," you said, defending Cersei. You were whipped, but you knew the Lannister woman better than anyone in the room did. "You don't know her better than I do. She cares enough even when she doesn't show it—"

"Maybe to you," Tyrion said. "But what about now when you're no longer a good fuck to her?"

You glared at Tyrion, knowing he had a point. You didn't exactly leave Cersei in good terms.

"You always knew what she was but you loved her anyway," Tyrion added, sighing in defeat.

"At least, let me try," you pleaded, now facing Daenerys. She was hesitant to let you go. She hadn't even let you go with them. Maybe she did care about you. Or maybe she didn't trust you enough to be loyal to her and go back.

"Bring Nymeros with you," Daenerys said, as she walked away from the counselors. You nodded eagerly amidst the complaints from others, not wasting another second to leave the room.

~~~

"Did you forget what I said I'd do when I see you step your foot in the Capital?" Cersei's cold voice echoed through the entire hall. "You are looking for death if you think I'd help you and your usurper of a sister's cause."

You knew you should be scared. Tyrion had been right all along. You were immediately captured the moment Nymeros left you as soon as you landed on the shores of the Red Keep, near the Blackwater gates.

But even when the Queen's guards poked you with their spears as they forced you to kneel before her, before Cersei herself, you couldn't find it in yourself to be terrified of her.

For almost two months of not seeing her, all you wanted to do was kiss the woman, hug her, touch her and more. Cersei looked much fiercer and tougher than she was the last time you saw her. She had changed yet beauty still incomparable. Her golden hair was adorned with the most elegant looking crown with the Lannister's sigil.

Aside from Nymeros, she was truly the only beautiful thing you had ever witnessed in your life.

But of course, Cersei never cared about you. You were just a good lay, as Tyrion had said.

"My Queen," you bowed down your head, "I plead for you to take mercy. We need more men to fight in the North. We cannot defeat the White Walkers without your help—"

"And what? After the war, you all would seek the throne? When my men are already depleted, you'd take advantage over us? Do you think me of a fool, Lady Y/n?"

You met her gaze, and she was gritting her teeth, anger seething.

"I will never bend the knee," Cersei said with finality in her tone. You exhaled heavily. If you could just talk to her alone, you'd make her understand.

You were about to retort but she held her hand, stopping you. "We will deal with what it's left when you fight against the White Walkers."

Your eyes never wandered as you stared right through her, waiting if she'd also break like you did. However when Prince Doran entered the hall, his eyes on you, you looked away.

"Y/n Martell," Doran called, now standing beside the Queen. "Finally on your knees ready to commit to your crimes?"

"For what? For being your daughter?" you snide back.

Doran went silent for a moment before he walked slowly towards you, unsheathing his sword from his belt. "She was never born. You're no daughter of mine. You're an impostor."

"She is mine to execute," Cersei said, standing up from her seat.

Doran shook his head, facing the Lannister woman. "I chose to serve you, Your Grace. But when one of my people had betrayed me, they will only answer to me alone."

Then he looked back at you. "I've loved Rhaella with all my life but she also chose to betray me in the end. I married her even, convinced the Citadel to annul their marriage beforehand," the statement made everyone in the hall whisper, "yet when I told her to go to Dorne to finally be with me, she chose to stay with the Mad King."

"Are you not sure she was not referring to stay away from you?"

Doran glared at you before he raised his sword ready to hit, but a blade went through his chest, making him gulp in his own blood.

"Bring Y/n to the dungeons," the Queen announced when Doran's body hit the floor with a loud thud. Jamie stood behind Doran, holding a bloody sword. The guards dragged your frozen limb, your eyes still on the bloody figure of the man you thought who'd accept you as his own.

~~~

"The Queen has requested me to escort Y/n to her council room," Qyburn announced to the soldiers guarding you outside your cell in the dungeon not half an hour later from the incident.

When you and Qyburn headed through empty corridors of the castle, you attempted to untie the rope around your wrists. Qyburn helped you when you both have arrived at the door and you were still unsuccessful of untying it yourself.

Cersei was alone, staring out the windows with her hand on the railing, when you entered the room. Qyburn then closed the door, leaving you two.

The air had suddenly gone heavy. The Queen turned her head to finally look at you.

When it was only the two of you, there was an unspoken tension. You swallowed nervously, ready to speak yet Cersei's eyes on you didn't waver.

And as if on instinct, she moved forward towards you as you met her halfway, her arms welcoming you as you embraced her back so tightly. Breathing everything that was her, you tightened your hug around the woman, afraid that if you'd let her go, it would be the last time.

Cersei's hands fisted around your tunic, unbelievable strength coming from the Lannister woman. Then you pulled away as you cupped her face, pulling her close as you pressed your lips against hers.

And it was carnal. The hunger you had for each other was incomparable. Her hands held your head against hers, pulling you closer and closer.

She was devouring you like she had been deprived from sustenance. You pushed the woman against the wall as you returned the same force she showed, tongues dancing against each other, short breaths, gasps, sighs, and moans managed to come out from the little moments your lips would pull away from each other before reconnecting.

And then you could taste it. The bitter taste of Cersei's tears made you pull away, cupping her face gently as the woman only tried to chase after your mouth.

Leaning your forehead against hers, your thumbs wiped the offending liquid before meeting her lips in a slow soft kiss.

"I miss you," Cersei croaked, misery evident in her voice.

Giving her a weak smile, you nodded back. "There's not a day when I didn't think of you, Cersei. Even my dreams were filled with the thoughts of you."

"Why?"

You slowly pulled away as you met her cold hard gaze, her eyes carrying a look of disdain.

"Why did you not come back?"

"I couldn't —"

But then Cersei was already pushing you away as she walked towards her desk, licking her lips with the taste from you. "You didn't even send me a raven."

"Dany—"

Her mocking laughter stopped you. "Dany? You've barely even known her and you're already calling her Dany—"

"She's my sister," you answered, moving towards her.

"Well, I'm your . . . ," she stammered, hesitant. "I'm your . . ."

You could see the dilemma on her face and you pulled her closer. "You're still my Queen. You're my other half, the one I love."

Cersei bit her lower lip to stop herself from sobbing. Then she shook her head as she pushed you away again, turning to look at the window.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, exhaling a heavy breath. "Your love doesn't matter. Your feelings don't matter."

There was a pause of silence before you ended it.

"Then why are we here? Why did you allow me to come?"

The Lannister woman scoffed. "Not to help my enemies collaborate in my destruction. Jon Snow has now chosen to serve her. You have already submitted to her, and now you're making me too—"

"I want you to help us. To help the realm—"

"But eventually, you want everyone to bend the knee to her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I think she will make the world a better place."

"You think she will not be like her father, the Mad King?"

"She has trusted advisors who would check her worst impulses instead of feeding them."

"Mm, my traitor of a brother. Fine," she walked away, "serve her. Choose her. What you said are true. I don't care about checking my worst impulses. I don't care about making the world a better place. Hang the world. That thing they dragged here, I know what it is, I know what it means. And when it came at me, I didn't think about the world. Not at all."

She stopped, her hand on her stomach. Then she looked at you and she still looked as lost as she was.

You heard Nymeros roar from a distance, growing impatient wondering where you were and why you had not come back.

"Ever wondered why your dragon did not attack me that day you left Dorne?" she asked. You stared at her in confusion. "It was because a part of you is already living inside of me."

And your eyes instinctively went to the hand on her stomach. You slowly approached her, your shaking hands caressing her lower stomach.

"It's . . ." You stopped, memories of Jaime's threats swimming in your head.

The sight made Cersei sad, her hand cupping your face. "I have not been with anyone other than you. I swear on my mother's deathbed. If the dragon had sensed it, then you should know it's true. It's yours, Y/n."

"It's mine?" you asked again, voice almost crying from happiness. The smile on your face hurt. She nodded back, pressing her forehead against yours. Your arms slithered around her, hers around your back, her head buried in your neck as you hugged each other.

"Then you know that I must leave," you said, making the woman lose her control, pull away and sob in front of you, shaking her head. "For you and our baby, Cersei—"

"No, Y/n, I want you here! With me! With us!"

"Death is upon us if we won't take action," you reasoned with her, hands cupping around her face. "I won't let that happen."

"You can't do anything to stop them," Cersei spat back. "They had even defeated one of her dragons—"

"We have three against one—"

"If the dragons can't stop them, if Dothraki and Unsullied and Northmen can't stop them, how will our armies make a difference?" she hissed, tears rolling down her face as you failed to stop her from crying. "This isn't about noble houses anymore, this is about the living and the dead! And I intend to stay amongst the living."

"Cersei—"

"Let the Stark boy and his new queen defend the North. We stay here where we've always been, where we belong."

"I made a promise to my sister—"

"Our child will rule Westeros. Doran admitted his marriage to your mother Rhaella. I made Qyburn consult with the Citadel Maesters and it's true what Doran said. Rhaella's marriage to the Mad King was annuled before she bore Daenerys. This makes you the rightful heir—"

"Our child will never be born if the dead come south," you said.

Shaking her head, Cersei stood her ground. "Let the monsters kill each other. And while they battle in the North, we take back the lands that belong to us, that your sister took."

"And then what?"

"And then we rule."

"When the fighting in the North is over, someone wins. You understand that, don't you? If the dead win, they march south and kill us all—"

"If the living win, and we've betrayed them, they march south and kill us all! They already want to kill us all. Most of them will die in the North."

You slowly pulled away, knowing there wasn't a single thing that would change the Lannister woman's mind. She was set to be selfish. But you'd do anything for her, for your child.

Cersei sighed as she made her way to her desk, leaning against the wood. You made your way to the door, planning your escape, knowing your visit was a failure. "Leave through the tunnels down the Kitchen's Keep. It will lead you straight to a trail beside the Blackwater Rush. The soldiers won't see you there."

You turned to look at the woman, who was already staring at you. Eyes spoke more what words couldn't. "I hate that you still choose to betray me."

"I love you," you said, "and I'm doing this for the both of you."

When you were about to close the door, you heard shuffling behind before the woman engulfed you in an embrace, hugging your back, her arms around your stomach.

"Cersei—"

"Come back to me alive," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come back alive and I will give that sister of yours thousands of my men to fight alongside you."

A smile crept into your face as you turned around and hugged the woman back. "I promise. You're my home, Cersei. You'll always be my home."

The clutch Cersei had on your back tightened as she buried her face deeper into your chest.

Author's note: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link.

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #g!p reader #angst #daenerys targaryen

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daphwritesworld · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 1— For The First Time.

a/n: welcome to the Be My Baby series! i’m super excited to get started and work on this story! I’m thinking of publishing 2/3 chapters weekly if I can, but at least 1 will always come out. If additional ones are on the way i’ll make sure to update that on my upcoming post. thank you for your support and happy reading < 3

(p.s. sorry I didn't proof read this lol. I will later and edit any details that need touching up. This is already a few hours late tho, so I want to go ahead and get it out.)

content: Top!Leah, Bottom!Reader, bed humping, fingering (r receiving), teasing, talks of shoe humping, spit play, talks of previous sexual encounters, brewing sexual tension, and masturbation (both)

warnings: allusions to heavy dom/sub relationship, talks of injury, Leah busting her ass at practice, Leah making a fool of herself when she’s in shock, flirty!Leah deserves a warning on its own so here you go, calling reader a bitch & slutty once in a dominating way, semi-public sex, almost getting caught by Alessia, Leah accidentally knocking you on your ass lol

synopsis: You've arrived to your first day at Arsenal; your new club for the foreseeable future as head Athletic Trainer. A new country with promises of a new start awaits for you...until a familiar face disrupts your plans and throws you head first into a whirlwind of emotions and actions.

word count: 3.4k

Series Masterlist: here.

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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The crisp air of Shenley lites a whispered chill to cover you as you step out of the taxi. You pay the driver, wishing him a good day as you collect your bags from the cab. A deep breath makes its way from your chest and out your lips, gathering your bearings as you finally start to make your way inside. This is going to be a fresh start in a place no one knows you– exactly what you need. No expectations to meet or lingering gazes on and off the pitch. No drama or gossip floating around or eating lunch by yourself. Things are going to be different here.

You take in the scenery as you approach the Sobha Realty Training Centre, your new place of employment. The building feels like it’s going to swallow you, the tall white walls reminding you of the hospital as a familiar churn starts to turn in your stomach.

Breathe. Everything is going to be fine.

Your hand comes up to open the door, but it’s pulled from your grasp. You look up, eyes meeting a warm smile and kind eyes. You relax at her appearance, and even more at her friendly approach, “Hi, I’m Alessia! You must be Y/N, I assume?”

You find yourself mirroring her smile, a hand coming out to shake hers. “Yes, it’s lovely to meet you, Alessia! Sorry I’m late– I got lost and then I just ended up taking a taxi….London is a lot bigger than I expected…” you trail off as you realize you're rambling. Embarrassment sinking in as you look down to the floor.

“You’re totally fine! I think we all got lost on our first day, haha. That’s why I’m here to show you around, this place is huge when you don’t know it. Now follow me, new girl!” and just like that, she’s showing you everywhere possible. She shows you the cafeteria, weight rooms, bathrooms, locker rooms, and just about every tiny place to hide if you need a moment to yourself.

“I don’t mean to sound rude– but shouldn’t you be out on the field training with the others? Showing me around can’t possibly be more important with the Euro Finals coming up,” you say as you arrange your med bag for practice. The rest of your things are now stored in your brand new Arsenal locker you were shown, your name enraged into the gold plate marking your future. She laughs at that, pointing down towards her ankle that you now see is wrapped up. “Sprained it a week ago, so i’m benched. Swelling is still up so Coach won’t let me play on it yet, not even at practice.”

A laugh now comes out of you at her frustrated tone near the end. “Well, I have to agree. Until the swelling and all pain is gone you need to let it properly heal. We don’t need you hurting it worse!”

You feel a shove to your shoulder at that, zipping up your pack as you turn towards her now.

“Spoken like the true new head AT! See you're falling into place here already,” You give a shove back to her shoulder. Careful to do it lightly and not push her off balance with her injury. “Ready to meet the girls?”

You let out a sigh before nodding your head, “If they're all as nice as you I think I’ll be just fine.” And then you two are off, Alessia leading the way to your new team. You can feel your hands sweating as you get closer to the field in sight. All the girls training, the coaches, the other medical trainers under your watch…it’s all facing you at once as the past leaves your mind step by step. Like the shedding of skin on a snake, you're letting your anxieties fall from you as your passion for the job kicks back in. Like a flicker of flame– just waiting to ignite higher.

Your confidence is gaining with every blade of grass that passes beneath your feet. You know you're good at this. Hell you’re fucking amazing at this. Not many trainers could switch clubs– let alone countries for said club, in the middle of a season and still be Head AT…but you are that good. No matter what might’ve happened in Barcelona, you’re going to make sure you thrive here in London.

Well that is until your eyes meet hers. It’s like the wind gets knocked out of your chest– hers quite literally. The blonde’s eyes stay on yours, a furrowed brow taking over her face as she keeps running blind. Until she smacks face first into the goal post at full force, bright hair tumbling to the ground in a loud, harsh collapse. Your feet work faster than your brain, running over and immediately separating her from the net. You’re assessing her body, eyes frantically searching for any blood, bruises, cuts, or abnormalities. Your hands come to her ankles, pressing down as you look up at her face. “Does anything hurt? Stay lying down right now, your adrenaline might be blocking it out!”

“I'm Leah!” It’s rushed out, loud and with a voice crack. Her wide eyes staring up at you as she snaps a hand over her mouth afterwards.

If her teammates weren’t laughing before– they definitely are now.

A blush overtakes your cheeks as you put an arm around her waist, hoisting her to stand up with you. She throws one of hers around your shoulders as she regains her balance. “I’m taking her to the Med Room! Want to be sure she doesn’t have a concussion!”

You’re practically dragging her at this point, racing to get somewhere private because what in the actual fuck. "I'm Leah," She repeats her words from the field. "Yeah, I fucking know that!" you snap lightly on her. Mind still racing as you drag her down the building for a more private place to fully speak without worry. There is no way this is happening! Not to you– NOT NOW!! You push the Med Room door open with your back, and sit Leah up on the bed as you finally create some distance between you two. An accusing finger launching itself towards her as you move back to the middle of the room, “SINCE WHEN DO YOU PLAY FOOTBALL?”

“Nice to see you again, too, darling,” She’s smiling at you. That same one that got you hooked in Ibiza and agreeing to spend three weeks with a stranger. You almost get lost in it again– but you start shaking your head. “Oh no! No, no, no– don’t you darling me right now! How could you not tell me your-” your hand comes to pull at the band around her arm, “CAPTAIN! Of one of the best teams in all of Europe? And after spending all that time alone together, really?”

“First of all, we are not one of, we are the best in the world– thank you. Second of all, I don’t remember us talking much when we were together, if I can be honest. My mind tends to remember the more important details,” she licks her lips as she says it, eyes racking over your body as she recalls the memories to her mind. “And third of all, I don’t exactly remember you telling me you’re the highest paid AT in the sports field, so I guess we both kept some secrets. Huh, darling?”

“You are insufferable," you say as you take out your tiny flashlight, checking the reflexes of her pupils with it.

“Oh but that’s not what you were saying during those few weeks we spent together.”

“Leah!” Your face scrunches up as your fists ball up at your sides. Giving her the best glare you can muster up.

“Y/N! Don’t do your face like that– it’ll get stuck,” a laugh breaks out of her mouth as she says it. Poking at your face to relax your muscles there.

“Can you be serious for like two seconds, this is bad!” You rub your hands down your face. Trying to relieve the headache starting to form between your eyes.

"Oh calm down, would you! No one knows, okay? I didn't tell anyone about our time together. I swear!" She sticks her pinky out towards you, and you somehow find yourself laughing back this time as you extend your own to interlock with hers. It's then you know you've messed up. Her skin lights yours up the same way it did a year ago— you two hidden away on the tropical Spanish paradise. Days were spent exploring the island and endless nights spent exploring each other's bodies.

You don't even notice how close you two have drifted until her thighs are closing in around your middle, trapping you against the medical bed and her upper body. Your face flushes as you freeze in place, brain already too fuzzy for you to register that you should pull away. You can’t stop thinking back now– flashes of memories whizzing by in your head as you zone out, eyes lingering on her lips subconsciously. She must think that’s an invitation, because after a few seconds one of her hands comes to the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss. You kiss her back at first, chasing the spark that ignites from her lips.

But then you remember where you are, and more importantly why you are even here. You got to pull away, hands coming up to her chest to push and create some space. She doesn’t budge though, a tiny moan slipping from your lips as you remember the depths of her strength. She smiles into the kiss at that, and you take the opportunity to breathe the words out against her lips. “Le-Leah we shouldn’t be d-doing this. We c-can’t…”

Her other hand tickles the waistband of your shorts, a light chuckle vibrating her chest as she pulls away to look you in the eyes. “I’ll stop if you really want me to, but I think we both know you want this more than me. Don’t you, darling? Otherwise you wouldn’t be humping the edge of the bed like a bitch in heat.”

You look down, not even realizing how you'd started rubbing your covered cunt against the medical bed. Your hips stutter to a stop as you try to back away from the cot, embarrassment filling your body at her catching you red handed. A finger lifts your chin up as her eyes lock to yours, a chill running down your spine as you cling to her every move. She runs her hand still sitting at your waist down to your hip, slipping under your shorts as goosebumps break out across your skin from her touch. “Don’t get shy on me, now. Not after I’ve seen you cum from grinding on a shoe.”

“Okay! Don’t act like you didn’t tell me to do it– no DEMAND it!” you move closer, pointing your finger into her chest now as you argue the claim.

“Mhm you’re right, Y/N…but you’re the one that did it. Got down on your knees,” she grips the hair at the back of your neck as she yanks your head back. “And rubbed your slutty pussy all over my Louboutins until you ruined them with your cum.” She brings her face down closer to yours, “Now open your fucking mouth.”

You do as she says, and you're met with a glob of her spit landing on your tongue. You swallow it before she even has to tell you, groaning out as you thank her for giving it to you. Her hand on your hip starts slipping around to your front after she feels you grinding forward again, giving you her fingers instead of the small spring mattress. You moan out as soon as they glide across your clit, an electric feeling breaking out across your body. You know this is wrong, and you’ll definitely chastise yourself later…but until then you’re gonna beg her to fuck you.

“Please give me your f-fingers! W-wanna cum for you, Le!” The distantly familiar nickname falls from your lips effortlessly and it fuels a fire inside Leah’s chest. She slides her hand farther into your shorts, instantly slipping two fingers inside of you at the start. Her palm is fitting your clit perfectly, and after a few minutes you can hear the squelching of your pussy from underneath your shorts. You can feel her curling, scissoring, and twisting the fingers inside of your cunt. Your legs are about to shake as you feel your orgasm start to build, moans increasing as your chest rises and falls faster. You can’t focus on anything other than Leah. That’s all your mind can think of: Leah, Leah, Leah…

Thank god she’s paying attention though. Because next thing you know she’s pulling her hand out of your shorts and pushing you back away from her so hard you fall on your ass. You let out a yell of shock as you go tumbling backwards, landing with a pretty loud thud onto the cold tile floor.

Before you can scream at her to explain what the fuck her problem is– the door is swinging open. Alessia barging in as she runs over to Leah. Stopping in her tracks as she almost topples over you. She comes to stop in a screeching halt, sticking a hand out to help you up. “What the hell are you doing on the floor?” She says as she drops your hand once you're back standing. “Well if you must know, Leah’s being stubborn and wouldn’t let me sit on the med bed with her because I’m benching her for practice until she gets her head checked by a CT scan.”

“YOU'RE BLOODY WHAT?” She screeches out at the realization.

“See she can’t even remember I already told her that! Definitely needs a ct,” you know you’re lying through your teeth…but fucking with Leah is too fun. No way you were telling her she’s benched when she had you on the verge of the first orgasm you’ve had…well, since the last time you saw her.

“What the hell even happened out there, Leah?” Alessia asks, a laugh busting out of her chest as she recalls the captain’s wipe out.

“I was lost in my head and just..oh god I’m never living this one down am I?”

“Oh god no! You should’ve heard the noise you made when you hit the pole– I've never heard that come out of a human being before, or any living thing for that matter!” She has tears welling up in her eyes now as she recalls the events.

You sneak out as the two blonde’s get lost in their laughs and conversation. The locker room is empty as you collect your things, humming a song under your breath as you make quick work of packing up. You’re walking out to the parking lot when you finally let yourself think of what just happened, fingers coming up to brush against your lips. You find yourself smiling, wiping it off your face when you notice. No, Y/N. Stay professional. This. cannot. happen again. Push it down.

You pull out your phone to order a new cab before a familiar voice grabs your attention. “I’m afraid there aren’t many cabs on this side of town at this time of night. I can give you a ride though. Only if you want, of course…But such a gorgeous girl as yourself? You really shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You turn, forgetting the words you told yourself not even 5 minutes ago. Nodding your head before you fully process the request. You’re going to be alone in a confined space with her? FUCK. You folded quicker than a lawn chair for the blonde footballer not even 10 full minutes ago….Lord give you strength for this 20 minute drive.

She opens the door for you, holding an intense eye contact as she closes it as well. Her car smells like the leather seats and the piney notes of her perfume. A perfect mix that has you rubbing your thighs together, trying to dull the ache she never got to quell. She climbs into the drivers seat, setting up her aux before she's handing you her phone open onto her maps app.

You quickly type in your new address before the navigation is breaking through the speakers and leading you to your destination. The ride isn't awkward, filled with easily flowing conversation. You're so lost in it you don't even notice you've made it to your flat. Not until the gps is yelling out "Arrived at Destination."

You try to hide your disappointment as you grab your bags, saying a thank you as soon many questions hang in the air between you two. "Can I walk you up? Promise I won't make a move, just want to make sure you get inside okay." She throws her hands up in a defensive mode.

"Yeah, I'd like that," you push down the large part of your brain that is telling you to stop this dynamic. To kill it before it can manifest…but you don't listen to it. You let her take your hand as she walks you into your buildings elevator, and you let her kiss you soft and slow as the floors ding past you both. It's different from any kiss you've shared before, and that kind of scares you.

It scares you even more at your door, where she tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and kisses you like that again. She's kissing you like she has something to prove…you're not quite sure what that is just yet…but you sure as hell want to find out. The first time Leah blew into your life, it was at a time of transformation. It was brief but truly wonderful, and now the universe is sitting her right in fucking front of you for a second time.

She's the first one to pull away from your lips this time. A smile pulling at her lips as she ducks back in to steal one more peck, and then she's backing away slowly. Her hands pulling yours with hers as she tries to leave you as slowly as possible. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You can't help the smile you break out into at the gesture, looking down as you blush slightly from the innocent statement. She's playing with your fingers now, and you're trying to memorize hers for the foreseeable future. "Goodnight, Le. And thank you for today. Always the gentleman…when you want to be."

She pushes your shoulder at that, "Oi! I'm always a gent!"

You blush as you think more about the Ibiza trip, "I would beg to differ."

She genuinely laughs at that, picking your hand up to her mouth to leave a kiss on your knuckles. You say goodnight to each other one last time before she leaves down the hall, watching her disappear into the elevator before you go inside your apartment. You both don't know it yet, but you end up finding the same resolution to your problems tonight.

As you both lay awake drowning in endless thoughts of each other, you can't help but slip a hand into your shorts. You're rubbing at your over sensitive clit, imagining it's Leah as you work yourself up. You haven't had time to buy any toys since you moved here, but you don't need them right now. Not when she's got you so wound up from barely any touch.

Meanwhile the blonde captain is slipping her trusty vibrator between her legs to stimulate her clit, the pretty pictures she has of you from Ibiza currently being viewed in her hand. From the one of you being blind folded in her hotel bed to the one of you bent over the railing of her private yacht— she can't stop the new filthy images of you from popping into her head. She's got to have you again, and not just for sex this time.

Leah hasn't stopped thinking of you since the trip, mind clouded with day dreams of you two creating a life together. She's been laughing it off, thinking she's delusional because she'll never see you again…but that disappears when you come waltzing back into her life. She knows now she can't waste this second chance. No matter how long or what all it takes: Leah Williamson is going to make you her girl.

#l.williamson 6 #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso x reader #woso writers #leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson smut #leah williamson fanfic #woso x y/n #wlw smut #wlw x reader #BMB.daph

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dragon-kazansky · 8 months ago

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Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

The Viscount is set on finding a wife this season, and you are trying again for your second season. While Anthony is dealing with trials between Edwina and Kate Sharma, you are dealing with trials of your own. Benedict Bridgerton is ever present in your life, but your pursuit to find a husband must come first. Society is ever so exhausting.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season Two

Chapter Twenty One - The one who sparkles

The next day, you find yourself at the Bridgerton house. Madame Delacroix is there with fabrics, so Violet may choose one for Eloise. Eloise could not care less about fabrics as she reads away on the sofa.

Francesca plays the piano beautifully in the background. You're standing by the piano watching her. She smiles as she plays, lost in her music. You loved that about Francesca. She was so different from her siblings.

Anthony was reading by the window quietly. He hadn't spoken a word since you got here. Not to you or his family.

Elosie and Anthony share a shirt discussion about ladies and gentlemen. Eloise finds all gentlemen a bore, and Anthony doesn't believe ladies can dance properly. His poor toes. He had spent all night dancing with no such luck as to finding his ideal wife.

Hyacinth makes a comment about how she thinks Eloise would be a wonderful diamond. Eloise looks at her youngest sister in her face and says, "I despise you."

They all chuckle.

Violet chooses the fabric she likes best, and Madame Delacroix packs her things. You don't even notice as she leaves that Benedict enters, greeting her fondly. The conversation is short, however, as Benedict's eyes land on you.

Madame Delacroix leaves.

Francesca finishes her piece on the piano and smiles at you when you clap softly. "Wonderful, Francesca. Simply, wonderful."

"Thank you."

Francesca leaves the room quietly, and you find a seat to occupy. Benedict, having been turned by Delacroix, decides to make his way over to you, but Anthony calls for him. Benedict sighs and makes his way to his brother with his sketchbook in hand.

"Are you and the modiste still, uh, making a stitch?" Anthony asks.

"Apparently not. Have you found a wife yet? Or are you planning to offend every girl until there are none left? Is mother aware?"

"Aware of what?" Violet asks, hearing them.

"I'm off to deal with our solicitor," Anthony states. "Have fun with your pretty pictures, brother."

You watch Anthony leave. Violet follows him.

You get up and take the seat Anthony was just in. You lean across the table slightly and look at Benedict.

"You're not playing with her anymore?" You ask, teasing him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Madame Delacroix."

"You know?" He asks, completely horrified by the thought.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Anthony told me. I'm not sure why. Who you fool around with is your business, not mine. You Bridgerton boys certainly keep yourself entertained." You chuckle.

"You seem rather calm about this."

"Why shouldn't I be? I'm not naive, Benedict." You glance at the others. "I'm aware of what some people do."

Benedict is stunned into silence as he stares at you. Seems there is more to you than he first assumed.

"It was just some fun," he says softly.

"I don't care." You tell him. "Do what you want, Benedict."

The smile you give him doesn't offer him much comfort.

At the next ball, the queen was expected to choose her diamond of the season. All ladies in white and gold were presented before her before moving alone. You and your mother curtsied. The queen barely glanced at you.

You both walk on.

"She did not look impressed," you commented quietly.

"She never does," your mother responds.

You sigh softly and stand off to the side. You watch people dance. Spotting the Sharma ladies, you watch them approach the queen and curtsy to her.

They walk away quite quickly. You're not sure what the queen had said, but Lady Mary Sharma didn't seem too happy.

"May I have this dance?"

You turn and find yourself face to face with a rather handsome gentleman. You smile politely and take his hand, letting him guide you to the floor.

Lord Baxtor was a friendly gentleman. He had a dashing smile and seemed very pleased to be dancing with you.

"I saw you at Lady Danbury's soiree," he says.

"Oh? I do not recall meeting you."

"No, I think not. You spent most of the evening rather close to Mr Bridgerton's side."

"Oh... Yes. I must apologise. The first ball of the season, I always find rather daunting. I find comfort in being close to friends," you tell him.

"Yes, I must agree with you. You looked beautiful that night, as you do tonight."

You smile. "Thank you. You look very dashing tonight."

He smiles.

As you both dance, you don't notice Bridgerton's arriving. Violet guides Eloise over to the queen, followed by the two eldest sons.

"Tell me, brother, is there anyone here you haven't rejected?" Benedict teases Anthony.

Anthony does not look amused.

"You're the artist. Do you see anyone remotely inspiring?"

Benedict automatically finds himself looking in your direction despite not knowing you were there moments ago.

"We shall have our diamond tonight, and I shall have a wife," Anthony declares.

The greet the queen.

Eloise manages to make the queen laugh quite loudly with a comment about emeralds.

They bow and leave.

"If the queen, in fact, names Eloise the diamond, who will you marry then, brother?" Benedict asks.

"Hush, you."

The dance comes to an end, and Lord Baxtor escorts you off the floor. You smile at him. He lets go of your hand slowly, almost reluctantly, but he is a gentleman. You watch him walk away.

This seems like a promising start, at least.

You spot Benedict across the room, and he smiles at you. You return his smile. You would go over to him, but the fanfare plays and realise the queen is about to choose her diamond of the season.

You wait with the other to see who she will choose.

"Your presence is noted, and your queen most appreciative. Allow it to now be my honour to present you the season's diamond."

The room is quiet apart from a few whispers.

"Miss Edwina Sharma."

The room fills with applause. You watch the sisters who both smile. You are happy for them. Edwina is elegant, beautiful, has a charming smile, and seems to be a very wonderful person all around.

She will certainly have her hands full within the ton.

You don't notice Benedict, who comes up beside you.

"Disappointed?"

You look up. "Hardly."

"Though, you do have an admirer, it seems."

You follow Benedict's gaze to find Lord Baxtor watching you from across the room. You smile and turn away shyly.

"Then you must make sure to keep your distance, Benedict. I don't want to scare away any potential suitors."

Benedict gazes at you with a slightly confused look. He's not sure what you mean by your comment, but he doesn't respond to it. All he sees is you looking at the other gentleman with a soft smile.

Anthony takes Edwina for a dance around the room, where he is no doubt questioning her preferences.

Kate Sharma seems very unhappy to see them together.

You, however, have a splendid evening. When Benedict realises he is not holding your attention for the night, he leaves. Lord Baxtor wastes no time in coming over to talk to you.

You do not leave his side the rest of the night.

The next morning, you sit in your drawing room with your embroidery. Tea is sitting on the table beside you, and your mother is watching the window. She will hate it if you point out how obvious she is being. With wvery gentleman she sees pass the house she gets excited, only to discover them going down the street to another.

You find it amusing. Your mother looked forward to the next season. She took great joy in all the chaos society provided. You do so adore her when she is like this.

"Is there still time?" You mother asks, coming over to the couches.

"Yes, ma'am." The butler replies.

Your mother sighs and looks around the room. She hoped she had made the house comfortable enough for visitors. She was keen to help impress a suitor for you.

There is a knock at the door, and your mother clutches the armrest beside her with a sharp gasp. The butler leaves to answer the door, and you chuckle at the way your mother begins to fuss.

The butler returns. "A visitor, ma'am."

"Let them in." Your mother stands.

You put your embroidery down and stand up alongside her. You wait a few moments and then the vistor enters. You smile.

"Lord Baxtor."

He bows his head. "My lady."

Your mother smiles from ear to ear and excuses herself to the other side of the room to watch from there.

You invite Lord Baxtor to sit with you. You both take your seats and smile at one another.

"Hello."

"Hello," he chuckles.

"I was no expecting any callers."

"No?"

"I expected them all to be with Miss Sharma this morning," you confess.

"Though she is beautiful to be certain, and I'm sure a wonderful lady, I find myself wishing to spend more time in your presence."

You blush softly as you look at him.

"I haven't stopped thinking about our dance last night," he tells you.

"Oh?"

"Have you... perhaps thought of me?"

"Yes. I must admit I have."

He adjusts his position on the sofa and looks at you rather serious. "I must ask, Bridgerton will not likely be an issue, will he?"

"Why should he be an issue?"

"As much as I love a challenge, I do not wish to be up agaiant a Bridgerton, of all men."

"He is a friend of mine, but should you wish to see where this goes, a can assure you, Benedict Bridgerton will not be a problem."

Lord Baxtor smiles. "Good. Then can I hope to escort you to the races this afternoon?"

You smile. "I would be delighted."

Your mother watches with keen interest as you used this gentlemen seem to get along quite nicely. It was a promising match if she had ever seen one.

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

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#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Web of Gold (rook's rest)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen (+Aemond Targaryen?)

- Note: This chapter is more serious than the rest and the humor is toned down. Also, the part after this will be the last one.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: addendum

- Next part: the final choice

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak @deemee33

The sky above Rook’s Rest was dark, choked with clouds that promised a storm—though none could compare to the storm that Aemond Targaryen intended to bring. Below, the fortress stood like a sentinel against the gathering shadows, its high walls defiant, its towers tall. But even the proudest fortress could not stand against what was coming. Not when he had Vhagar.

Aemond sat upon his great dragon, high above the world, the cold air biting against his face. Vhagar’s wings beat with the steady rhythm of a creature born of fire and shadow, the winds of her passing causing the trees below to sway as if in worship. And yet, despite the power he commanded, his thoughts were not on the battle ahead but on something—or rather, someone—else entirely.

Y/N.

The image of you lingered in his mind like a specter, haunting him at every turn. You, Aegon’s wife. You, the woman who seemed to occupy every corner of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push you aside. The way you looked at him during the celebrations, the subtle hints of something unspoken between you, it had all twisted itself into a knot of frustration and desire that Aemond could no longer untangle.

And then there was Aegon, the fool, parading around as if he were the true ruler of the realm, with you always at his side. Aegon, who did not deserve you. Aegon, who had spent his life squandering every gift handed to him.

Aemond’s jaw clenched at the thought, the anger rising unbidden in his chest. He hadn’t wanted this battle—not in this way��but as the events unfolded, a dark decision had taken root. One that, for all his usual restraint, he was now prepared to carry out.

Below him, the armies of Rhaenyra’s supporters were gathered at Rook’s Rest, waiting for the onslaught to begin. But that wasn’t what concerned him now. No, there was a different dragon circling below—Sunfyre. And upon that golden beast sat Aegon.

Aemond’s eye narrowed as he watched his brother in the distance, circling Rook’s Rest like a hawk waiting to dive for the kill. Aegon, oblivious as ever, prepared to claim the glory of this battle. The fool didn’t even realize what was coming.

Aemond pulled Vhagar into a dive, her massive wings cutting through the air with a thunderous roar. The wind howled in his ears as they descended, his heart pounding, the world below coming into sharp focus. He could see Sunfyre now, the golden dragon’s scales gleaming in the dim light, Aegon’s form barely visible on his back. Aegon, so intent on the battle ahead, had not noticed Aemond’s approach.

It should have been me, Aemond thought, the bitterness curling in his chest like smoke. It should have been him by your side, not Aegon. And now, for once, Aemond would make sure it was.

With a grim resolve, Aemond urged Vhagar closer. The great dragon let out a deep, rumbling growl, sensing her rider’s intentions. The clouds above darkened further, and then, without warning, Aemond made his move.

“Dracarys.”

The word left his lips like a death sentence, and in the next instant, the world erupted in fire. Vhagar’s breath shot forward in a torrent of flame, blazing a path through the sky. The firestorm engulfed Sunfyre before Aegon even had time to react. The golden dragon screeched in agony, its wings beating wildly as it tried to escape the inferno that now consumed it.

Aegon’s scream followed soon after, a high-pitched wail that echoed through the skies as the flames licked at his armor, his cloak catching fire as Sunfyre spiraled downward, desperately trying to stay aloft.

Aemond watched, his heart pounding in his chest, but his face remained impassive. There was no triumph in this, no joy. Only a cold, calculated decision that had been brewing for far too long. Aegon, in his arrogance, had finally paid the price. And though Aemond had never intended to become a kinslayer again, the moment felt inevitable. Aegon had stood in his way for too long.

For her, he thought, his eye flicking upward for a moment, as if you were watching from some unseen perch. It was a foolish sentiment, but Aemond did not care. He had done what he had to.

The screams of Sunfyre and Aegon faded as the dragon plummeted toward the ground, fire still trailing in its wake. Aemond spared them no further thought. The deed was done.

But the battle was not over.

From the east, the unmistakable roar of another dragon filled the air, and Aemond’s eye snapped toward the sound. There, soaring through the clouds like a fury of vengeance, came Meleys, the Red Queen, her scarlet scales gleaming in the dim light. And on her back was Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was.

Aemond’s lips curled into a tight smile. He had known this moment was coming. Rhaenys had been a threat for far too long, and now, with Aegon burning below, Aemond would end this rebellion once and for all.

“Vhagar,” Aemond growled, tightening his grip on the reins. “Let’s finish this.”

Vhagar roared in response, her massive wings beating the air as she surged forward to meet Meleys. The two dragons collided in a clash of flame and fury, their roars shaking the very heavens. Fire spewed from both sides, filling the sky with an inferno that turned night to day.

Rhaenys and Meleys fought with a ferocity that Aemond had rarely seen, the Red Queen snapping and clawing at Vhagar with wild abandon. But Vhagar was larger, older, and far more experienced in the ways of war. Aemond’s bond with her was strong, and together, they fought like a single, deadly force.

Rhaenys may have been called the Queen Who Never Was, but today, she would not be a queen. She would be a memory.

With a final, decisive strike, Vhagar clamped her massive jaws around Meleys’ neck, crushing bone and flesh with a sickening crunch. The Red Queen let out a final, anguished roar before her wings gave out, and she tumbled toward the earth, Rhaenys still on her back.

Aemond watched, his heart steady, as Meleys and Rhaenys fell from the sky, their bodies vanishing into the clouds below. The battle was over.

Victory was his.

And yet, as he hovered above the battlefield, watching the smoke rise from the charred remains of Sunfyre and the smoldering ruin of Rhaenys’ dragon, Aemond felt no satisfaction.

He had done what needed to be done. He had claimed the victory. But as he turned Vhagar toward the distant horizon, his thoughts returned once more to you, as they always did. The victory felt hollow, like an empty crown resting too heavily on his head.

For all the power and glory he had won today, it wasn’t enough.

You weren’t his.

And that, more than anything, gnawed at him like a wound that would never heal.

The Red Keep was quieter than usual as Aemond made his way toward Aegon’s chambers. The air was filled with the heavy silence that always seemed to settle after a tragedy, the kind that lingered long after the fires had been extinguished. And though Aegon was alive, a part of him—the Aegon that Aemond had known—seemed to have been consumed in those flames at Rook’s Rest.

Aemond paused outside the door to Aegon’s chambers, taking a breath. He had avoided this moment long enough. A month had passed since that fateful battle, and though the rest of the realm had resumed its usual rhythm, this corner of the Red Keep remained in shadow.

He pushed open the door to find Aegon lying in his bed, the once-boisterous king now reduced to a broken, burned shell of the man he used to be. Bandages covered much of his body, and his usually proud silver hair had been singed unevenly. His skin was marred with scars, red and angry from the burns that had nearly claimed his life. Aegon’s eyes, once filled with mischief and arrogance, now stared vacantly at the ceiling.

The scent of burnt flesh still faintly clung to the air, mixed with the overwhelming odor of healing balms and herbs. Maesters and healers had done their best, but Aegon was far from the golden prince he had once been.

Aemond closed the door behind him, stepping into the room. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the sight of Aegon like this struck a chord he hadn’t anticipated. For all his faults, Aegon had been… well, Aegon—larger than life, impossible to ignore. And now, here he lay, barely more than a shadow.

Aegon’s head turned slowly toward Aemond, his once-bright eyes dull and heavy-lidded. His voice, when it came, was weak and rasping, as though every word cost him what little strength he had left.

“Aemond…” He croaked, a dry cough following the sound. “Where… where have you been?”

Aemond stepped closer, standing at the foot of the bed. He regarded his brother carefully, unsure how to navigate this conversation. Not knowing how much Aegon remembers. “I’ve been tending to the realm,” he said, his voice calm, though there was a flicker of something darker behind his eye. “The battle left much to be dealt with.”

Aegon’s lips twitched, a ghost of his old grin. “Ah, yes… the realm… always the realm.” He paused, blinking sluggishly. “But… where is Y/N? My wife… Where is she?”

Aemond felt the familiar knot of tension tighten in his chest at the mention of your name. He had known this question was coming. Of course Aegon would ask for you, even now, when everything else had fallen apart. Even after everything Aemond had done.

He tried to keep his face neutral, though there was an undeniable edge to his tone as he answered. “She’s… been keeping herself busy. Distracted.” He met Aegon’s gaze, careful not to betray too much. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, brother. Life doesn’t stop.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed, his gaze searching Aemond’s face with a flicker of concern—though it was hard to tell how much was due to his weakened state. “She hasn’t come to see me?”

Aemond hesitated for a beat, his jaw tightening slightly. “No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Not yet.”

Aegon’s lips parted, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt. He shifted in the bed, wincing as the movement sent a wave of pain through his burned skin. “She… hasn’t come?” His voice cracked slightly, a tone Aemond had never heard from him before. “Why… why wouldn’t she come?”

Aemond felt the weight of the question settle between them like a stone. He glanced at the floor for a moment, unsure of how to answer in a way that wouldn’t betray his own guilt—or worse, his own conflicted feelings. How could he explain that he had been the one to set these events in motion, that his actions had ultimately separated you from Aegon in the most irrevocable way? How could he tell his brother that the woman Aegon had cherished was slipping further from his grasp with every passing day?

So instead, Aemond settled on the only answer he could offer without unraveling everything. “She’s… grieving, Aegon. It’s been difficult for her. She’s unsure of how to… face this.”

Aegon let out a weak, humorless chuckle that quickly turned into a cough. “Grieving… for me?” He shook his head slightly, the motion slow and painful. “She… always said I’d be fine… no matter what foolishness I got myself into.” There was a distant look in his eyes, as if he was recalling your teasing words from before the battle, when everything had seemed so much simpler.

“She’s probably just waiting,” Aegon muttered, his voice trailing off. “She’ll come. She’ll… come around.”

Aemond stood in silence for a moment, watching as Aegon’s eyes flickered, his exhaustion taking hold once more. His brother was broken, physically and perhaps even mentally. But the one thing that had not broken was his faith in you—a faith that Aemond couldn’t help but feel was misplaced. Because even now, as Aegon lay burned and shattered, you were slipping further and further into Aemond’s own thoughts. Into his possession.

“I’m sure she will,” Aemond said softly, though the words felt like ash on his tongue. “In time.”

Aegon, too weary to argue, simply nodded weakly, his eyes drifting shut once more. The room was heavy with the weight of what had been left unsaid, the silence filled with unspoken truths.

Aemond turned to leave, his heart a storm of conflicting emotions. But as he reached the door, Aegon’s voice—hoarse and barely a whisper—called out one final time.

“Aemond… take care of her, won’t you?”

Aemond paused, his hand resting on the doorframe, his expression hardening for just a moment before he answered.

“I always do.”

The corridors of the Red Keep felt colder than usual as you walked through them. You had spent the last month avoiding this very moment, but now it was time—time to see Aegon. The guilt had gnawed at you, the weight of his absence hanging over you like a shadow. Aegon was alive, but you hadn’t visited him once since he had returned, broken and burned, from Rook’s Rest.

The court whispered about it, of course. About how the queen had yet to sit at her king’s bedside, how the once-lively Aegon had been abandoned in his darkest hour. You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to face the truth of what had happened—that seeing him like that would make everything real. But deep down, you knew there was more to it.

Aemond.

His presence had loomed over you since the battle. He had been your shadow, watching, waiting, his gaze lingering on you with something between hunger and possessiveness. You had felt the shift in him, the way his usual cold composure had cracked, revealing the depth of his feelings. And you knew, without him saying it, that he was the reason Aegon had been burned.

You had avoided confronting him for weeks, but as you made your way to Aegon’s chambers now, you knew there was no avoiding it any longer.

And there he was, waiting for you at the end of the hall, his tall figure standing in the shadows like a sentinel. His single eye locked onto yours the moment you approached, his jaw set in that familiar line of determination.

“Where are you going?” Aemond’s voice was low, but it carried the weight of a command. He stepped into your path, blocking the door to Aegon’s chambers, his expression unreadable, though there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

You stopped, your heart pounding, though you kept your face calm. “I’m going to see Aegon,” you said simply.

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “After all this time? Now you decide to visit him?” His tone was laced with something darker, something possessive. “You’ve been avoiding him for weeks, and now you think you can waltz in there as though nothing has changed?”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to stay steady. “Aemond, I know what you’re trying to do. But Aegon is my husband. He’s my responsibility.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his eye darkening. “Your responsibility? I did this for you,” he said, his voice low and intense. He stepped closer, his presence looming over you like a storm. “Everything I’ve done—burning Aegon, taking control of the realm—I did it for you. To free you from him. Don’t you see that?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of something far more complicated—something that had been simmering between you and Aemond for far too long. His intensity, his obsession, had drawn you in more than you wanted to admit. But this… this was too much.

“Aemond,” you said, your voice softer now, though your resolve was firm. “You may believe you did this for me, but I never asked for any of it. I didn’t want Aegon to get hurt. I didn’t want this.” You gestured between the two of you, the unspoken tension hanging heavily in the air.

Aemond’s eye flickered with something—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ve given you everything. I’ve made sure Aegon could no longer stand in your way, and yet, you’re still running to him?”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not running to him. I’m fulfilling my duty as his wife.” Your voice softened, but there was a firm edge to it. “I care about you, Aemond. But I won’t let you destroy him for your own reasons.”

For a moment, Aemond stood there, staring at you, his jaw clenched tightly. You could see the conflict warring inside him, the tension between what he wanted and what he knew he couldn’t have. His fingers flexed at his side as though he were restraining himself from reaching for you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped aside, his expression cold once more. “Go then,” he said, his voice flat. “But remember this—Aegon is no longer the man you once knew. He is broken. And you cannot save him.”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting deep, but you nodded and walked past him, your heart heavy. You could feel his gaze burning into your back as you opened the door to Aegon’s chambers, but you didn’t look back.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a single candle. Aegon lay in the bed, barely moving, his burned skin still wrapped in bandages. The once-proud king looked small, fragile, a shadow of the man you had married. His eyes, dull and distant, flicked toward you as you entered.

“Y/N…” His voice was weak, barely more than a rasp, but there was something in it—relief, maybe. “You came…”

You moved toward him slowly, your heart aching at the sight of him. “Of course I did,” you said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a faint, tired smile. “I thought… you’d given up on me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, taking his hand in yours. “I could never give up on you, Aegon.”

He closed his eyes, his hand weakly gripping yours, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you sat in silence—together.

But even as you sat by his side, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Aemond’s words lingering in your mind, like a shadow that refused to leave.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd aegon #hotd aemond #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #web of gold

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arcane-vagabond · 3 months ago

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Fool's Fare: Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Flashback Chapter, Cursing, I played around with mythology in this one, Myths, Curses, Magic, Deals, Mentions of death, Mentions of suicide, Smoking pipes (Tobacco), Regret, Angst, some fluff. I think that's everything, but please let me know if I've missed something!

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Smoke wafted towards the ceiling, disappearing into the air before the soft tendrils could reach the wooden rafters. The glow of the embers illuminated Tom’s face as he sucked the tobacco smoke into his lungs, the burn a familiar comfort to him after so many years. Blue eyes scanned the crowded room, men gulping down mouthfuls of ale as women sauntered around the room looking for their bed fellow of the night. Laughter broke out on the far side of the room, cheers following it as the last hand of cards was revealed.

These too were familiar to him.

“Don’t suppose the information we were given was wrong,” Beau muttered beside him. Tom’s eyes drifted over to him, studying the quartermaster. Tom wasn’t sure he altogether liked Beau very much, but he trusted the man, and in this life, trust was worth its weight in gold. While Tom knew the quartermaster was loyal, he also knew that Beau’s interest aligned with his own.

“He’ll be here,” he replied, shifting in his chair to lean back, feet propping up on the table. A pretty, young woman strolled casually over to him, fixing him with a sultry gaze and a confident smile. Tom waved her off, earning a pout, but he paid her no mind. He was on a mission tonight, waiting for a man he knew would show his face sooner rather than later.

Pete Mitchell was a right bastard as far as Tom was concerned—the newly appointed captain of the Maverick had earned himself quite the reputation even before earning the mantle from his predecessor.

Tales of the new captain capturing and sinking enemy ships had made their way to every port along the coasts, whispers twisting tales until no one knew what was true and what was falsehood. What had remained consistent, however, was the fact that the young captain had been going around boasting about how no man could best him, not even Davy Jones himself.

Tom wouldn’t stand for that.

The door to the pub opened with a sharp crack to the wall behind it, a smirking young man with fine features, dark hair, and blazing, blue eyes roving over the scene before him.

“That’s him,” Beau whispered, and Tom let out a low grunt in acknowledgement, watching the young man strut into the room like he owned the place. Tom’s jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, feeling his own irritation rolling off of him in waves. The lad seemed to sense him because his gaze turned to fix on the older man, a brow arching curiously. Slowly, Pete walked over to him, confidence shining from every pore as a lazy smirk curled on his lips. He didn’t wait to be invited to sit, he simply did—the chair knocking against the stone floor as he plopped down in the seat. The man who followed him, much taller than the captain and mustache adorning his upper lip, peered around anxiously before fixing his eyes on Tom and Beau. Tom surmised that he must be Pete’s quartermaster, Nick Bradshaw.

Tom turned his attention back to Pete as the younger man’s smirk became a full-blown grin.

“Evenin’, pops,” he greeted, nodding at him from across the table. Tom felt the vein in his forehead pulse with irritation, leaning back in his chair with a creak and another drag from his pipe. Tom studied the young man before him, noting how at ease he seemed to be despite the dangerous aura that rolled off of Tom in waves. Men twice this boy’s age cowered in his presence, and yet here he was—grinning like a cheshire cat.

It pissed him off.

“You know,” Pete drawled, leaning back to mirror the older captain, “it’s considered polite to answer back.”

Tom snorted, bringing the pipe away from his mouth and staring down the young captain.

“Pleasantries fly out the window once I hear of some upstart going around boasting about how none can best him—even Davy Jones himself.”

“I haven’t even seen you on the seas, old timer,” Pete grinned. “You think I’d beat you like all the others?”

“I think I’d sink your ship in ten seconds flat without even raising my voice,” Tom spat, earning a wary side-eye from his quartermaster.

“Tom here doesn’t exactly appreciate people invoking his name needlessly,” Beau supplied, shifting in his seat as waves of anger rolled off the captain. “Especially when it’s spoken in boast of oneself.”

Pete’s brow arched as his quartermaster’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Nick spoke, leaning forward to look over his own captain’s shoulder. “We don’t even know your name.”

Tom hummed, tapping his fingers on the top of the table. “I think you do.”

A moment of silence passed between the four men, the rowdy crowd around them continuing on in their revelry as if nothing were amiss. It was Pete who broke the silence first.

“You’re supposed to be a myth,” he murmured, all trace of mirth gone from his face. “A legend.”

“Any sailor worth his salt knows not to invoke names of power,” Tom retorted. “Names themselves have power. You shouldn’t speak the name of anything whose wrath you don’t want to earn.”

“And is that what I’ve done?” Challenged Pete, squaring his shoulders as Nick gave him an exasperated look. “Have I incurred the wrath of Davy Jones?”

Tom considered him for a moment. The gall of this man was something Tom hadn’t seen in decades, and he found that he quite liked the challenge the young captain was issuing him. He tried to remember the last time someone had done so so openly and brazenly.

“You’ve certainly incurred the annoyance of Tom,” he replied finally, not missing the sharp look Beau shot his way. Pete frowned in confusion.

“Tom?”

“That’s my name,” he replied with a shrug, inhaling from his pipe as he watched the younger man process his words.

“I thought you were Davy Jones?” Pete asked finally, lips pursed as his guard was up.

“Davy Jones is more of a…moniker,” Tom supplied, closing his eyes as he basked in the warmth of the tobacco in his lungs. “Has a better ring to it than Thomas, wouldn’t you say?”

The young captain stared at him in disbelief before letting out a humorless chuckle.

“You aren’t at all what I was expecting,” Pete mused, and Tom snorted.

“You weren’t expecting much,” he countered. “You didn’t even think I was real until a few moments ago.”

The two men talked well into the night, and Tom had grown a sort of strange fondness for the plucky captain. You’d never get him to admit that he felt somewhat impressed by the stories Pete told him of the several ships he had managed to capture, but he was sure Pete caught the way his eyes alighted with intrigue. As dawn broke above the horizon, the sky painted in a hushed blue and warm pink, the captains bid farewell to each other, Tom warning the young captain one more time to not invoke his name lest there be consequences.

Years passed, and in that time, Tom and his crew had taken many treasures from doomed ships, the begging of crews falling on deaf ears. The captain of the Flying Dutchman having long lost feeling in his heart for the plight of others. No, in this world there was only take, his endless life proof of that.

His crew was not dead, not in any way that may truly matter. Rather, they sat in limbo thanks to a god long thought dead—a goddess that Tom had betrayed.

Thetis had been beautiful, strong, and perhaps the most coveted woman in antiquity at one time. Tom, who had gone by a name he had long forgotten at that time, had wooed the goddess, and perhaps at one time he would have said he even loved her. Together, they had seven sons, but only one would grow to be a man, the others lost to mortality. Thetis had been driven mad with grief, and Tom had closed himself off completely.

Perhaps it was a mixture of pride and the folly of his youth that had led him to betray her. The now faded memories of sailing with a band of his brothers had filled his mind then, and Tom had decidedly wanted more. He knew his wife held great magic in her hands, and he had begged her to use it to secure him power over the seas. Of course, she had been reluctant at first, warning him of the dangers that came from such a request, but Tom had been insistent. The first moment he held the star in his hand, he knew he had doomed himself.

He had left shortly after, leaving his wife heartbroken and his son in the care of a trusted friend. His wife had bestowed power to him, and Tom was ever the fool to think that it had been anything other than her final act of revenge.

He and his crew were doomed to limbo, to wander the seas forever craving more from those who were unfortunate to cross their paths. Time passed around them, and it wasn’t long until Tom learned of his son’s tragic fate, mourning him as best he could despite the never-ending greed that gripped his heart. Time marched forever forward, and soon Tom took on new name after new name until one day he realized he had no memory of who he once was.

The star had been lost to him, having lost it in a gamble or having misplaced it at some point—he wasn’t sure. He wanted it back though, but no matter how hard he tried, the star remained lost to him. The magic cursed to him by his estranged wife, however, made him slave to the whims of the ocean, his name crossing into legend then myth. He took up the moniker of Davy Jones, a name that now struck fear into the heart of every sailor that sailed the seven seas.

All except one.

It was a dreary day when Tom felt the call. Mist clung to his skin as the ship moved forward in the dark waves, an eery silence surrounding him when he felt the call of his name.

It had taken a while for him to notice the first time it happened. His name a beacon on the waves for those sentenced to death on the ocean’s surface. But, soon he realized the call that stirred deep within him. Where the call came, treasure awaited.

Tom signaled to the helmsman to change course, the ship creaking in protest against the crashing waves. Still, the ship spurred on at an unnatural pace, and it wasn’t long before Tom realized he had been summoned to the shore off of southern Massachusetts. He frowned at the location, choosing to go ashore himself and leave his crew behind until he could determine what was happening.

Tom secured the lifeboat up onto the shore, confident that it was far enough inland that the tide wouldn’t pull it back out should he take long. The sand shifted beneath his feet as he walked along the shore, the summons guiding him to where he needed to go. The sun was drifting towards the skyline, the sparse clouds above streaming past up above as his eyes scanned the beach for what he was looking for. It wasn’t long before he came upon a familiar figure sitting amongst the rocks.

Pete was older than Tom had last seen him, only three years having passed since the last time they had seen each other—ten since the first time they had met. Strands of grey started to spot against Pete’s temples, lines littering his face to give him a more distinguished look. He looked up as Tom approached, smiling in way of greeting as the old, sea captain came to a stop beside him, dropping down next to him with a grunt. Tom pulled out his pipe, striking a match and puffing on the old, wooden piece as he let out a sigh.

“Been a while since I seen you,” he offered up after a moment’s silence. Pete nodded with a hum, turning his attention back to the sea.

“It has,” Pete agreed.

“Didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last time,” Tom continued.

“No,” Pete acquiesced. “We didn’t.”

“I don’t have the power to bring the dead back, Pete,” the older man reminded him. “The magic doesn’t work that way.”

“So you said,” Pete muttered, and Tom let out another sigh.

“I’d bring Nick back if I could,” he frowned, shoulders stiff. “You know that.”

Nick’s death had been a terrible accident—a stray bullet lodging into his heart during the heat of battle. Pete had taken it hard, locking himself away to mourn the loss of his most trusted friend. Nick had been a good man, though he had his secrets. Pete had mentioned that Nick had a wife and child tucked somewhere secret that he’d visit from time to time. Not even Pete knew where Nick would run off to during those times.

“I do,” Pete agreed. The two sat in silence for a few moments more before Tom rolled his shoulders, inhaling the tobacco smoke once more.

“So why’ve you brought me out here, then?” Tom prodded.

“Do you remember that girl I told you about?”

Tom paused. He did remember Pete mentioning a girl he’d been spending time with. “Penny, right?” He asked.

Pete nodded, a small smile creeping on his face at the mention of her name. Tom vaguely recalled seeing the girl on one of his last visits with Pete, a pretty thing with a fire that matched the young captain’s. Tom was surprised that she had managed to stick around.

“What about her?” Tom asked, peering over at the other captain.

“We’re married now.”

Tom started at that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever peg Pete as the marrying type, but he supposed he wasn’t one to talk.

“Married,” he echoed with a low hum.

“Two years now. Three in April,” Pete grinned.

“You called me out here to tell me that you’re married?” Tom snorted, the embers of his pipe glowing in the fading light as he inhaled once more.

“Actually,” Pete started, “I’m here to ask a favor.”

“A favor,” Tom echoed once more, this time with a frown. Pete knew there was a price to Tom’s favors—it was the way the magic worked.

“Penny and I have been trying for a family,” Pete explained, “but we haven’t had any luck. I see the way she tries to seem like it doesn’t bother her, but I also see the way she looks after the kids in the village. I want to give her everything I can, Tom. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t try everything?”

“You know there’ll be a price,” Tom warned him, casting a look his way. “There’s always a price to pay for these things.”

“Whatever it is,” Pete murmured, “I’ll pay it.”

“Why?” Tom retorted. “Why would you even risk it?”

Pete smiled at him, a soft look in his ocean blue eyes. “I love her, Tom.”

“Love is for fools,” Tom scoffed.

“Love is the price we pay to feel something in this world, Tom,” Maverick said, looking at his friend knowingly. Tom snorted, shaking his head.

“Fool’s fare then,” Tom relented. Pete’s head tilted back as he laughed.

“Call it what you like,” he chortled, “but the facts remain. Now are you going to help me or not?”

Tom considered him for a moment. What Pete was asking was no small task, but perhaps…

“Tell me,” he spoke. “What do you picture your life being?”

Pete thought for a moment.

“Penny wants a child regardless, but I think I want a son that I can pass my legacy onto. A son to teach the ways of sailing and ride on the waves together,” he paused. “Yes, a son.”

Tom hummed with a nod. He could work with that. He could manipulate the magic in that one, small way.

“The price for a life is a life in return,” he warned. “To gain your son, you forfeit your life after seven years.”

Pete hummed, rubbing at his chin as he considered the price. Tom waited, wondering if his friend would forfeit his own life to make this woman happy. Pete wasn’t a particularly selfish man, but he had a zest for life that was rare in Tom’s experience. People like Pete lived for the love of life, and the thought of willingly forfeiting that should seem like an impossible decision to the young captain.

“I’ll do it.”

Tom blinked, momentarily letting his mask of impassiveness slip to show his surprise at Pete’s decision. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat as he shifted.

“Alright,” he conceded. “If you’re sure about this.”

Pete nodded. “I am.”

Tom felt the magic swirl within him, building as he readied to make the deal. Slowly, he extended his hand, settling on the wording of the spell.

“To gain a child,” he said slowly, “you forfeit your life.”

Pete nodded, grasping his outstretched hand. “I get my son, Penny get’s a child, and you gain a soul.”

Tom frowned. Magic was specific, it was precise. He wasn’t sure if Pete’s added words would affect the spell, but he was sure that he had enough control to alter that one piece.

The magic settled around them, a low hum that rang in Tom’s ears as he let go of Pete’s hand. He took a long drag from his pipe, holding the burning smoke in his lungs before blowing out long and slow.

“So, tell me,” Pete grinned. “What treasures have you found since I last saw you?”

Years passed, and Tom’s plan worked. Soon after his deal with Pete, he received the news that his friend would become a father, and nine months later he received word that Pete’s daughter had been born, a healthy, happy child according to Pete. It was a couple of years later when he first met the little girl.

Tom had never seen his friend look so happy, smiling and bouncing the toddler on his hips as he cooed at her, earning small giggles that made the young captain grin even wider.

“She may not be my son,” Pete told him, holding the little girl close as she dozed off against his shoulder, tiny thumb popped into her mouth, “but she’s my little guppy.”

Tom would have gagged if it weren’t so sweet. He thought back to his long dead son, how small the boy had been in his own arms, and warmth stirred in his chest.

“I’m happy it worked out,” he replied.

“I know you finagled the magic,” Pete told him. “No son means no forfeiture of my life, right?”

“That’s the idea,” Tom admitted. “You’ll live a long, happy life with your family.”

It was two years later that Pete brought a young boy named Bradley into his home, dubbing the boy Rooster.

“He reminds me of Nick,” Pete told Tom one day. “Looks just like him. So much so, that sometimes I wonder if Bradley really is-”

“Don’t,” Tom interrupted, placing a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t torture yourself with possibilities. Just focus on what you have now.”

Pete had smiled and nodded, content with the old captain’s words. Several more years passed, and the two children grew up as Pete grew older. Six years after Pete Mitchell had brought the boy into his home, he sealed his fate.

“Bradley’s grown strong,” he told Tom, pride evident in his voice. “He’s almost ready to take his first job. And, Guppy’s growing up so fast. She takes after her mother, I think.”

Tom snorted, but didn’t voice his opinion that Guppy took after her father rather than her mother—her stubbornness and talent for mischief qualities she inherited directly from the man who sat next to him.

“A son and a daughter,” Pete sighed. “I couldn’t be more proud to have them.”

It was like time stopped moving for a moment, magic stirred in the air like waves against rocks in the surf, crashing into Tom so hard, it knocked the air from his lungs. He started at Pete in horror, terror coursing through his veins for the first time in eons.

“What did you say?” His voice sounded small, even to his ears. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“I do,” Pete nodded, unfazed by the magic that now counted down the moments he had left to walk the earth. “And I’ll say it again. Bradley is my son, Tom. I won’t deny him that part in my life to save myself time.”

Tom continued to stare at him. Had he misjudged his friend so badly as to think that this boy would not hold such a place in his heart? Pete was different from the young man he had met over two decades before. Where he had been an inferno in his youth, scorching anyone or anything that got in his way, now he was the steady fire found in the hearth—a beacon to those around him.

“Seven years,” Tom murmured, hanging his head. “You have seven years.”

“Don’t feel bad, Tom,” Pete said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You did for me what you could, and you didn’t have to do that much. You allowed me more years with my family than our deal allowed, and for that I’m grateful. More than you can imagine.”

Tom shook his head, letting out a growl of frustration at his friend’s apparent lack of self preservation. Pete shot him a sympathetic smile.

“Guess the magic got its way in the end, huh?” Pete chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone.

Tom said nothing, and the two sat in silence long after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

Tom ran into Pete several times during those years, either on the sea during their adventures, or when he’d pop into the local tavern. During that time, Tom himself had fallen in love for the first time in ages. She was a pretty, young thing with chestnut waves that rolled down her back and eyes to match. Laughter that filled Tom’s heart with a mixture of warmth and longing, and how he wished she’d pay him more mind.

Kate was her name, and Tom was in love. He watched from afar as she chased after some local boy. Tom wished it was him that she yearned for, but he would love her from afar.

No good would come from entangling himself in her life.

He watched after her for years, content to be her silent protector. In between his moments of quiet pining for her, he’d visit Pete, cognizant of the fact that his friend’s time was quickly running out.

“Have you told them?” He asked one day, Pete looking up from the map he had been studying. Pete grimaced, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t want them to lose sleep over the inevitable. When I go, it will be a sudden, tragic accident. They’ll grieve, but they won’t torture themselves with the notion that they could have done anything to prevent it.”

Tom nodded, fidgeting with his pipe as a moment passed.

“I think I know what you meant about love now,” he admitted. Pete’s brow arched, the twinge of a smile evident on his lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” Tom groused, scowling at the younger man. “I’m only telling you because you’ll be dead soon enough, anyway.”

Pete threw his head back in laughter, Tom slowly joining in after a moment.

“Never one to beat around the bush, aye?” Pete chuckled, wiping a tear from his eyes as aftershocks of laughter rattled through him.

“Never,” Tom agreed with a grin.

That had been the last time Tom saw Pete. The magic had pulled tight at his chest, poised like a string before snapping, and Tom was left with a breathless, empty feeling. The tears came unbidden, a sob choking up out of him as he hunched his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt sorrow like this, the last time he had allowed himself to feel close to anyone. Now he remembered why he was cold, why he gave himself to the ocean beneath him.

He would not make that mistake again.

As if to hammer home the lesson, news of Kate’s death reached him only days after. She had confessed her love to that same, stupid boy she had been chasing, and the boy had denied her affections. In her despair, she had thrown herself into the sea, drowning beneath the surface of the waves.

Tom was livid. How dare that boy take such a thing as love for granted. It was no matter, Tom would be the one to teach him a lesson.

And a lesson he had certainly bestowed. The boy had begged for mercy, but there was none to be found in Tom’s empty, aching heart. He thought of his friend who had given up everything in the name of love, something the boy before him had spit on as far as Tom was concerned. And so he had cursed the boy with the very curse that had been bestowed upon him lifetimes ago.

If more is what the boy wanted, it was more he would seek.

Tom had turned his back on the boy, the cries for mercy blending in with the wind as he disappeared into the shadows of night.

He saw the boy six years later during a visit to see you and Bradley, the blond having the swagger of any young captain, and his demeanor almost reminded him of another captain from so long ago.

Almost.

Tom hated him. Hated the very sight of him, and he was sure it was written all over his face as he scowled at him. Of course, the boy had no idea that he was talking to the very man that had cursed him so many years before. Tom made it a point to not let his civilian form slip to reveal the cursed soul that lay beneath. The night he had cursed the young man, he had let his control slip, revealing the skeleton of the man he truly was.

He knew better than to raise his voice in opposition to the idea that Bradley join this man’s crew. Much like the man who raised him, Bradley was more inclined to do the thing you told him not to do—a trait that Tom had found most annoying in Pete. However, he watched you trail after your brother, desperation clouding your judgement, and Tom shook his head in pity. He could try to speak up, but that would risk his exposure. Besides, there was no guarantee Bradley would listen to him, let alone believe him. He watched helplessly as Bradley signed his life away, signed away his future.

Tom could not meddle in the affairs of common folk, not without a price anyway. Stopping Bradley would have meant paying a terrible price, one that Tom would have no control over. Cursing under his breath, he watched as you stormed out of the tavern, tears streaming down your face. A wave of sadness washed over him, and he hung his head lower, squeezing his eyes shut against the realization that you truly would lose everyone you held dear in your life. All because of him. He had played a part in creating your family, and now he was the reason you would lose everyone completely. You’d be alone, just like him.

“I’m so sorry, Guppy.”

A/N: I'm so excited to share this one with you guys. This chapter has been swirling around in my head basically since the inception of the fic. I loved getting to explore the backstory of Tom and his origins as well as his friendship with Maverick. Did you pick up on the mythology? Can you guess Tom's true name? Only one more chapter to go and then we have our epilogue!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

#ff #fool's fare #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you

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dee-writes-angst · 6 months ago

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ROSES (Chapter Nine)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY Eris is settling into both life as a High Lord and a new parent while also juggling the repairs needed for your relationship. Good thing he's tenacious.

CONTENT WARNINGS tooth-rotting fluff, that's all I have to say.

AUTHORS NOTE It breaks my heart to say this, but this is the last chapter in the official Flowers series. Don't fret; there will probably be spin off chapters and headcannons, but this is it as far as the main story goes. I can't simply find the words to express how grateful I am for all of you who followed me through this journey. Thank you to each and every one of you, new and old, for your support and love. I hope to see all of you in my future endeavors.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Three months had passed since the harrowing night of Eilidh’s birth, a night that had forged an unbreakable bond between you, Eris, and your daughter. The autumn leaves had begun to fall, painting the forest with vibrant hues of red and gold. The palace had a renewed energy, one that came from Eris assuming the mantle of High Lord of the Autumn Court. It was a role he embraced with a sense of duty and responsibility, balancing it with the demands of fatherhood.

Eilidh, now three months old, was a bundle of joy and curiosity. Her bright eyes, the color of rich amber, were always exploring, taking in the world around her. Her soft coos and infectious giggles filled the air, bringing warmth and light to every corner of the palace. Her presence had a calming effect on everyone, even during the most turbulent times.

Eris had become a devoted father, his transformation evident to all who knew him. He juggled his new responsibilities as High Lord with the demands of caring for Eilidh, often seen carrying her in his arms during council meetings or while handling court affairs. His love for her was palpable, his every action reflecting a deep commitment to his family.

But the road to this point had not been easy. After the night he had left you, the guilt and regret had weighed heavily on him. He had groveled, begged for your forgiveness, and worked tirelessly to prove his devotion. Every action, every word, had been an effort to make amends for the hurt he had caused.

Eris's groveling had begun the moment he had returned to your side. As soon as he saw you again, his eyes filled with tears of remorse and self-reproach. He had knelt before you, his voice trembling as he apologized, his words spilling out in a rush of desperation.

"I’m so sorry," he had whispered, his eyes pleading for your forgiveness. "I was a fool. I let my anger and jealousy cloud my judgment. I should have trusted you, should have listened. Please, forgive me."

You had looked down at him, your heart torn between the pain he had caused and the love you still felt for him. It had taken time, but you had seen the sincerity in his eyes, felt the depth of his regret.

In the days that followed, Eris had gone to great lengths to make amends. He had taken on the majority of the nighttime feedings and diaper changes, insisting that you get the rest you needed. He had brought you breakfast in bed every morning, each meal accompanied by a heartfelt note expressing his love and gratitude.

He had arranged for the palace gardens to be filled with your favorite flowers, their blooms a constant reminder of his devotion. He had planned quiet, intimate dinners, where the two of you could reconnect and share your thoughts and feelings. He had even sought counsel from the palace healers and wise elders, determined to be the best partner and father he could be.

One evening, as you rocked Eilidh to sleep, Eris had approached you, his eyes filled with determination. "I know I can't erase the past," he had said softly, "but I promise to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. You and Eilidh are my everything. I will never take you for granted again."

You had seen the truth in his words, felt the sincerity in his actions. Slowly, the walls you had built around your heart began to crumble, replaced by a renewed sense of trust and love.

Now, three months later, Eris stood by your side as you gazed down at Eilidh, who was nestled in her crib, her tiny hand clutching one of Eris's fingers. The palace had become a haven of love and laughter, a stark contrast to the tumultuous times you had endured.

"Eilidh’s growing so fast," you murmured, your voice filled with wonder.

Eris smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at his daughter. "She is," he agreed. "And she’s more beautiful every day, just like her mother."

You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?" you said softly.

"We have," Eris replied, his voice filled with pride and love. "And we’ll continue to move forward, together. As a family."

Eris's coronation ball had finally arrived, an event that had been the talk of Prythian for weeks. The Autumn Court’s palace was aglow with lanterns and magic, casting a warm, golden light that reflected off the autumn leaves that carpeted the ground. The ballroom itself was a masterpiece of design and enchantment.

The grand hall was adorned with rich tapestries depicting the history of the Autumn Court, their vibrant hues illuminated by the soft glow of chandeliers hanging from the high, arched ceiling. The floor was a polished marble, intricately patterned to resemble the fallen leaves of the season. Tables were set with fine china and crystal, each centerpiece a bouquet of autumnal flowers that filled the air with a delicate fragrance.

The atmosphere was one of celebration and anticipation. Musicians played a lively tune in one corner of the room, their music mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and laughter. Nobles and dignitaries from all courts mingled, their elegant attire a dazzling array of colors and styles.

You stood near the entrance, holding Eilidh in your arms, her tiny hand clutching a strand of your hair. Her wide eyes took in the splendor of the room, the lights reflecting in her amber irises. You wore a dress of deep crimson, its fabric flowing around you like a cascade of autumn leaves, perfectly complementing Eris's formal attire of dark, intricately embroidered robes that signified his new status as High Lord.

The Inner Circle of the Night Court arrived in a flurry of elegance and power. Rhysand, with Feyre by his side, led the group, their presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Cassian and Azriel flanked them, their imposing figures exuding strength and confidence. Mor and Amren brought up the rear, their grace and poise adding to the group's undeniable allure.

“Congratulations,” Feyre said warmly as she approached, her eyes twinkling with genuine happiness. “Eilidh is beautiful.”

You smiled, the pride in your heart evident on your face. “Thank you, Feyre. She’s our little miracle.”

Rhysand stepped forward, his gaze softening as he looked at Eilidh. “May I?” he asked, extending his arms.

“Of course,” you replied, gently passing your daughter to him.

Rhysand cradled Eilidh with a surprising tenderness, his expression one of awe and reverence. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “You must be very proud.”

“We are,” you said, glancing over at Eris, who was deep in conversation with several High Lords. “She’s brought so much joy into our lives.”

Cassian and Azriel were next, each taking a turn to hold Eilidh and marvel at her tiny features. Mor cooed at her, making silly faces that had Eilidh giggling with delight. Amren, ever the enigma, simply nodded in approval, her sharp eyes betraying a rare softness.

As you watched the Inner Circle doting on your daughter, a sense of peace settled over you. These were your friends, your family, and they were here to celebrate this new chapter in your life.

“Here,” you said, gently taking Eilidh back from Amren and turning to Lucien, who had been standing quietly by your side. “Why don’t you spend some time with your niece?”

Lucien's eyes lit up as he took Eilidh in his arms. “Hey there, little one,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection. “Uncle Lucien’s got you.”

You watched as Lucien walked off with Eilidh, their heads close together as he spoke to her in hushed tones. The bond between them was growing stronger each day, and it filled your heart with joy to see Lucien so involved in her life.

Turning back to the ballroom, you took a moment to appreciate the grandeur of the occasion. The walls were lined with flickering candles, their flames casting a warm, inviting glow. The ceiling was enchanted to mirror the night sky, a tapestry of stars twinkling above. The music had shifted to a more formal tune, signaling the beginning of the night's official proceedings.

Eris stood at the head of the room, his presence commanding and regal. He caught your eye and smiled, a look of love and gratitude passing between you. Tonight was a night of celebration, but it was also a night of reaffirmation – of the love and commitment you shared, and of the bright future that lay ahead for you, Eris, and Eilidh.

The High Lords and their entourages took their places, the atmosphere in the room shifted, becoming one of anticipation and reverence. This was a momentous occasion, the dawn of a new era for the Autumn Court under Eris’s leadership.

As the evening wore on, the grand ballroom of the Autumn Court was filled with an air of contentment and celebration. The official proceedings had concluded, and the mood had shifted to one of relaxed enjoyment. Guests mingled, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of the orchestra that now played a gentle waltz.

Eris, who had been engaged in conversations with various dignitaries, finally found a moment to break away. His eyes scanned the room, searching for you amidst the sea of elegantly dressed guests. When he found you, standing near the edge of the dance floor and watching Lucien proudly show Eilidh to Elain, a tender smile spread across his face.

He crossed the room with purpose, his movements graceful and assured. As he reached you, he extended his hand, a silent invitation that spoke volumes. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

You took his hand, your heart fluttering at the touch. "I would love to," you replied softly.

Eris led you onto the dance floor, the crowd parting to make way for the two of you. The orchestra began to play a new melody, one that seemed to capture the essence of the moment – a blend of joy, love, and a touch of nostalgia.

As you stepped into Eris's embrace, the world around you seemed to fade away. His hand rested lightly on your waist, guiding you effortlessly through the steps of the dance. Your free hand found its place on his shoulder, and you moved together as if you were two halves of a whole, perfectly in sync.

The dance floor felt like a canvas, and you and Eris were the artists, painting a picture of grace and elegance with each step. The marble beneath your feet seemed to shimmer with every movement, reflecting the golden glow of the chandeliers above. The flickering candlelight cast a warm, inviting glow on your faces, highlighting the emotions that played across your features.

Eris's eyes never left yours, his gaze intense and filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. There was love there, yes, but also admiration, gratitude, and a sense of profound connection. It was as if the entire journey you had shared – the hardships, the joys, the moments of doubt and the moments of certainty – were encapsulated in this one, perfect dance.

The music swelled, and Eris spun you gently, your dress flaring out like a burst of autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze. As you came back to him, he pulled you closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if to reassure himself that you were truly there with him.

"I never imagined this," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music. "That we would be here, together, like this."

You smiled, your heart swelling with emotion. "Neither did I," you replied. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

As the dance continued, you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment, in the feel of Eris's strong arms around you, the warmth of his body against yours, the way he moved with a confidence and grace that was uniquely his. The world outside the dance floor ceased to exist; there was only the two of you, and the beautiful, intricate dance you shared.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the ballroom, Lucien stood with Elain, who was holding Eilidh. He watched you and Eris with a fond smile, feeling a sense of peace and contentment as he saw how happy you were. Elain cooed at Eilidh, who giggled in response, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp at the sparkling lights.

"She looks so much like you," Elain said softly, her eyes warm as she looked at Lucien.

Lucien chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at his daughter. "She has her mother's spirit," he replied. "And a bit of her uncle's mischief, I think."

Elain laughed, a musical sound that blended perfectly with the joyous atmosphere of the evening. "She's lucky to have so many people who love her."

Lucien nodded, his heart full. "Yes, she is."

As the dance drew to a close, Eris pulled you even closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. "I love you," he whispered, the words a promise and a vow.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions.

The music faded, and the room erupted in applause, the guests acknowledging the beauty of the moment you and Eris had shared. But for you, the applause was just background noise. What mattered was the man in front of you, the love you saw in his eyes, and the future you knew you would face together, hand in hand.

Just as another song began, Lucien appeared at your side with your daughter in his arms. “She’s been quite the hit tonight,” Lucien said with a grin, carefully handing your daughter to Eris.

Eris took Eilidh with a tenderness that melted your heart, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of the two of them together. “Thank you, Lucien,” Eris said sincerely, his eyes meeting his brother’s with a newfound understanding.

Lucien nodded, stepping back to give you both space. Eris cradled Eilidh between you, her tiny form a perfect blend of the two of you. As you continued to dance, your daughter nestled close, the moment felt like a dream.

The music slowed, and you felt the world shift around you, as if everything had aligned in that single, perfect moment. The love you felt for Eris and Eilidh was overwhelming, a powerful force that filled your heart to bursting.

And then, it happened. A sudden, undeniable snap that resonated deep within your soul. The mating bond. It surged between you and Eris, a connection that was as ancient as it was unbreakable. You gasped, feeling the intensity of it wash over you, binding you to him in a way that was profound and eternal.

Eris’s eyes widened, and he pulled you closer, his grip tightening around you and Eilidh. “Did you feel that?” he whispered, awe and wonder in his voice.

You nodded, tears of joy welling in your eyes. “Yes,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with emotion. “I felt it.”

The bond was a revelation, a confirmation of what you had always known in your heart. You were meant to be together, to share your lives and your love, to build a future that was as bright and beautiful as the stars above.

As the last notes of the music played, you and Eris stood together, your daughter cradled between you, the bond of love and family wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of pure magic, a testament to the journey you had taken and the love that had blossomed along the way.

And as you looked into Eris’s eyes, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by love, fate, and the unbreakable bond that had finally snapped into place.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesvanslutta @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta @talesofadragon @thecraziestcrayon @asaucecoveredsomething @starryhiraeth @darling006 @rosewood-cafe @saltedcoffeescotch @dumblani @paleidiot @rcarbo1 @yourmomsushi

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