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cherryheairt · 11 days

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Dragon Dreamer pt. XII

going forward, I will be changing a lot of events. ik GRRM HATES to see me coming. Some will be small, others will be big. I want Daenys to play a much bigger role in the Dance, and take creative liberties on stuff the show did not show us or stuff that would be in s3.

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @hueanhdang @purple-1995 @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @saintkittykat @littleblackcatinwonderland @pedro-pascal-love @reyndaisy @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 i missed y'all its been almost a week

When Daenys learned that Corlys, her grandsire, was severely injured and may be on his deathbed, she was distraught. Her main concern wasn't for Corlys, she knew that since he survived such a brutal attack to his throat, he would endure well. Salt and sea, the Velayron man was. The sea did not take him that day, nor would it for many years. She did not forsee it, nor did she feel the impending doom of death when she thought of him.

The impending doom did not come from Corlys, who lie in a comatose state in Driftmark, but from Vaemond Velayron. The aura of black and blue surrounded him like a defensive shield, striking out when another got near. Never married or siring any legitimate children, Vaemond only cared for himself and his power-hungry interests.

While she resented being forced to come along to King's Landing while Rhaenyra defended Luke's claim to Driftmark, she was glad to support her brother. If anyone would make a good leader, it would be Lucerys.

She was vulnerable here, in the snakepit that was the capitol. Even in the crowd surrounding the throne, filled with the people who would testify either for or against Lucerys' claim, she felt many different eyes on her.

Alicent Hightower, her soft brown eyes hardened at the sight of Rhaenyra and her children. Every time Daenys glanced her way, even briefly, she looked down upon the younger lady with a scornful sneer. Similar looks were cast to Rhaenyra, who clutched her boys protectively. Daemon stood next to his wife, in between Daenys and Rhaenyra, respectively. An amused smile was placed on his lips during the whole precession.

Aegon Targaryen, who's gaze flitted around the room in ever-increasing boredom. Occasionally, he stared at Daenys, but with a blank look in his eyes that gave away his zoned out mind. He would rather be anywhere but here.

Helena Targaryen, who Daenys missed greatly in their time apart. Ravens had not been enough, she missed her company. Whenever Daenys met Helena's eyes, the bored look that Helena also held brightened, and she smiled across the aisle at her niece.

Aemond Targaryen, who's one eye had not left Daenys the whole time. The dark purple hue seemed to be a void of emotion, with Aemond giving away none of his feelings on his face. He had grown taller and leaner since their time in Driftmark. A true dragonrider. Daenys had only sent him one letter, apologizing profoundly for Luke's actions, sending him an embroidered eyepatch for good measure. An image of Vhagar, though condensed greatly to fit on the small black leather canvas. Aemond had never sent any letters back, to her knowledge. Perhaps he was looking at her with blame and distain, an emotion he didn't hide while looking at Daenys' brother.

Across the aisle, a ways behind Vaemond, who stood in the middle, Rhaenys stood with her ward Baela and her twin Rhaena. Through the years, Daenys had grown much closer to Rhaena since she had lived on Dragonstone with Daemon and them. They had grown to become true sisters, a strong connection between the two. Rhaena was quiet compared to her twin but grew more outgoing during her years at Dragonstone. Baela, during her ward with their grandmother, unfortunately grew distant with her sister and father unintentionally.

Rhaenys greeted Daenys with a hug and kissed the young girl's head during their walk inside the Red Keep. They exchanged many letters after Laenor's passing, bond growing from their mutual loss. Rhaenys was quite lonely, only having Baela on Driftmark for company while Corlys was out at sea for years at a time.

When Otto Hightower summoned Rhaenyra to vie for her son's claim, she began strong.

"I would start by reminding you all that twenty years ago, in this very room—"

The grand doors opened, revealing a guard who announced, "King Viserys Targaryen; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm."

The court held their breath while Viserys staggered down the aisle. Bedridden for years, Viserys had not attended court in half a decade. Daenys grimaced at the sight of her grandsire, though she refused to look away respectfully. Alicent and her father stiffened at the sight of Viserys, thinking that they had the processesion going exactly the way they planned—in their favor.

Viserys would defend his firstborn, no matter what.

Rhaenyra gave her father a grateful look, relief coming from her in waves as she stood back to her original spot. The rest of Rhaenys' and Viserys' words were tuned out to Daenys. All she cared for was the betrothal announcements between her brothers and stepsisters. The rest was useless, knowing that Viserys would establish Luke as heir to driftmark firmly and without question.

Vaemond's yell tore her from her thoughts. "Her children...are BASTARDS!" He screamed to the courts, making Luke and Jace flinch in Rhaenyra's hold.

Daenys shuffled uncomfortably next to Daemon, while he stepped subtlely in front of her. "Say it." He hissed out quietly, urging Vaemond on as he clutched Dark Sister's black pommel.

Vaemond took the bait, turning to Rhaenyra spitefully. "And she. is. a whore." Every word was enunciated strongly.

Viserys, wheezing, stood from the Iron Throne with his dagger clutched in his bony hand. "I will have your tongue for that."

A sudden 'splat!' caught everyone's attention first. Helena gasped, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tight at the bloody sight. Daemon had cut off Vaemond's head, leaving it to drop to the floor, followed by the rest of his body. Daenys held a gag at the sight and smell of fresh blood, turning her eyes away from the gore.

Aemond, across from her, finally lifted his pursed hips into a smirk, eye gleaming at he stared at Daemon.

"Seize his weapons!" Otto Hightower demanded, though Daemon was swift to clean off his sword and sheath it again.

"No need." He said as if nothing had happened.

When Viserys started to shake and wheeze again, attentions were transfixed to the King once more. "Fetch the maesters!" Alicent called out, genuine concern cracking her voice. Perhaps the once good thing about the Queen was her love for her family and husband.

Rhaenyra ushered her kids out swiftly, leaving the room behind. Passing her uncles and aunt, Daenys glanced briefly towards each one.

Aegon finally held an amused expression, looking around the room for reactions and having no concern for his father's condition.

Helena, still covering her ears and turned from Vaemond, followed after Daenys.

Aemond held her stare as she passed, though he did not move so much as a muscle.

Daenys split from her mother and grandmother, telling them she would return for supper. Supposedly, the Hightower-Targaryen family would sup all together for the first time in years after Viserys rested.

Helena led her niece to a spacious and well-lit room by the hand. The floor was littered with toys, though it still appeared clean. Daenys gasped, met with the sight of two white-haired children quietly playing together on a rug.

Helena proudly smiled, removing her other hand from her ear finally and squeezing Daenys' hand. "This is Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. I know I've written to you about them, but I wished for you to meet them, too."

Daenys nodded enthusiastically, earning the attentions of the twins below. Helena and Daenys kneeled together, quite in sync for two ladies who have spent years apart, to greet them.

Daenys introduced herself as 'Aunt Daenys' although she was technically not. Jaehaera seemed to accept the new presence immediately, holding out a wooden wolf for Daenys to take and play with her, another carving of a dragon clutched in her other chubby palm.

Jaehaerys was decidedly more shy, crawling into his mother's lap while he watched his twin and aunt play. Daenys delighted in the activity, knowing her little brothers must be lonely back at Dragonstone, only in the company of their nursemaids. Helena and her chatted through the rounds of playing while Jaehaera dug through a box of toys, inviting Jaehaerys to pick new ones with her.

Hours passed and well into the afternoon, as Helena and Daenys took turns switching off embroidery pieces to find ways to continue each other's art and add to it (their little tradition since they were both young girls). Both were saddened to hear that they were summoned for supper, eager to finish their work before the day ended. Helena's original work was a centipede, Daenys had continuted the piece by making it weave through a field of grass and flowers. Daenys' started with a blue dragon, much like Dreamfyre, and Helena added a snowy white one intertwined with it, a likeness to Morningstar.

"Perhaps I could convince mother to stay an extra few days in the Red Keep, and return on my own on dragonback." Daenys offered Helena as they walked.

She hated the Keep, but never knew how much she truly missed Helena's company until she spent time with her again. She would bear a few nights here, knowing she could avoid everyone and only spend time in the nursery. Daenys was older now, a woman grown. Surely she could handle such things better.

"I should like that," Helena murmured, arms interlaced with Daenys as they walked towards the table. It was only half-filled with members of their family. A spot was left in the very middle for Viserys, occupied on the sides of his space by Alicent and Rhaenyra.

Aemond sat at one head, while Luke and Rhaena took the opposite.

The table seemed to naturally divide by sides, though Daenys chose to sit between Helena and Aemond rather than next to Jace, lest she also be forced next to Aegon.

Alicent offered to pray before they ate, to which Viserys complied with a pleasant smile for his wife. Having never prayed at supper before, Daenys sat awkwardly as others either clasped their hands and closed their eyes, or politely looked down at their plates while Alicent prayed for Vaemond to rest in peace. Daenys had chosen the latter, though she did so in a much nicer way than Daemon did. He held in a snort at the Queen's words, holding no regret for his murder.

The first to make a toast before dinner was served was Viserys. "My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena. A toast to the young princes."

"Hear, hear!" Daemon was first to say in support. Perhaps he benefited the most. He would be King, then his firstborn daughter would be Queen right after through her marriage.

Goblets clinked in toast to the marriage. Many murmured their congratulations, besides the side that Daenys sat in. She felt out of place with her short cheer.

Viserys clanked his cane to the cobble floor, standing up on shaky knees while leaning against the table for assistance. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow. The faces most dear to me in all the world—yet grown so distant from each other."

He unclasped his golden half-mask, revealing a missing eye and half rotted face. Daenys struggled to hold her stare, not wanting to displease her grandsire or offend him. "My own face is no longer a handsome one. If it ever was." He jested weakly. "I wish you to see me as I am. Not as your king, but as your father. Your brother. Your husband. Your grandsire. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts." He pleaded with the people around him, earning either uncomfortable stares or bittersweet ones.

He sat with a heavy sigh, regaining his breath.

Rhaenyra toasted next, voice youthful and strong. "I wish to raise my cup to Queen Alicent. I love my father, but she has tended to him with unfailing devotion and for that she has my gratitude." She faced the queen with a reminiscent smile gracing her face.

Once Rhaenyra sat, Alicent was quick to take her turn. "I raise my cup to you and your house. You will make a fine queen. To further solidify our alliance and newfound love for one another," Alicent rubbed her husband's shoulder sweetly, smiling down at him. "I wish to propose a marriage. Though Aegon is already wed, as our eldest son, Aemond's hand remains free. As does your eldest daughter's."

Daenys stiffened in her seat, meeting Aemond's eye, which remainded composed and unsurprised. Had be brought this to Alicent? Or did Alicent demand it of him?

Viserys' face lifted at the suggestion, placing his hand over Alicent's and looking to Rhaenyra. Not even bothing to look at Daenys or Aemond. "I think it would be a most wonderful idea. Daenys could live here again, and perhaps all of you could come back, too." He hinted.

Rhaenyra was still in her seat, glancing between her father, Alicent, and the two seated at the end. Daenys held a pleading look in her eyes, urging her mother to not agree immediately.

Rhaenyra nodded subtly, sending a placating smile towards the two next to her. Beside her, Daemon scowled and rolled his eyes. "That is a generous offer. I will take some time to consider it."

Alicent nodded her agreement, sitting once more. Daenys forced her heart to stop its rapid beating, knowing her mother had delayed what might become her life's misery. Daenys would not mind Aemond much, nor living with Helena again. But Alicent and Aegon were two figures she could not bear to live with, nor the court that followed their Queen so blindly.

A silence filled the room, as everyone sipped their wine to the many toasts. Aegon lifted himself from his seat with a coy smirk, flitting to the space between Baela and Jace, whispering something that Daenys was not privy to. Jace slammed his hands to the table angrily, startling its occupants. He cleared his throat lightly while Aegon sat himself back in his seat.

Aemond stood, taller than Jacaerys at full height, staring him down from across the table. A warning to Jace that woefully went ignored as the younger started to speak.

"To Prince Aegon and...Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. As men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles." He raised his cup, concluding his shockingly nice speech. Daenys was surprised that he composed himself so well.

"To you as well." Aegon sighed, forced to politeness. Aemond sat, as Helena whispered beside Daenys.

"Beware the beast beneath the boards." No one else must have heard her, and if they did, they decided to ignore her. Helena didn't even seem like she realized that she spoke.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. And perhaps, Daenys, if she does choose to marry my brother." She smiled genuinely to each in turn, a breath of fresh air compared to the tense atmosphere. "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad, mostly he just ignores you—except sometimes when he's drunk." Her words were meant to be comforting to the bethrothed women, but she clearly had no affectionate experiences in her own marriage, so she could not offer such comforts.

Daenys raised her glass high to her stepsisters, following Helena's toast while Aegon melted into his seat. "Yes, to Baela and Rhaena. We will truly be sisters, soon." She grinned to them, earning raised cups back.

Viserys ordered the music to be started, and immediately Jacaerys stood to action. Daenys looked at him warily, wondering if he had meant his speech as a ploy to lower Aegon and Aemond's guard. He stood behind Daenys' seat, offering a hand to Helena. She took it, slightly confused, while he led to the dance floor from Aegon's side.

The two young aunt and nephew jumped and danced around the empty space near the table, with their parents watching on happily. Daenys watched, too, laughing and clapping at their display. Had they ever had a dinner go so well before?

Aemond stood next to her, sighing through his nose. He offered a hand out to Daenys, too. "I didn't think you would dance." She whispered to him, though did not reject his hand.

"I don't." He said simply. His hand was calloused from years of sword training, though unscarred from no real battle experience. Aemond led her past the young dancers, leading her into a more refined and graceful ballroom dance. Further from the table, they could speak lowly without worry of being overheard.

"Did you receive my letter?" Daenys started, avoiding his intense stare. Even with only one eye, he managed to share a similar look that Daemon had when looking at his niece. Possessive and controlling. He was a far cry from the sweet boy he once was.

"Just the one. All those years ago." He said, narrowing his eye down at her. "Though none of mine have been graced with an answer."

She faultered, "I was unaware that you sent any back."

Aemond pursed his lips, "of course. They must be keeping such things from you. Ever sheltered by Rhaenyra and Daemon on that rock, you remain."

Daenys, though embarrassed, knew he was right. She was quite sheltered, more than most ladies who were presenting themselves to court for suitors. But she did not need to trouble herself with such things. She didn't need a husband.

Daenys moved on, "who's idea was the marriage proposal? Last time there was one between our families, Alicent shot it down."

Aemond glanced at the table towards her family. "I did. My mother had a change of heart, perhaps. It would be beneficial to finally have a reason for our families to bridge this distance between us."

He sounded like he didn't believe his own words, like he was reading from a script.

"Indeed...though I doubt it would be so simple. Things never are between us." She sighed.

"They can be."

She scoffed lightly, looking to her mother and Alicent, who were conversing with soft smiles gracing their features. "They are in good moods now, while Viserys is here to be a deterrent. Even if we married, his death will split us apart."

"Marriage is sacred. Your husband and his children would be whom your loyalties lie with." Aemond stated.

"I would never choose a man over my family." She narrowed her eyes, pausing her practiced steps. "Is that what you want? My loyalties to be pledged to you and your family?"

He stayed silent during her barrage, only clenching his jaw as he listened.

"Or perhaps it is my dragon you want?" She challenged. "I thought you were above the manipulations of your mother and grandsire. Smarter than your dimwitted brother. I was wrong."

"Daenys—" Aemond started to speak, but she pulled her arm from his loose grasp and strided out of the dining hall. She had no reason to listen to his words. Years ago, she had sought a friend in Aemond, the one who shared in her torment. Now, she knew he was just like his mother, calculating and deceitful.

That night, as Rhaenyra and her family headed back to Dragonstone following a tiff between all of their children, Daenys did not dream of Viserys' demise. Rhaenys had stayed the night at the Red Keep alone, being locked in her guest chambers while Aegon was being crowned King. After her escape with the Red Queen Meleys, Rhaenys told Rhaenyra of the news.

Visenya was lost that day.

Daenys was unsure why she didn't see such a catastrophic event like the King's death—but for once she did not blame herself. She blamed the Hightowers and their lust for power.

🗡

Most of the day passed fairly quickly. Cregan and Daenys spent it in solitude, only each other as company. She thought of bringing Cregan back to Dragonstone and returning alone, but wished selfishly for some more time with her bethrothed before she left him. One more day together wouldn't hurt.

After their prayer with the weirwood, Daenys felt invigorated with the sunny weather the day had provided. She turned to Cregan, who eyed her excitement with mock suspicion.

"We should swim," she suggested to him, with an excited glint to her violet eyes.

"Swim? Do you mean at the God's Eye?" Cregan asked. It was the only body of water so close to Harrenhall, but she could always fly to another one of her choosing.

"Yes, I did say that I would bring you swimming one day."

"You said that you wished to." He corrected. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know how, I won't be the most pleasant company."

Daenys snickered, "perhaps I might ask Davos, then. A Riverlander would most definitely enjoy a swim on a day like this one."

He gave her a scorned look, pitful grey puppy eyes downtrodden at the mention of her choosing another man over him for company.

She grabbed his hand, giggling all the while at his expression as she led him outside. "I merely jest, Cregan. You can stay on the shore and watch me." She shrugged playfully.

Cregan hummed, looking her up and down pointedly. "In your dress? We have brought no swimclothes with us."

"I have my shift, I'll make due." She brushed his concern off, lifting her skirts with her spare hand to save them from grass stains. She'd hate to dishonor the lady who previously wore them, after all.

Cregan swallowed beside her, nodding. It's not like he hadn't seen her in her shift, or less than that, but the context was different—he was too worried for her life to concern himself with such frivolous thoughts. Now, both spending their leisure time together, they were free to do as they pleased.

According to courting and bethrothal customs, unmarried men and women shouldn't be without a chaperone. However, it was much too late for either to start caring for traditions.

The walk to the God's eye was brief, though the sun shining on them had earned thin sheens of sweat and flushed faces. Daenys was eager to get into the cooling water, oblivious to Cregan's mental struggles beside her. At the shore of the massive span of water, Daenys began to rid herself of her dress, folding it neatly and placing it on a rock, along with her stockings. Left only in a sheer white shift, she stepped into the water, turning to face Cregan, who was still fully clothed and avoiding eye contact.

"You're sweating buckets, Cregan." She stated, amused at his stubbornness. "At least take your tunic off and dip your feet in. It'll help you cool off."

While ladies were made to wear uncomfortable corsets and dragging dresses, Daenys was always grateful that at least they were cooler than men's many layers. Sometimes up to five or six for a day-to-day outfit, not even mentioning the ones presentable enough for court. Jacaerys oft complained about the heat of King's Landing back when they lived at the arid Keep, though he was relieved by Dragonstone's much more appeasing climates.

Cregan, with his thicker layers meant for permanent chills, must be near passing out. Perhaps she got too excited. They could've enjoyed a nice day in Harrenhall's walls. Maybe.

He obliged when she sent him a secondary beseeching look. He shrugged off his heavy tunic, left in a much lighter cotton undershirt. It hung off his frame much looser, allowing him to acclimatize much faster. The unbuttoned 'V' shape of his neckline hung much lower than that of his tunic, revealing the smooth skin of his chest.

Daenys turned back to hide her expression from him, knowing if he saw it, he would think her uncouth. She waded through the swallow water, soaking herself with the cold water. It was a great relief for the Princess, taking away the uncomfortable sweaty stickiness from her body and replacing it with fresh, cold water. Though she'd never swam in the Riverland lake, it still brought back many fond memories of her father Laenor, a simpler time when she swam almost every sennight. Now, it had been months since she last found time to.

With the water up to her shoulders, she dunked her head in and dived under, eyes quickly adjusting to the freshwater. Unlike the saltiness sting that the ocean always gave her, the lake was much more accommodating. By the time she had emerged, silver hair clinging to her body in the same way her shift did, Cregan was sat in the grainy sand, legs dipped into the water as he watched on.

He grinned when she resurfaced. "Refreshed, my Princess?"

"It would be nicer if you joined." Daenys mused, sharing in his light mood.

"I am perfectly content watching." He avoided her offer with a placating smile. Hands resting leisurely over his knees, simply relaxing in the sun and cooling water's contrast, Cregan really did look content. His face was free of worry, and his rigidly straight posture softened.

She hummed her acknowledgment, knowing she couldn't get him to swim with her this time. One day, she would succeed. Daenys did, after all, comvince an ever-stubborn man of Stark blood to ride a dragon.

After some diving and searching for whatever pretty trinket caught her eye, Daenys dained herself to simply float on top of the water, hands rested on her belly. In one of them, clutched protectively, lie a small grey pearl. In the sunlight, it gleamed a rainbow iridescence. In the shade of her palm, it was perfectly grey. It had taken her an umpteenth amount of tries to find, which she stopped counting after the seventh try, and perhaps a hundred dud pearls that she deemed unworthy. One thing she had learned during her escapades was that she had not lost her touch for the water, still able to hold her breath for long periods of time and open her eyes easily. Still, she was no match for her father's abilities. He took to the water like a true Velayron, disappearing under its depths for minutes at a time.

Daenys wondered when she would get chances to swim up in the cold North. Only when she visited her family, once they had reclaimed the capitol? Such sacrifices were the baselines of marriage for women. She would be more fortunate than most with her dragon as an aid to travel—most women who went so far for marriage never saw their homes again. Cregan clearly held no love for the water. How could he? He was not raised being surrounded by it, instead by mountains of snow and dense woods. She did love the wood, too. The serenity and quietness.

The sun had long since left her skin kissed with light brown freckles, the time apart from lengths in the sun having long since faded her previous ones. When she felt the heat start to irritate her eyelids, she opened them and squinted toward Cregan, who lifted his head from his arms and gaze from the gently waving water to her.

Daenys outstretched an arm lazily to him, beckoning wordlessly for assistance. Perfectly capable of swimming herself the few feet she was from the shallow sand, she felt knackered from the warmth and expending activity.

Cregan chuckled at her reaching, shaking his head teasingly. "You just swam laps around the God's Eye, I'm sure you can manage a few more feet on your own."

"Can't." Daenys said simply.

He raised a brow, smiling, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm incapacitated. Cannot move." She elaborated slowly.

He nodded, even slower, leaning back on his forearms. She forced her eyes not to leave his at the movement and sudden shift of his shirt. "I guess we're stuck here, my Lady."

"Seems that way."

They were at an impasse. One waiting for the other to give up. Stubbon Stark and conquering Targaryen. Eventually, one had to cave. Daenys was confident that she could stay in place for hours, even in the sun, while he would eventually burn up and regret even taking a step from Harrenhall's stone walls.

She relaxed in the water again, rolling the grey pearl between her fingertips idly. Cregan watched on, admiring the glow the sun provided her skin It was afternoon already, they had spent almost all day outdoors. Neither complained, though, for the much-needed distraction.

Daenys was reminded of the simplicities of life that the commonfolk lived. Not the ones in King's Landing, who often were criminals or victims of criminals, working day and night with little reward. No, not them. The ones who lived far from courtly society and its selfish royals. Those who lived in small villages far from big cities, who relied on one another and loved their neighbors like family. Worked hard on their family-owned farms and shops, retiring for the afternoon in their homes and laughed with their loved ones while they feasted on breads and cheeses their neighbors traded to them for handcrafted clothes. Those are the people Daenys envied, who lived full lives and never stopped to wonder what their life might be like in another's place.

She would be very content, she thought, to live a simple life like that. With Cregan as her swordsmith husband, and her as a fisherman. Both returning home at the end of their work days to a gaggle of children running around at their feet, squaking loudly about what they had learned that day. People would come nosing their way into their house over the evening, bringing food and smiles into the house while friends and family sat together. Sara and her husband first, living right next to them. Then, Daenys' mother and Daemon, bringing young Aegon and Viserys in their arms to play with their nieces and nephews. Corlys and Rhaenys, telling tales of how their two children were out enjoying a long voyage together on the open seas. The last ones to join would be Jacaerys and Lucerys, with Baela and Rhaena respectively.

The entire family would sit and talk of their days, as they had every night before that, and retell tales that all have listened to a million times before but never interrupt the joyous expression the storyteller held while speaking. The children would all have their own table, though eventually want to be a part of the adult's conversation and squeeze themselves on top of their parent's laps. The adults, after playfully scolding their babes, would still allow it with a gentle kiss on top of fluffy heads.

The perfect life. One that none of Daenys' loved ones could ever achieve.

The sound of sloshing in the water forced Daenys to focus once more, glancing up to meet Cregan's face staring down at her. Gently, he grabbed her hands and slightly dragged her close to himself, turning her to face him. She grinned up at him, "that was fast."

"I've enjoyed the view all day. I'm not so stubborn as to scorch myself for the sake of pride." Cregan chided. With a large hand resting itself on the dip of her waist, the Lord brought her to the shallowest parts before lifting her to her feet. "Now, is the Princess still too tired to walk, or does she require assistance?"

Daenys steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, narrowly avoiding touching any bare skin on his chest, though it tempted her. His touch was hot on her waist, burning through even her wet shift. She felt breathless despite her lack of movement, forgetting to speak for a long pause of time.

"Daenys," he murmured lowly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach. She was reminded of his size—a true testiment of his ancient Stark blood. Looking down at her past his straight nose, hands large enough to engulf her midsection from the curve of her waist to her belly buttom. From behind Cregan, one might not be able to see Daenys, his broad shoulders and height a perfect sheild.

The touch made her shiver, though she brushed it off as the wet cotton clinging to her skin. "I...Yes, I can walk." She finally managed to mumble out. He smiled once more, leading her out of the water by the hand, though he noticed she switched the pearl to the other to be able to grasp his.

"What have you found, my lady sailor?" He asked, leaning down to squeeze water from his trousers and half of his shirt.

She lifted her palm for him to see the grey pearl, showing it off like a dragon would show its prized treasure. Morningstar, too, had oft stolen whatever shiny thing caught her eye during flights, bringing them to Dragonstone's pit and waiting for Daenys to come down to see it. She had her own little pile of knickknacks, though some of the smaller ones lay in Daenys' chambers. Strangely, none of the others (apart from Syrax) had the same interest in material things.

He straightened, lifting the ball to his eyeline. Daenys bit her cheek to stop her grin from getting any bigger. It was a perfect match to his own eye. She only kept the pearl for the theory, being too far from Cregan to keep bringing little pearls back and bother him with silly comparisons. She simply went off her memory, which seemed to serve her perfectly.

"It's a...?" He left space for an answer, not entirely sure of it himself. Right, she thought. He'd never left the North. They don't eat much seafood there, so there's no cause to learn about sea life besides the few species of fish that graced their waters.

"I forgot, you've never been so far down before." She hummed. "A pearl. Formed in clams or muscles—I like to keep any that catch my interest."

"I've heard of them. Used for necklaces, right?" He asked, placing the pearl in her palm again after she twisted her own skirts.

Daenys nodded. "I've made a few of my own, though I can't wear them to court. Too juvenile, my mother says. Sometimes, I can put them into my hair, but the process takes too long to make it a common accessory."

"I'd like to see that." Cregan said softly, admiring the way she scrunched her hair to attempt to dry it quicker. With the retained water, the silver hair looked a darker milky grey. It made the purple hue of her eyes stand out more, especially in the daylight.

Twisting the bottom of her skirts, Daenys laughed. "My maid won't be happy to hear that. Perhaps I'll have to teach you how to put them into braids, if you'd truly like to see it."

He handed the pearl back to her once she finished. "I would be happy to learn, if only to ease the burden of your poor maid."

Daenys picked up her dress from its place on the rock, finding it pleasently warmed. She didn't put it back on, knowing it would only get wet from her shift. She'd have to be swift when returning to her chambers, lest Davos, Simon, or any of Simon's sons see her in such a state. Cregan did the same, carrying both of their clothes bundled up under an elbow.

As they walked, Cregan spoke up. "I have been to the capitol. Once, briefly, but that visit was enough to last a lifetime."

Daenys perked up, turning to Cregan as they walked together. "I've never seen you before. Was it recent?"

He shook his head. "Actually, it was for your nameday tourney."

She groaned. "Of course. I hated those every year, but my grandsire insisted that all of his children and grandchildren got a tourney for their nameday celebrations. Starks do not typically attend tourneys, seeing as they happen so often. What made you come?"

At her complaint, he snorted briefly. "I was one and ten at the time, two years before my father passed. He insisted that I was old enough to attend court at the capitol, and it had been many years since he had attended himself—the last being to swear an oath to your mother.

I was a young, excited boy who was ill-equipped to handle the secret meanings behind Southerner's words. I took everything literally, not knowing that everyone I spoke to was insulting me to my face."

Daenys hummed sympathetically. "Yes, it is a nasty habit. Whatever could they have insulted you for?" She asked, curious.

He blushed slightly, a tinging of red dusting his ears. "My accent, my looks, whatever they saw that seemed 'different'. Back then, I was all gangly limbs and height, not yet experienced in swordtraining. They hid such distastes in compliments, something I was not aware of until I told my father, and he warned me to both speak and listen carefully in the Crownlands."

"Your looks?" She was bemused by the implication. Surely, no one would find Cregan uncomely. Even in the awkward youth years. Or his accent, a small part of her mind said. His accent was perhaps her favorite part of Cregan, it made her mind go hazy whenever he spoke more than his usual curt sentences. Another Stark trait was to not speak more than necessary.

He shrugged, "Starks have prominent genes. We've always had dark hair, straight noses, long faces, and perhaps taller frames than most men. We are not bred to be pretty, like some are."

Her mind went to the peacocking men that were born and bred in the Crownlands and the places attached to it. Of course, ladies of the realm were meant to be pretty, and if they were not, then at least they were trained to act elegantly. Though, the men were often 'pretty' too. The Hightowers, for example, were a picture of good genetics. Otto Hightower's two children, Alicent and Gwayne, were both considered beautiful with their auburn hair and dark eyes. Though Gwayne was a knight, he was sought after by many. The two must have taken after their mother Alerie since Otto looked nothing like either. The Tyrells, too, were considered blooming flowers of beauty, well-groomed and mannered.

The Targaryens, Velayrons, and Daynes all held traits that the realm agreed to be most beautiful. Whores dyed their hair silver just to be paid more, and men sought after them twice as much as a regular looking woman. Tales were written of Valyrion women, even by those who've never laid eyes on one. Songs were sung by bards, poems written by romantics, gossip spread like wildfire when another was presented to court. Daenys had heard a few about herself, to her surprise. Though the realm did not hold her in high regard, her beauty was apparently taken the opposite. A song had once called her 'The Dawn's Light' for her silver waves and lighter-than-most violet eyes. A poem called her 'The Dreamer Reborn' but moreso as a statement than a compliment. She scarsely heard any gossip since her leave from the capitol, so any other poems or songs in her name went unknown. Similar to her mother, 'The Realm's Delight' she was given such titles as a young girl. Women did not earn their titles from great accomplishments but rather their looks alone, most of the time.

The Valyrion-featured men, too, were hauntingly charming in looks just as their female counterparts were. Aemond was considered a handsome young prince before being named 'Aemond One-Eye'. Aegon, too, was conventionally handsome when his mouth was shut. Daenys was quite unsure of Daemon or Viserys' looks, seeing as they were both no longer in their prime youth at the time Daenys was born. Though she was sure her father Laenor was widely known to be a charmingly handsome man, for his sailing adventures had proven him a popular figure to men and women alike.

"Perhaps you are not pretty." She started, smirking up at him. "No Northern men could be, with their laborious lives. Handsome is more fitting, I would say. Though mayhaps other ladies can only assume a Northern man to be a brutish and unrefined beasts of men, simply because they are unused to different appearences."

Truly, Cregan was taller and broader than most, even more impressive for his young age. He would surely make most Andal men question their own masculinity, to which the Andals would turn to insults to counter their insecurities.

Cregan hummed thoughtfully, holding an almost bashful smile. "Not many southern ladies would consider a Stark 'handsome'. Especially a Velayron. None from the North have married a Valyrion." He mentioned.

"We are the first, then."

"Indeed," he took her hand in his, forgoing joining arms for the warmth of their hands. His hand, even interlaced with her own, was calloused and large. Quite like a paw, she bit back from saying. Without his leather gloves that he had to don in the cold, she felt the safety of his protection right in his palm.

"How was the tourney beside the cold welcome you received? I remember that my father Laenor fought in it, as he only cared for those dreadful tourneys when it was one of our namedays."

A part of her wished to have met him back then. Perhaps she could have made a friend, her first one that was not of her own blood.

"More boring than I expected. As a boy, I wished to be a great jouster to show off my house pride, but it wasn't at all what I expected." He said. "Also, I was quite disappointed to find that the star of the tourney was missing from the Royal Pavillion."

Daenys blushed, unable to meet his amused look. "I only stayed to watch my father's joust. I made appearances, then left when no one's eyes were on me."

"Everyone's eyes are on you, Princess." He chuckled.

She nodded slightly. "Unfortunately. That is something I dreaded during those days. Who did end up winning that tourney? I forget."

Cregan shrugged once more, "I don't know either. I didn't stay til the end."

At her confused glance, he continued. "I got bored of watching men fall from horses. So, I wondered off to explore the 'Great Red Keep' I had heard so many things about. I got lost in the halls—which are much too big for one family, in my opinion—and stumbled upon the very princess that was missing."

Daenys furrowed her brows together, trying to recall ever meeting a young Cregan Stark. "I don't think I remember speaking to you."

Cregan shook his head. "I never found the courage to approach you. But I knew who you were, even from afar. You sat at a windowsil, overlooking the crowds of people. You looked so lonely, with that wistful look in your eyes."

"Why didn't you talk to me, then?" She asked him.

"I was scared that you might think of me the same way the other young ladies did. Though you looked lonely, you also had a peaceful aura that I could not dare to disturb."

She nodded her agreement. "I have grown used to enjoying my own company. Though, I have grown to enjoy yours, more."

He squeezed her hand lightly. "You shall not be alone anymore, ever. If I have a say in it."

They reached Harrenhall at a more leisure pace than they had left with. The sun was starting to set now, and their bellies were rumbling with hunger. Daenys and Cregan jogged through the halls of Harrenhall, luckily not running into any people on the way. They shut the door to Daenys' room behind them, giggling and laughing like a pair of juveniles sneaking under their parent's noses. Cregan and Daenys politely turned while changing together, underclothes long since drying during their walk.

Daenys sat at the creaky vanity she was provided, unbothered by the water rotted wood. If it worked, it worked. At least the mirror was clean. She worked to brush through her drying hair, a plain giveaway to her activities. Her hair was famously hard to dry, her vigerous routine for her hair alone taking hours each week. Without any of the oils and soaps that she had on Dragonstone, Daenys found that her hair dulled slightly in the North, only being restored when she returned home. She hoped it would not do so again at Harrenhall. Though she did not think herself to be a vain woman, she cared for her hair greatly. It was something she had grown for years, having not cut it since her father passed.

The last haircut she had was done by her father, who taught her how to take the best care of it and always styled it despite her maids being well able to. Daenys knew she'd eventually have to trim it again, but she'd prolonged it for years already in a weak attempt to keep his every memory.

The pearl sat next to the brush while she started to plait her hair up in a braided romantic tuck, which would leave no hair cascading down her hair. If it was all so bunched up, none would notice its dampness.

Cregan sat himself on her bed, tunic placed loosely on in his idleness. There was no need to trap himself fully in his warm clothing until they needed to be presentable. His eyes never left her as she threaded expertly through her hair, seemingly zoning out as he did.

She finished as fast as she could, perhaps a little sloppy. But, she didn't wish for Cregan to be left waiting in boredom too long. Daenys stood from her stool, turning to her bethrothed. She patted her hair down slightly, brushing over it to neaten it. "Im sorry, I worked as fast as I could."

Smiling patiently, Cregan stood and took her hands from her hair, kissing her knuckles tenderly. "Don't worry. I have never seen such perfection, my beautiful Daenys."

Taken aback, Daenys found herself utterly speachless. Where had that come from?

"Thank you, Cregan." She murmured, finding only enough propriety to unconsciously respond to a compliment. My?

His smile seemed to deepen at her pause, taking her by the same hand he kissed and leading her outside of the room. "Let's have our supper, I'm sure the other guests of Harrenhall are wondering where we are."

Daenys nodded, following at his side to the dining room. The halls had started to become familiar to Daenys, even though it had only been barely two days since they arrived. Around the table already sat the majority of Harrenhall's residents. Simon, of course, and his small family, who mostly stayed quiet as mice. Davos, who sat slouched back in his seat, spinning his utensil upon the table with a frustrated expression. Daemon, too, though he looked drowsy still. Slightly faraway, like he was in a permanent waking dream.

As Daenys passed him, he glanced up at her. His eyes cleared slightly, a nearly horrified look on his face. "Rhaenyra?" He asked, sitting up in his seat.

Daenys exchanged a glance with Cregan, staring down at her stepfather afterwards. "Rhaenyra is still at Dragonstone." She said carefully.

In their shared native tongue, Daenys could speak without giving anything away to the others in the room, who stared at them in bemusement.

Daemon squinted at her for a few more seconds, sitting back into his seat once more and blinking harshly. He nodded, saying nothing else.

Daenys needed to visit Alys again. Perhaps she would know something about Daemon's strange behavior. Or perhaps she was the reason for it. The tea was something she did not partake in and would not attempt to now that she saw Daemon's weariness. But, she would not yet point any fingers until she confronted the woman.

Daenys sat herself between Davos and Cregan, prepared to soothe the impaitients and frustration that she knew Davos was experiencing.

"It has been a full day, Your Grace." Davos shifted in his seat, restless. "I have not heard word of what you intend to do for my father in terms of the Bracken's treason."

Daemon rubbed at his temples. "I will fly out on Caraxes tomorrow. No later than noon. I sent a raven to Lord Willem already, he and the Bracken Lord will meet me in a sectioned place of my choosing."

"Are we to be privvy of this meeting? Or must it be held in such secrecy? Davos asked. Daenys agreed with him. Who knows what the combined tempers Willem and Daemon will bring together. Though she would not say that in front of Willem's own son.

"I will act alone." Daemon glanced at her. "As I have since I arrived in Harrenhall."

"What great that has done us." Daenys muttered. "We seem to be at the verge of turning swords against us rather than rallying them together."

"I will not sugarcoat my demands for a child, this is war." He spat back.

"Telling a boy to kill his grandsire for the sake of expediting his own control is certainly no way to gain loyalty." Daenys sipped her wine, not feeling a heavy appetite when no one else was eating besides Simon's sons.

Davos looked at her bewilderedly as if to ask if he really said that. Daenys smiled into her cup shortly, wiping it off her face before she set the cup down.

"What do you intend to do with the Brackens?" She continued.

"You need not concern yourself with my business. It will be delt with accordingly."

Daenys sighed quietly. "At least answer me this. Will you recruit or burn the Brackens?"

The room silented further. Daemon stared between Davos and Daenys.

"I will do what I must to obtain the best men for our Queen's cause." Was his answer. "While I fly out on Caraxes, you should pay a visit to the Tullys. To...ascertain their Lord's condition. Perhaps things have changed."

"Since the day before?" She scoffed.

Daemon gave her a harsh look. "We do not have time to wait for an old and withered fool to die in order to get the Tully bannermen."

"We certainly had time to wait for Viserys to die." Though her words were unnecessarily cruel, especially towards Viserys' own brother, Daenys couldn't find it in her to care. She was never close with her grandsire, but scorned the way his own closest kin abandoned him to the Hightower snakes' clutches.

"Watch your tongue." Daemon leaned forward in his seat.

"I would not let war change me."

"You've not seen war yet, daughter."

Daemon often called her that. Something he did not share with her brothers when he merely referred to them by their names. It frustrated Daenys, knowing he had no right to call her his daughter when he appeared so suddenly in her life. She was nothing like her stepfather. He was the last man who could be her father.

He's the one who got rid of Laenor. Manipulated Rhaenyra into sending the father of her four eldest children away. Daemon, alone, was the reason she mourned her father for years. Rhaenyra would never have done such a thing to her children if her uncle was not so cunning.

"I will not." She said finally. There was no room for argument in her tone. "Tomorrow, I will deliver the Master of War to the Queen's council, then return to Harrenhall and await the news you bring."

"Fine. Sit idly here as the council and I make moves to take back the throne. It is not like you'd be much use at Dragonstone, either." Daemon leaned forward in his seat, closer to the faces across from him before taking his leave to his chambers.

Seething, Daenys chose not to make a scene in front of the other occupants in the room. Instead, she quickly turned to Davos. "I hope to see you returning to your family soon, Ser Davos. I hate to see you stuck here for menial reasons, I think your father and Daemon will work something out with the Brackens on the morrow."

Davos smiled weakly. "It's only been a day and I feel my mind melting with the idleness. I wish to be on the battlefield, marching with my Aunt Alysanne."

She nodded. "I understand. We share that sentiment, at least."

Dinner passed by quickly, with Simon taking hold of the conversation and switching it to a more appropriate topic. Tension did not leave the air all night, however. When Daenys big goodnight to Davos, Simon, and the rest, she allowed Cregan to lead her to her chambers.

A distant feeling nagged at the back of Daenys' mind, as if warning her something would happen soon. It was a miserable impending feeling that she could not answer. "Goodnight, Cregan." She said before he could stop to check on her, knowing that look on his face meant he was worried for her.

She settled into her sheets, knowing that a dream was awaiting her. It was best to get it over with, to see it, and wake up again to be able to prepare for whatever would happen.

Daenys was correct. She had begun to get better at predicting when she would dream. This time, she was landlocked on a rolling grassy hill, watching hundreds of soldiers holding up Green Targaryen banners marching towards an unknown destination. Greenery surrounded her on all sides, through forests and healthy grass. She followed after the leagues of men, who did not see her, and mapped out every possible landmark in her mind. Eventually, the men reached a treeline where they stopped. For cover, most likely.

Men did not hide in forests from other men, but from a dragon's birdeye view.

Daenys spotted a large castle nearby, the destination that the men must have in mind. Behind her, more men rolled up with large crossbows that had to be dragged with multiple horses. The arrows they held were almost as tall as Daenys. Men from the castle were sent out to defend their home, a meager number compared to the ones marching upon them. But, like any loyal knights, they would all die protecting their Lord and his house.

Men did not hide in forests from other men, but from a dragon's birdeye view. Men did not need to kill other men with five-foot-long arrows. She saw Criston Cole, flanked by Ser Gwayne Hightower, and she knew. They were waiting for a dragon.

🗡

Daenys shot out of bed quickly, finding no time to dress herself in the dress laid out for her. It was just after dawn, the sun was already peaking out over Daenys' bed through the windows and cracks in the roof.

She rushed out to the dining hall, where Davos was whispering hushedly to Ser Simon. "Simon, Davos!" Daenys commanded their attention, making them both swing around on the balls of their feet to see their panicked Princess.

In her white shift, completely inappropriate for wandering strange halls, she earned stares with differing looks. Simon, with concern that only a father could hold, and Davos with a hand at his sword's pommel, ready to defend his Princess if need be.

"Princess?" Simon asked.

"In the Riverlands—What castle holds a tower slightly higher than the rest with a sphere on top?" She panted out. "Forests and grassy hills around it, it is slightly smaller than Harrenhall in size but longer."

The two glanced at each other, Davos answering first. "That sounds like Rook's Rest. It is right between us and Dragonstone. May I ask why, my Lady?"

Of course. Rook's Rest, a perfect spot for the Green's to take and cut off Dragonstone from the land.

"I must go. See to it that Cregan Stark stays here while I am gone, Ser Simon."

"But, Princess—!" She didn't stay, running off to Daemon's chambers.

She pushed at the doors, grunting when she was met with resistance. A clanging was heard, she knew he must have barred the doors with something. She continued to push and pull aggressively at the doors, eventually making the protective bar he put up fall to the ground. By the time she yanked them open, Daemon stood in front of the doors with a sword held high to her face.

"Daemon," She started, gritting her teeth. "You must come with me. We will ride to Rook's Rest, where an amush has been laid for Rhaenyra's dragons."

Daemon did not lower his sword, stuck in that same hazy mindspace that she had seen him in before. "Begone, witch. I will hear no more of this."

"Daemon!" She pleaded, stepping closer. "I need you, now. I don't know who is waiting or who Rhaenyra is sending. What if it is Baela, or Jace? Their dragons are too small and young to fight like ours—Come on!"

Daemon scowled at her, as if he were looking right past her. He stepped forward, too, til his Valyrion steel blade was touching her neck. "You are not Rhaenyra." He said, convincing himself that he was merely dreaming.

She swallowed harshly, shaking her head. She had no time to wait for him to find his own mind. Daenys would not be his mother, she couldn't stand idle as a dragon and its rider unknowingly flew to its own death.

She stepped away, nodding. "If I do not return, Daemon, you can tell your wife that you have doomed me."

In her own chambers, she hastily put on the dress that was laid out for her. A pale grey, resembling a misty morning like the one that graced the Riverlands this morning. It would be harder to see today, Daenys knew, she must be vigilant to guide Morningstar.

Morningstar flew with a vigor, right below the cloudbanks, to be able to see everything. It was a fast flight to Rook's Rest, passing over mountains of green trees before the fields opened up to the plains that the castle stood on. Below, men were fighting already. Shouts were heard from below as Morningstar crossed Cole's forces towards Rook's Rest, where she circled briefly.

She ran outside, calling Morningstar to her at the door. Caraxes followed, though only roared frustratedly as he knew he could not fly with them. They sensed her urgency and fear. On top of Morningstar, Daenys could see Cregan start to race outside, barely dressed himself. He shouted after her only when she shouted her command. Daenys glanced back at him apologetically, knowing he would advise against such reckless actions. She would not let herself be stopped, not this time. She waited too long for Jaehaerys and was only a minute too late to save the boy.

She tried to ignore the helpless look on Cregan's face as she turned away.

There.

It was Rhaenys and Meleys, coming from across the sea to defend Lord Staunton's keep. A breath of relief left Daenys, knowing that her mother had sent the most capable fighter she had available. "Grandmother!" She shouted over the men below, grinning at the sight of the Red Queen. Selfishly, she was glad it was not Jacaerys or Baela.

Rhaenys did not share her joy, instead falling into place beside Morningstar with a worried shout of her own. "Go back, Daenys! This is not your battle!"

In her grand dragonscale and steel armor, she looked just like a Queen. Her commanding presence solidified it even more so. "It is a trap, Rhaenys, I cannot leave you to face a dragon alone," Daenys told her stubbornly. She would not leave Rhaenys, there was no argument about it.

Rhaenys stared long and hard at her granddaughter, an image of herself and her niece. Finally, she nodded curtly in acceptance. It was futile to argue with the young Targaryen.

Together, they spun their dragons around to hover right over the plains. Dragonfire spit out from Meleys and Morningstar both, showering over the enemies in a display of glowing orange and blue. Screams of agony were heard as the fire spread from man to man, no steel armor able to save them from flames so hot.

Daenys cringed at the sounds and the smells. She was killing men by the hundreds, perhaps, it was uncountable over the distance and flames. Only weeks ago, she had wondered if she would be able to use fire against her enemies in such a violent way, now she was doing it without question or mercy.

They did not deserve mercy, but Daenys did not wish to kill. She held in gags at the overstimulating sounds and smells around her, staying firm and strong as Rhaenys was. Her grandmother did not flinch nor faulter, a confident Princess with her experienced dragon, a bond that could never be broken.

Repeatingly, the two dragons lifted and found new targets on any men who dared to still be out in the fields, and any who were too slow to retreat into the woods. When Daenys noticed a steady march of the majority of the men creeping out from their cover, she lifted her gaze to the skies. In the distance, a dragon was flying toward them at top speed from the direction of the capitol.

She squinted, meeting Meleys' turnaround from above the water. "It's Sunfyre!" She shouted to Rhaenys, who silently nodded and ordered Meleys to meet The Golden.

"Angōs, Meleys." She commanded her dragon with a fierce determination. The red dragoness roared in response, speeding up to meet the usurper. Morningstar, perfectly meeting her stride, trilled with excitement.

They were mere yards apart when Daenys heard, "Dracarys!" From Aegon. Immediately, Sunfyre spit his own orange dragonfire at the two. Meleys swooped down, taking the fire to her advantage, knowing it blinded Aegon momentarily. Morningstar flew up sharply, turning to follow behind Sunfyre. That fool.

In the midst of his confusion, Aegon turned his head every which way to locate his enemy counterparts, yelping when Sunfrye was grasped from below by Meleys. The Red Queen dug her sharp talons into the younger dragon's chest, digging deep gouges right through the scales. She tossed Sunfyre down, watching him fumble to steady himself.

Daenys found herself at an impasse. Sunfyre was too small to tagteam in a way that would leave Morningstar's ally unharmed. If either shot fire, they would risk hurting each other and not Aegon. Sunfyre managed to right himself, flying just over the grass and spraying buckets of boiling hot blood on Aegon's own men.

Sunfyre whined in pain the entire ascent back into the air. Daenys felt sympathy for the poor thing. It was only doing as he was bid by his rider. Meleys didn't let him get far, biting at Sunfyre's wing in the air and dragging him across. Morningstar finally took the opportunity to join, Daenys noting that bites and scratches were much easier to aim than fire. Her dragon latched onto the other wing's thin membrane, leaving Sunfyre unable to fly himself and instead hang lamely between the two beasts.

Sunfyre managed to angle his neck wildly, hanging on to Meleys' horn with his jaw. He tore it clean off of the dragoness, throwing it down to the ground. A deep grumble caught Daenys' attention as Morningstar let go of the bloodied and ripped wing. "It's Vhagar!" She shouted to Rhaenys, who turned to see the great behemoth approaching with Aemond.

"Thank the Gods!" Aegon shouted in relief, even as Meleys held Sunfrye's neck in a fearsome grip.

Morningstar sharply flew up to get out of the line of fire, howling out for Meleys to follow her.

A shout was heard from Aemond, though Daenys could not decipher it over the sounds of growls and wings flapping. Fire shot from Vhagar indiscriminately, shooting right at Aegon.

Was Rhaenys even the target for that? Daenys thought to herself, horrified at the sight below her. Sunfyre's ripped wings both caught fire, the blood exposing the insides enough to be lacking shield as they usually would. Rhaenys swiftly met Morningstar in the higher skies, watching with Daenys as the rider and dragon fell to the trees.

Vhagar continued on, Aemond not attempting to check on his older brother.

Meleys and Morningstar flew side by side, both riders turned to assess the situation. Panting, they worked to catch their breath. Daenys pet Morningstar's neck, checking her for injuries. Luckily, she went unharmed from her brief fight with the smaller dragon. Meleys had sustained few injuries, too, bar from the missing horn.

"Grandmother, we can keep going to Dragonstone. Or Harrenhall, even! Vhagar is thrice our size, we should get Caraxes and Daemon."

Her words seemed to go through one ear and out the other to her grandmother. Rhaenys sat straight and proud, ever a picture of grace even in battle. "I will not be leaving this battle, Daenys." She told her solemnly. "But you will. Continue on, without me." She commanded.

Daenys shook her head vehemently, shocked at the implication. "I will not leave you, grandmother. I cannot."

Rhaenys met her eyeline with a pleading look, though only got a determined one in return. "I will follow you into battle." Her granddaughter continued, blinking away watery eyes.

The Queen Who Never Was nodded, only once. "Angōs, Meleys." She murmured to her dragon, who made a similar hollow sound.

"Naejot, Ñāqatubis qēlos!" Daenys shouted, earning a more invigorated sound from Morningstar. Her blood ran hot, nearly burning through the saddle and Daenys' legs if they had touched the scales. She didn't want to back down, and neither did Meleys.

Rhaenys buckled herself into her saddle. Daenys narrowed her eyes at her grandmother but did not speak out against her. She simply followed her actions. She was the more experienced rider, after all.

Ahead of them, Vhagar had her back turned to them. Aemond has thought they fled when Sunfyre went down, they both had the speed to outfly Vhagar easily. He turned in his saddle, cursing. Roaring, Meleys sped up and angled herself to fly upside down, Morningstar quick to mimic her movements more clumsily. Both dragons matched their actions, moving to latch both of their feet to one of Vhagar's. All three dragons jerked at the stop, spinning in circles as if merely dancing in the air.

Though, the fire and roars told the onlookers otherwise. Daenys felt dizzy at being upsidedown and spinning, but held herself steady. "Do not fire, Morningstar! Bite!" She yelled her command, fearful of burning her grandmother. From this angle, it would be hard for flames to reach Aemond anyway. Flames only served to blind the other dragon. Morningstar grumbled but obeyed, forcing fire back down her throat. She bit at any green limbs or scales flying her way, finally managing to latch onto Vhagar's thick tail and biting down hard.

Beside her, Meleys clawed at Vhagar's chest successfully, searing blood running down all of the Dragon's scales as they spun. Vhagar roared in pain and anger, releasing a wave of hot flames into the air.

With Morningstar's grip on the tail's end, she lost control of her talon's grip and loosened it enough to lose it entirely. The now free claw kicked at Morningstar, sending her away and to find her grounding in the air again. Though, it did not come as a success to Vhagar. Lying limp in Morningstar's massive maw was nearly eight feet of her tail. Bit off entirely.

Though it would not kill Vhagar, she dragoness would never fly completely straight or as fluid as she once did. Tails were vital for balance. Morningstar trilled in victory as Meleys threw Vhagar to the ground, both flying up again as the larger was forced to get a running start in order to fly again.

Daenys panted slightly, seeing Rhaenys fly in sync next to her.

"Are you and Morningstar okay?" She asked, rising above the smoke and also out of breath.

She nodded, looking around her briefly. "I think so. Are you two?" Meleys had lost quite a bit of blood from her chest scratch, though did not look any less strong as she flew.

Meleys turned to Rhaenys, whining softly as she glanced at her rider. Rhaenys smiled solemnly, comforting her dragon. It did not go unnoticed by Daenys that she had chosen to stay silent rather than answer.

"Grandmother." Daenys said. "This is a victory. We have injured Vhagar greatly, and Sunfyre and Aegon might be dead as we speak."

Both turned to fly towards the open water, and Daenys breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She would take her grandmother home safely, where she could continue to advise her mother in Daenys' temporary absence.

They flew over Rook Rest's tallest tower, relieved to see that Vhagar had fled.

Meleys, ahead of Morningstar, was suddenly thrown up into the air. Morningstar roared and halted her flight with angled wings as the other two ascended high into the air. Meleys was trapped by the neck in Vhagar's maw now, unable to do anything but cry out in agony. As Morningstar flew up to try and meet them, hot blood poured down onto the dragon and rider. It burned, though Daenys forced herself to wipe it away and cover her eyes with a hand. Morningstar faultered slightly, blindly flying and shaking blood from her face.

High above Rook's Rest, Vhagar let go of Meleys, dropping her down to the shore. Go after Rhaenys or finish off Aemond from behind? Daenys had no time to think, she simply moved on instinct. "Grab her!" She shouted towards Morningstar, who swopped down and grabbed Meleys' heavy body by the sides. The dragon screeched in pain again, though still could not manage the strength to fly again. Morningstar grunted with the effort, barely able to carry Meleys in her claws. She would not be able to save Meleys. She was bigger than Morningstar and too heavy to be carried anywhere but the hover she held her in.

Rhaenys stared up at her granddaughter with apology already written across her face. She was content to die with her dragon, but heartbroken to leave her grandchildren and husband in the living world.

Daenys unbuckled herself swiftly, reaching down and maneuvering her body to hang off the saddle with all but a leg and arm holding her up. "Climb up, hurry!" She begged her grandmother, who was only attached to Meleys through her own buckle. Her hands were at her sides, already accepting her honorable dragonrider's death.

Daenys could not accept such a thing.

Daenys sobbed at the look, shaking her head. Tears fell towards Rhaenys, landing on or past her ashen face. "Grandmother, please—!" Vhagar had returned.

Morningstar was thrown by Vhagar's talons, losing her grin on The Red Queen. Daenys couldn't even watch her fall, spinning around in the air as Morningstar fought to find air. Above, Vhagar roared as Daenys screamed.

"Go!" She pleaded as Morningstar finally straightened out, immediately fleeing towards Harrenhall.

Vhagar did not follow this time, instead clumsily landing near Sunfyre's fallen spot. Daenys panted heavily, looking below and behind her desperately to spot Meleys. The dragon had fallen to the shores below, where the land met sea. So close to Dragonstone. They were so close to Dragonstone.

Daenys numbly looked forward, releasing her death grip on the saddle's handles. Red poured out from Morningstar's scaled side, revealing the damage Vhagar's throw had done to her. "I'm sorry, Morningstar." She whispered, leaning lamely over the saddle and staying like that for her entire flight.

🗡

Upon landing, Morningstar had been silent. Perhaps mourning Meleys just as much as Daenys was mourning Rhaenys. They had lived close together, flying often to Driftmark and Dragonstone as all the other dragons who got along did.

Daenys saw Caraxes waiting by the entrance, where she had left him. Weakly, she couldn't even greet the Blood Wrym as he called out for the dragon and rider. Cregan, too, waited for her. Dressed now, it seemed like he waited outside the entire time since she had left, with no way to follow her.

The thought vaguely registered in her mind as Morningstar huffed and leaned down. Through bleary eyes, she saw Cregan climb her wing and reach out to hold Daenys' face in his hand. He wiped a spot of blood from her brow, frowning.

Her sleeves had burnt off entirely, leaving small bits of fabric to conseal her modesty. The last thing she cared for at the moment, if she were honest. Dragon blood smeared across her as if it were her own: covering her face, hair, neck, arms, and dress. She did not have time to go to Dragonstone and don her scaled armor.

"What has happened?" He asked softly, working with the cuff of his sleeve to gently wipe away at her face. It was in vain, though, only working to smear it further when it had already dried. Daenys slumped her head into Cregan's neck, shaking her head defeatedly. He clutched her in his arms immediately, lifting her from her saddle and carefully bringing her down the wing and to the grass. He glanced at the wounded dragon behind him, who seemed to nod encouragingly at him as she continued laying down.

With only Ser Simon at the entrance, Cregan passed by the older man with a shared concerned glance. Davos had left after Daenys did that morning, to meet with Willem Blackwood and the Brackens before Caraxes and Daemon set off. Horseback was much slower, after all.

His return depended on his father's command, but if he did, it wouldn't be until later that night.

"Have someone bring food and a bowl of clean water to the Princess' chambers." Cregan told Simon, who nodded and went off to find a servant.

Daenys hung in his arms as if she were dead, despite being uninjured. She did not want to live, not with the sins that weighed so heavily on her soul. Three deaths, she was indirectly responsible for.

Two people Aemond had directly taken from her. Kinslayer, twice over. Mayhaps three, if Aegon did not survive his injuries.

Two deaths that Daemon did not intend for, but would be held responsible for by Daenys.

Luke, Jaehaerys, Rhaenys. The three names twirled around her mind like the ghosts themselves coming back to haunt her. She had finally learned to trust herself—trust her mind. And all she had gotten was a front seat view of the death instead of the ability to change it.

No, perhaps she could change it still. She just wasn't trying hard enough. She didn't push Rhaenys hard enough to retreat, nor fought Vhagar hard enough when she had the chance. Rhaenys died for her mistakes.

Morningstar almost did, too. Perhaps Aemond only gave her mercy to torment her with her guilt. He knew she couldn't kill him. Not like she could all those soldiers in front of the castle.

Ik I said Thursday for update day, but I got stopped a lot for various things. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, wanted some cute and some action.

She was not a kinslayer, not directly. Even so, she had witnessed the deaths of four of her kin. Four would not be the last, not in this dance of dragons. It would not stop until all the dragons and their riders were dead.

🗡

Ñāqatubis qēlos - Morning Star

or Tubis qēlos, I was getting two different answers

Half of this chapter is me trying to make a cute day out. Beach episode! 😋 and procrastinating the process for the last half, which was a nightmare to write. Born to write whimical dreams and drama, forced to write dragons fighting to the death or whatever.

Will Cregan be mad that Daenys didn't come to him first? Left him, waiting for news of her death on dragonback?

Did anyone get the little Phantom of the Opera quote?

Every time I see Vhagar compared to other dragons, the reality of her ACTUALLY being the biggest is still so jarring. She isn't just a bit bigger by technicalities, but a behemoth compared to them. She makes Meleys, the third biggest in the world, look like a baby dragon compared to her. When she crushed those men to basically nothing with her hind foot, damn. Makes me wonder how big Balerion was and why every dragon after the Doom grew smaller and smaller. Probably due to some magic only available in Old Valyria, I would adore a show purely about the dragon country. I love dragons sm, I wish we had more live actions media for them 😪

Daenys talks about her perfect life with Cregan and all of their loved ones. I wonder how Winterfell functions as a society, being less formal than the south but still holding its own type of regality. I think the Starks in GOT were quite like the image she pictured, pre-show. Tight-knit though the siblings squabbled like true siblings do, but always having family dinner and telling each other about their days. They never got to get a normal ending, but I think if they had and the sons and daughters eventually married off, everyone would still visit Winterfell often to have get togethers and see each other. Take Ned Stark's parenting and compare it to Tywin, Robert, Stannis, etc. Very indifferent and detached, only seeing their kids as succesors and political pieces rather than kids to love and cherish.

Did Rhae Rhae name Daenys after her dreamer ancestor or after her father disguised with her ancestor's name, no one will know except for her (every time I type Daemon it trys to correct to Daenys PLS).

Daenys not wanting to seem thirsty for cregan, meanwhile he's getting the opposite idea and thinking she looked away because she was totally indifferent and he's like 🙁 i lost my touch (the winterfell ladies are DEFINITELY all over their Lord Stark) and maybe thinking she doesn't care for his looks, being a different standard of beauty from southern men.

Can you tell I love the gentlemanly hand kiss thing? It's a lost art, not even considered romantic most of the time and simply being a polite greeting or farewell gesture, but its so intimate in its own way compared to a hug or handshake.

ALSO thinking about Silverwing/Vermithor size difference. Silverwing is pretty small, like Syrax size. Vermithor is HUGE and is completely a different size category than the dragons below him including his lovely dragon wife. Syrax and Caraxes are similar sizes. It reminds me of that meme with the tiny male rabbit looking up at his humongous fem rabbit wife and its kinda reversed for Silver and Vermithor, and also mirroring Daenys and Cregan slightly with their size difference and color schemes.

One thing I've unintentionally done is make Daenys insecure about her being deemed mad and unsociable by others, but one thing she's never been insecure about is her looks. In fact, she doesn't deny when Cregan or a bard calls her beautiful or something of the like. I think that part of her character kind of ran away from me and did itself. Shes surprised when someone finds her tolerable to be around and seeks her conpany, but only happy when someone compliments looks. There's a lot of insecure MCs who worry about their looks (no shade to that, it makes characters more relatable) but I think Daenys hasn't been insecure of her appearances, only her actions.

I google a million stupid questions per chapter. This chapter's: can pearls be found in lakes? Of course they can, Cherry, muscles and clams still live in lakes.

#dragondreamer #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark #hotd #hotd season 2 #tom taylor

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aiyse-io · 2 months

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satoru gojo who really couldn't stand geto leaving. (aka he fucks geto's (ex?) girlfriend until she sees stars because he's a raging spite machine) wc: 586. not proofread.

"fuck-" he snapped his hips mercilessly, his face containing a fury the likes of which you had never seen.

not that you could really see his face, your vision blurred to all hell by the salty tears pooling in your eyes as you cried from the brutal thrusts to your poor cervix.

"s'toru-!" your cries fell on deaf ears, the mentioned man hyperfocused on his current task-- getting revenge.

"are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo, or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?" he mocked, the venom on his tongue preventing any rational thought from entering his brain, "i'll show him who's the- fuck- who's the strongest."

he punctuated his ambitions with a discordant plunge of his hips into your bruised cervix, a loud wail tearing from your lips as your nails etched angry red marks into his biceps. he was so, so mean, and so, so hot.

a shamefully pleasant- and terribly familiar- feeling began to bubble up in your gut. your quivering lip tried to hide in his neck, but the sensation quickly proved too much for your ravaged body to handle and you found yourself spilling your thoughts to him.

"s'toru! ah- fuck- satoru, i can't-"

"don't worry, pretty girl-" he interrupted himself with groan, and you felt his thrusts grow weary from the continuous effort, "cum for me. prove that i'm better than him." one of his veiny hands lifted from beside your head to brush your hair out of your face before swiping his thumb across your cheek to wipe away those pretty tears.

every rational part of your mind ached for you to disobey him. it pleaded with you to hold back, to not bolster his ego any further. after all, a part of you still loved suguru. but every ounce of rationale had left you as soon as you agreed to let him fuck you, the same as every ounce of anything left you as one more wonderful thrust of his hips caused his skin to brush your swollen clit, sending you barreling over the edge.

a terribly loud and fervent sob raked from your lips as your cunt clenched around his cock like a vice, your thighs trembling violently around his waist. your eyes fluttered shut, but even if they hadn't, all the sensations were too overwhelming and you were dizzy and your vision was blurry and dark, and then everything stopped.

you were completely and utterly engulfed in bliss, a post-orgasm haze washing over you like a warm blanket on a cold night. satoru stilled above you, his chest covered in a sheen of sweat and heaving with exertion. "poor baby... little too rough for you?" he chuckled softly as he pulled out, his cum gushing out onto the bedsheets.

he sighed and cleaned it up before collapsing at your side and pulling you into his arms, earning a soft whine from you. "can't believe that bastard left such a pretty lil' thing like you." you couldn't tell if it was a compliment or meant to be just another dig at suguru, but you couldn't care less at the moment, simply choosing to relish in the comfort his arms brought. it helped just enough to fill the void suguru left, at least for now.

satoru pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand tracing lazy circles on your hip as your body fell closer and closer to falling asleep.

"don't worry, doll. i won't leave you like he did. i'll never leave you."

my first smut, what do we think?

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pretzel-box · 16 days

Text

PART 4 | MASTERLIST HERE

Tags: Mentions of violence, Injuries, Cruel Behaviour in general. It's dark content. Painter included. Slow burn starting now!

Trigger warnings: Force Feeding, Isolation, different types of Abuse

Words: 5,4k

Authors Note: First, this will be one of the last extremly violent chapters of AASB, going to announce more in the next chapter. For all people who wanna stop the series: The first part will be skip able in future. The series officially starts it's main plot now.

Also everything here is pure fiction. I do not support behaviour shown in this fiction or similar things.

You lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, surrendering to the soft glow of Sebastian’s lure. The shadows that had clung to you like a second skin began to peel away, retreating in the face of that delicate light. You let yourself sink into its gentleness, a stark contrast to the harsh brutality you knew all too well. The light kissed your skin with a softness that mocked the cruelty of his nature, and you almost allowed yourself to forget, for just a moment, the monster standing before you. A faint ringing filled your ears, like distant bells swaying in the wind—haunting, persistent, pulling you deeper into the quiet of your own mind.

Sebastian had hurled you to the ground with newfound force, his face twisted into a mask of disgust and seething anger. The tenderness that once lived in his eyes was gone, replaced by the stark void of his hatred. It was in that moment you understood—Sebastian Solace’s hatred ran deeper than any ocean, plunging into unfathomable depths where light couldn’t reach.

Trusting him had been your mistake, one that now felt like a betrayal to yourself. You had dug your own grave the moment you allowed yourself to believe in him, each passing day another shovel of dirt thrown into the hole you were carving. You could feel it now, the weight of your naivety, pressing down on you like the earth you had prepared for your unmarked tomb. How you loathed yourself—each breath you took was heavy with self-hatred, each beat of your heart a reminder of your foolishness. You were a creature cursed, revolting even to yourself.

The world watched with cruel amusement as you wept silently in your mind, never daring to shed a tear in front of him. You knew better—Sebastian would feast on your weakness, your tears nothing more than a victory to him, a reminder of how thoroughly he had broken you.

“Let’s return,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness like a jagged blade. Before you could even process his words, he was hauling you off the ground, two of his arms wrapping around your torso with a bruised force that could be fatal if he wished it to be. He slung you over his shoulder with brutal efficiency, the suddenness of it stealing the breath from your lungs. His shoulder dug into your stomach, the pressure sending waves of pain radiating through your abdomen, but you swallowed the whimper threatening to escape. You knew better than to complain.

Each of his steps sent jolts through your body, the world swaying violently with his movements. It reminded you of the ride in the submarine, the same sickening lurch of your stomach as the vessel dove deeper into the abyss. But this was worse—there was no escaping the pain, no reprieve from the way his shoulder pressed cruelly into your stomach, no chance to catch your breath. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, drawing blood as you forced yourself to remain silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing you in pain.

The cold night air stung your skin like tiny needles, mingling with the heat of your bruises. You could feel Sebastian’s anger simmering just beneath the surface, a volatile force that could erupt at any moment. His grip on you was firm, almost punishing, as if he was holding back the urge to let his rage fully take over. His claws scraped against your skin, digging into the fabric of your diving suit as if he wanted to tear you apart right there and then. Each movement he did was heavy, deliberate, like he was slithering off the edge of the world—and taking you with him.

The silence between you was suffocating, the only sound his labored breathing, harsh and uneven like the growl of a beast barely restrained. The path ahead felt endless, shrouded in the same darkness that now consumed your mind, but you knew you had no choice but to endure. You had to let him carry you, helpless as you were, hoping that wherever his fury led, it wouldn't be darker than the void you were already in.

The air grew colder still as the familiar scent of rust and oil hit your senses, signaling your approach to his shop. When the heavy metallic door of the back room creaked open, the dim light inside cast long, warped shadows across the cluttered space. Tools and scraps of metal littered the floor, and the walls were lined with the remnants of failed projects. It was a dismal sanctuary, a reflection of the twisted mind that now held you captive. The memories of the strange camaraderie you once shared seemed distant now, almost transparent, like fleeting dreams dissolving in the harsh light of reality.

Your stomach churned as you took it all in, the fluttering hope you once felt now turned to heavy stones, weighing you down.

Sebastian didn't speak as he carried you inside, his grip still unyielding. He finally dropped you unceremoniously onto the cold concrete floor, and your legs wobbled, barely holding you as you stumbled forward. You struggled to catch your breath, the sharp, metallic taste of blood still on your tongue.

Moving with an eerie calm, Sebastian reached for a heavy iron chain hanging from the wall. The sound of it dragging across the floor echoed ominously through the small space, sending a shiver down your spine. He knelt in front of you, his fingers rough and uncaring as he clamped the shackle around your ankle, the rusted metal biting into your flesh with a finality that made your heart sink.

The weight of the chain was oppressive, a cruel reminder of your captivity. As he stood, his towering figure cast a long shadow over you, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on you—dark, unreadable, devoid of the person he had once been. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken tension of a thousand unshed tears, a thousand shattered dreams.

Finally, Sebastian turned away, retreating into the shadows of the hallway, his heavy movements echoing ominously in the cold space. The quiet clink of the chain as you shifted was the only sound that followed his departure, but just as you thought he had left you to the silence, his voice cut through the darkness once more—quiet, yet filled with a chilling rage that twisted your stomach into knots.

"Touch something, and I'll tear off your fingers one by one, make you chew on them." His voice, disembodied in the distance, crawled across your skin, each word heavy with venom. "Stay there. Be quiet. He will watch you, in case you're stupid enough to believe your dumb little self ever had a chance of escape. Every step you take, every breath you breathe—it will all lead to your final moment."

His threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating, the darkness of the hallway swallowing his presence, but the weight of his words lingered. Any remaining resolve you had left crumbled in that moment, your body giving way to the exhaustion and fear that had been gnawing at you from the inside. The little bit of self-control you’d been clinging to dissolved into dust, and you collapsed, sinking to the floor once more.

Your cheek met the cold, slick surface of the ground, a puddle of stagnant water pooling beneath you. The chill seeped into your skin, numbing the bruises that painted your body in shades of angry red and purple. The sharp sting from the fresh marks softened slightly as the water cooled them, offering the smallest reprieve in a moment that had become nothing but pain. Your fingers, trembling with the remnants of adrenaline and fear, lifted weakly, tugging at the chain that bound you to the spot. It rattled slightly, but the metal didn’t give—it was unyielding, unbreakable. The realization settled in like lead in your stomach: you were going nowhere.

You stared at the chain, the rusted links heavy and rough against your skin, testing its strength with a futile pull. It was clear that the chain wouldn’t move, that there would be no escape. The metal was too strong, too securely fastened to the wall, and you knew that trying to free yourself would only leave you more broken than you already were. You’d sooner tear off your own limb than remove the shackle that held you prisoner.

A deep sense of helplessness crept over you, suffocating in its intensity. The cold floor pressed against you, and the oppressive weight of the chain seemed to mirror the crushing burden of your circumstances. You were trapped—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, ensnared by Sebastian's cruelty, by the darkness that had taken root in him, and by the twisted, nightmarish reality that had consumed you both.

The sound of your shallow breaths filled the silence, the quiet clinking of the chain a constant reminder of your newfound situation. You could feel your heart beating heavily in your chest, each thud like a drumbeat of dread, echoing through the stillness of the shop. There was no one to hear your cries, no one to offer you comfort or solace. You were utterly alone.

In the distance, something shifted—a light flickering just barely out of sight, alarming you from the shadows and as Sebastian had promised you, you felt something or someone gaze at you. You didn’t need to see it to know it was there, his presence a dark, looming threat that kept you rooted in place. Every movement you made, every breath you took, was being monitored, controlled. There was no room for defiance, no space for hope. You were at the mercy of a person whose cruelty knew no bounds.

As the hours stretched on, the cold seeped deeper into your bones, and exhaustion began to take its toll. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by the chain, the bruises, the fear. But even as your eyelids fluttered, too tired to stay open, your mind remained restless, unable to escape the nightmare that had become your reality. You didn’t know what would come next, but the dread that gnawed at you made it clear—it wouldn’t be anything good.

“My, my. What a sight. You must be exhausted, hm? I’m sorry to see that. Actually, I’m not. But manners, am I right?”

The voice was smooth yet dripping with sarcasm, echoing around the room. Your eyes darted to the corners, searching for the source, but the space was empty, save for you and the suffocating darkness. At first, you thought it was just the weight of your own thoughts manifesting into cruel whispers. But this was different—clearer, sharper, too vivid to be a mere figment of your mind.

“Sebastian spoke about you. Well, I saw you two around, and I must admit,” the voice continued, a cruel edge slicing through its tone, “it made me digitally gag to see you being all lovey with him. What did you expect?”

Your body trembled, whether from the cold, the pain, or the creeping terror, you couldn’t tell. The voice was relentless, mocking you with each passing second. Was it your own mind finally breaking under the pressure? Had you gone completely mad, hallucinating voices that only added to your torment?

“Oh, Sebby~ Marry me! Kiss me! I love you, my wonderful strong man,” the voice sang mockingly, its tone twisted into a grotesque parody of your affection for Sebastian. It was like it was pulling memories from your deepest insecurities, twisting them into something vile, something repulsive.

The nausea rose in your throat as the voice continued, its words a dagger to your pride, to your self-worth. “You, yeah you, little maggot. You’re nothing more than a small, filthy animal. A distraction to him.”

Your heart sank deeper, your mind unable to grasp the weight of it all. The words were harsh, brutal, hitting like blows you couldn’t defend against. The worst part? A piece of you believed it. You always had, in the darkest corners of your mind.

“I.”

“Can’t.”

“Allow.”

“THAT.”

The final word was like a trigger. In an instant, the warm yellow lights flickered before plunging the room into darkness. Seconds later, an eerie red glow filled the space, the emergency lights kicking in. They cast twisted shadows on the walls, making the room feel even smaller, more oppressive. The faint hum of the machinery faded into silence, replaced by the steady drip of water and the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Your breath hitched, fear tightening its grip around your chest as the voice carried on, undeterred by the change in atmosphere. “You were a distraction from the very moment you set foot on this ground. What did you expect? A warm welcome?” It laughed, a sound so devoid of warmth it sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you. You are so dead that it warms my digital heart.”

There was a brief pause, almost as if the voice was savoring the tension, the fear it had created. The red light bathed the room in a hellish glow, and the wet floor beneath you felt even colder, seeping through your clothes and chilling you to the bone.

“Sebastian loathes you so much,” the voice purred, each word like venom slipping into your veins. “Keep being like that, and he will gut you with his claws, hang you outside his shop as a snack for our little wall-dwelling friends.”

The imagery hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind conjured images of yourself hanging lifelessly from some rusted hook, your body torn apart, Sebastian’s eyes cold and indifferent as he offered you up like some worthless sacrifice. The thought left you gasping for air, your chest tight with panic.

The voice circled around you like a predator, never showing itself, only speaking in cruel, tormenting tones. Every word chipped away at your already fragile state, leaving you teetering on the edge of despair. You had been pushed so far, and this—whatever this was—felt like the final push over the precipice.

“Face it,” the voice hissed, dripping with malice. “You were never important. Not to him, not to anyone. And soon, you’ll be nothing more than a forgotten memory, rotting in the dark.”

The red light flickered again, casting the room into momentary darkness before returning to its ominous glow. You could hear your own shaky breaths, the sound of the chain clinking as you tried, once more, to pull yourself up. But you couldn’t. You were too weak, too broken.

The voice fell silent for a moment, as if satisfied with the damage it had done. But you knew it wasn’t finished. It was waiting, watching, savoring the fear coursing through your veins like a twisted game.

In the silence that followed, all you could do was lie there, helpless and trembling, waiting for whatever nightmare would come next.

The door slammed open a while later with a deafening crash, sending a tremor through the cold, darkened room. You jolted at the sound, instinctively curling in on yourself as best you could with the chain still clamped around your ankle. Sebastian had returned.

His silhouette filled the doorway, towering and menacing. His once familiar frame, the one that used to offer you comfort, was now nothing but a looming shadow of cruelty. He trudged into the room, his arms laden with rusted metal scraps, chains, and jagged pieces of equipment, the weight of it all clattering to the floor in a heap.

You stared at the pile, heart pounding. The heavy scent of oil and rust filled the air, almost suffocating, mixing with the stale dampness that lingered from the puddle beneath you. Sebastian’s face was devoid of any expression, but his eyes—they were cold, dead, like pits of endless darkness.

He turned toward you, his gaze settling on your trembling form. There was no affection left, no trace of the man you once trusted. Without a word, he bent down to rummage through the scraps he’d brought, pulling out a tangle of wires and a metal pipe, testing their strength in his hands.

You watched him, fear spreading like ice in your veins. You tried to speak, to plead with him, but the words lodged in your throat, blocked by the growing terror. He noticed your gaze, his lips curling into a humorless smirk.

“Still think I’m gonna play nice?” he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. He tossed the pipe aside, slithering toward you with measured, deliberate strides.

Your stomach churned as he bent down before you, his large frame casting a shadow over your already shivering body while the red emergency lights framed his body from behind. He grabbed a metal bowl from beside the pile, filled with a strange mush that looked more like something scraped off a filthy factory floor than actual food.

“Eat.” His voice was cold, commanding.

You shook your head instinctively, repulsed by the sight of the disgusting slop. But Sebastian wasn’t having it. In a swift, brutal motion, he grabbed your jaw, forcing it open with a strong and painful grip. His other hand shoved the bowl towards your mouth, spilling the foul-smelling substance down your throat.

You gagged violently, choking on the taste as you tried to turn your head away in a pitiful attempt. But his grip was iron, unyielding like the chain around your ankle. Another set of fresh tears blurred your vision as the sensation of the slimy food rejecting it with every swallow. Still, Sebastian forced more into your mouth, his hand relentless.

“You don't get to decide what to eat or when you eat.” He cursed, it was clear that his little attitude pissed him off dearly.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked upward, narrowing as the faintest sound echoed through the room—a soft, metallic scrape, like something sliding across the vents above. His expression darkened, and he moved swiftly, grabbing a rag from the nearest table. Without hesitation, he turned back to you, eyes blazing with irritation.

“You stay quiet. Understand?” he hissed, his voice low and threatening.

You barely had time to react before he roughly jammed the rag into your mouth, gagging you with a sudden, forceful shove. The musty fabric pressed against your tongue, cutting off any chance of speech, and you choked slightly, tears springing to your eyes as the gag tightened painfully around your jaw. Sebastian didn’t care. He secured it tightly, making sure there was no way for you to spit it out.

The scraping sound grew louder, the unmistakable noise of someone crawling through the ventilation system. Sebastian’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, his lips curling into a sneer.

“An expendable,” he muttered to himself, as if the very thought disgusted him.

Without another word, Sebastian grabbed you by the arm, dragging you across the room with ease. You stumbled, legs shaking beneath you, as he roughly shoved you behind a stack of debris and rusted crates. The hard metal edges scraped against your skin as you were wedged into a narrow space, hidden completely from view.

His hand lingered on your shoulder for a brief moment, his grip tight and bruising. He leaned down close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Not a sound,” he whispered, his voice cold and final. “If they find you, I’ll make sure they never leave this place alive—and you’ll wish you never left that damn floor.”

With that, he turned sharply, moving away from your hiding spot with a calm, deliberate stride. You could hear the soft clink of tools being moved as he pretended to busy himself with the clutter on his files and items, acting as though nothing unusual was happening at all.

Your heart raced in your chest, the gag muffling your shallow breaths as you crouched behind the debris, every muscle in your body tense with fear. The faint echo of movement in the vents grew louder, closer, and then—finally—a metal grate fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could just make out the figure dropping down from the vent. The expendable customer, covered in grime and sweat from their journey, straightened up, looking around the shop with wide eyes. They appeared nervous, their gaze darting around the room as though expecting something—or someone—to jump out at them.

Sebastian didn’t look up at first, continuing to tinker with some random tool on his table. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you as you remained frozen in your hiding spot.

“Uh... h-hey,” the expendable stammered, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “I was... I was sent for a quick purchase. Heard you’ve got some code breachers for me.”

Sebastian finally turned, his expression cool and detached. He wiped his hands on a rag, tossing it aside before speaking.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I don’t have any. Also you're late. I was about to close.”

The expendable gulped, looking even more anxious than before. “Sorry! It’s just... the vents, y’know? Not exactly the easiest way to get around. I didn’t mean to—”

“Spare me the excuses,” Sebastian cut in sharply, stepping closer to the newcomer. “You want code breachers? No. And next time you make me wait, I won’t be so generous and keep it at no but show you what it means to disturb me.”

You couldn’t see Sebastian’s face from where you were hidden, but you could feel the cold menace in his tone. The expendable, clearly intimidated, nodded quickly, fumbling with their pack as they prepared to make the exchange.

Your pulse quickened, every nerve in your body screaming for you to stay still, to remain silent. From your cramped hiding spot, you could hear the faint rustle of the transaction taking place, but your mind was too fogged with panic to process it. The metallic taste of the gag filled your mouth, making you feel sick as you struggled to keep your breathing steady.

A few minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and finally, the expendable mumbled a hurried thanks before turning to leave. You heard the clatter of boots as they climbed back into the vent, the grate rattling shut behind them.

Sebastian waited until the sound of their movements faded completely before he moved again. He approached your hiding spot, his tail scapes against the floor slow and deliberate as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Without a word, he reached for the gag, yanking it roughly from your mouth. The sudden freedom made you gasp for air, your lips sore and bruised from the pressure of the cloth. But before you could say anything, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Remember,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “You’re nothing here. And if you think for a second that anyone’s coming to save you, you’re dead wrong.”

With that, he released your chin.

You swallowed hard, the metallic taste of the gag still lingering on your tongue as your mind raced with desperation. Every bruise on your body throbbed, a constant reminder of your helplessness, your complete powerlessness. But something inside you, some flicker of survival, pushed you to speak. Maybe there was a way out. Maybe if you could make yourself useful and get him items, Sebastian wouldn’t see you as just another burden, another thing to be crushed beneath his heel.

You forced yourself to your feet, even though your legs trembled beneath you, and moved from your hiding spot. Sebastian hadn’t gone far. He stood a few feet away, tinkering with the pile of scrap he had gathered earlier, his back turned to you. The soft clinks of metal scraping together echoed in the dim shop, blending with the faint hum of the remaining lights overhead.

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, but you had to push past it. There was no other choice.

“Sebastian,” you rasped, your voice weak but determined. He didn’t respond immediately, his hands continuing to work on whatever twisted piece of metal lay in front of him. You swallowed again, throat dry, and forced yourself to take a step closer. “Let me help.”

At that, he froze, his hands hovering over the tools. Slowly, he straightened, turning his head just enough to glance at you from the corner of his eye. The silence stretched unbearably, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake. If he was about to lash out, to hurt you more than you could handle. But you pressed on, your desperation outweighing your fear.

“I... I know I’m nothing to you,” you continued, voice trembling. “But I can be useful. I can help you. Whatever you’re planning—whatever you need to do—I’ll do it. I’ll be your tool, your... your instrument. Just don’t throw me away.”

His head turned fully now, eyes narrowing as he studied you. His expression was unreadable, cold and calculating as he took in your words, your trembling form. You felt the weight of his gaze settle on you like a suffocating blanket, but you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. This was your only chance.

“I know I’m weak,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you can use that, can’t you? No one would expect me. No one would see me coming. I can do things for you that no one else can. I’ll be loyal. I’ll follow your orders without question. I swear.”

Sebastian’s lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker, something twisted. He took a step closer, and instinctively, you flinched, but you stood your ground, heart pounding in your chest.

“And why,” he said slowly, voice low and dangerous, “would I trust someone like you? A tool is only as valuable as its reliability. And you?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your face. “You’ve proven to be nothing but a nuisance.”

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you forced yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “Because I have nothing left,” you whispered. “I’ve already lost everything. You... you’re the only thing I have now. If I can be of use to you, then that’s all that matters. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” You played the submissive victim, trying to fool him once again.

For a moment, the room was silent. Sebastian’s eyes bored into yours, searching, testing. Then, slowly, he straightened, his expression darkening.

“So, you want to be useful, do you?” he said, his tone mocking. “You want to be my tool? My little puppet?”

You nodded, heart hammering in your chest. “Yes.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand shot out, grabbing you by the jaw with bruising force. His fingers dug into your skin, and you winced, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

“You’ll regret those words,” he murmured, his voice a cold whisper against your ear. “Because once you’re mine, there’s no going back. I will use you. I will break you. And when I’m done, there will be nothing left of who you were. Nothing.”

You shuddered, but you nodded again, the words catching in your throat. “I understand,” you croaked.

Sebastian released you, pushing you back slightly as he took a step away, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something dangerous.

“Fine,” he said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “Let’s see how useful you can be.”

He turned back to the pile of scrap, gesturing to the tools scattered around. “Start by cleaning this mess up. And don’t think about running. Because if you do... I’ll make sure you regret ever thinking you could outsmart me.”

You dropped to your knees immediately, grabbing the tools with trembling hands.

You hesitated for a long moment, the memory of that mocking voice still fresh in your mind. It had been gnawing at you ever since the encounter, the cruel taunts echoing in your head like a relentless reminder of your growing desperation. Now, with Sebastian looming over you as you fumbled with the tools he had tossed your way, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You had to tell him.

“Sebastian,” you started, your voice shaky as you glanced up at him from where you knelt on the ground. He didn’t respond right away, still focused on the piece of scrap he was fiddling with, his brows furrowed in concentration. But you pressed on, your voice growing steadier as you spoke. “There’s… there’s something I need to tell you. Earlier, when you left me alone in here… I heard something.”

His movements slowed slightly, though he didn’t turn to look at you. “What did you hear?” he muttered, his tone indifferent, as if he was expecting some trivial complaint. You swallowed nervously, fingers gripping the wrench in your hand a little tighter.

“It was a voice,” you said quietly. “A man’s voice. He… he was talking to me. Mocking me.”

That got his attention. Sebastian stopped entirely now, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, a scowl forming on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he growled. “You were alone.”

“I know I was,” you stammered, your heart racing as you tried to explain. “But I swear, I heard him. He said horrible things. Called me… called me a distraction. Said you’d gut me and hang me outside like some kind of… of warning.”

Sebastian’s scowl deepened, and for a second, you thought he was going to lash out, accuse you of lying or going mad. But instead, he let out an irritated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if this was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in frustration. “Of course, he would do that.”

“He?” you echoed, confused. “So… I’m not crazy? There really was someone talking to me?”

Sebastian shot you a withering glare, his annoyance clear. “It wasn’t just someone. It was someone I work with. A temporary helper.”

“A helper?” you repeated, still not quite following.

He tossed the scrap metal aside with a loud clatter and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you as if this whole situation was your fault. “Yeah, a helper. Painter, to be specific. He’s a glorified AI that Urbanshape trapped and a while back I asked him to help me with surveillance and data tracking. His main purpose is keeping an eye on things and handling some of the tech around here. Also, keeping the crystal secure from those filthy human idiots.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. “So… Painter’s an AI? But why would he talk to me like that? Why would he mock me?”

Sebastian scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because he’s an insufferable bastard if he wants to be,” he growled. “I gave him too much freedom for personality when I struck a deal with him. Thought it’d make him more efficient, but all it did was make him a smug little prick. He likes to mess with people. Especially weak ones.”

You flinched at the jab, but you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. At least now you knew you weren’t losing your mind. The voice had been real, even if it was just some sadistic AI.

“He watches everything,” Sebastian continued, his voice gruff as he turned back to his work. “If he saw you stumbling around like an idiot, he probably decided to have a little fun at your expense. Don’t take it personally. He’s just doing what he wants to do.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. “So… is he always watching? Even now?”

“Most likely,” Sebastian muttered, not looking at you. “He’s everywhere where I want him to be. The shop, the vents, the cameras. He sees everything, and he loves to play god when he can and when I allow him.”

You shuddered at the thought, the idea of being constantly watched by some twisted AI unsettling. But you swallowed down the discomfort, not wanting to show any more weakness in front of Sebastian. You’d already been humiliated enough.

“Just ignore him,” Sebastian added, his tone dismissive. “The more you react, the more he’ll push.”

“But, Painer will always be on my leash.”

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #roblox pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure #pressure x reader #asabovesobelow

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rileyglas · 6 months

Text

The List ~Pt. 3 - Chance~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: As you adjust to life in the hotel, you start to form bonds with other guests and offer your help when needed. However, things take a turn when you faint and wake up in the room of the one person you hoped to avoid.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness, Val is mentioned, Angel gets hurt (sorry), cursing, fluff, eventual smut (the next part is a SPICY one sinners), actual plot, slow burn, and of course 18+, this is the last shorter chapter, I'll start feeding you more!

1.7k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (You're on it!) Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

Over the next few weeks you seem to adjust well to the hotel. You try to help Nifty with at least one meal a day, give advice to Charlie on different ‘redemption exercises’, and have even helped an eggboy or two not get scrambled. Alastor seemed to keep his distance which was much appreciated (especially after hearing the stories and history of the “Radio Demon”). You do what you can to fill the void you feel from not being able to help to your full potential. Of course, there really hasn’t been a need for your expertise. But as they say, ask and you shall receive.

Angel was coming in from yet another brutal shift with Val. He was usually quick to dismiss the bruising around his wrists and face. “Comes with the job babe!” He’d say through a toothy smile. “I didn’t do a good job if I don’t come home with some battle scars!” You’d share a look with Husk, silently agreeing how fucked up this was, but Angel always changed the subject to avoid any pity or awkwardness.

This time was different. It was later than usual. Everyone but you and Husk had long since made their way to bed. Angel walked in staggering and not in the ‘oh he was out with Cherri’ way. He was barely able to make it to the couch before collapsing to his hands and knees. His breathing shallow and raspy – you could hear the blood gurgling in his lungs as he struggled with each breath. This was the worst Val had done yet. That motherfucker is going to kill him one day if he keeps this up – Overlord or not, he’s going to pay. You take a mental note to make a visit to Val, but right now, Angel needed help.

Carefully you try to lift him onto the couch. Angel hisses from the sudden movement. Damnit this is bad. I need a few seconds without any eyes around. “Husk, be a dear and run up to my room please. I have some medical supplies by my bed.”

“No need, I have some stuff behind the ba----” he stops when he sees the glare you’re shooting over your shoulder. “Ah alright fine, I’ll be right back.” he grumbled as he made his way up the stairs. That was the great thing about Husk - he wasn’t one to ask too many questions.

Finally alone you lay Angel back on the couch. “Hey Angel? Babe? I need you to look at me. I know it hurts and it’s hard to breathe but I have a trick that’ll help relieve some of the pressure. Trust me?” He places one of his hands on your shoulder as confirmation, unable to get enough air to speak. Time to work my magic.

Kneeling by the couch, you gently place your hands on his ribs and stomach while leaning your head over his chest, “Alright babe I need you to take a deep breath and close your eyes. This won’t feel great.” You wince as the words leave your mouth. For this to work you’d have to cause him some discomfort otherwise some more complication questions might arise. R̷̢͙̃ǘ̷̮͔͠l̵̰̝̆ḛ̷̀͊ ̵͕̍#̵̜̌2̷̼́̅ Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have.

“Ok eyes closed and breathe in 3……2…..1….” I’m sorry Angel, you deserve so much better than this. In one motion you shove into his ribs sending him writhing in pain while you place a soft kiss on his chest. The internal injuries made it easy to hide the pink glow that usually came from the wound, however the pain…yeah that shit still felt like torture. During your time training with Carmilla you learned the graver the injury, the more agonizing it was for you. After a few intense moments of pain, you pull away and sit back on your legs, trying to hide the lingering sting you felt in your lungs.

Angel groaned as he opened his eyes, finally able to take a proper breath. “Uhhhgg—what the fuuuuuuuuuuck was that?”

“Just some tricks I had to learn living in the city. You know how rough it gets out there. Glad you’re already feeling better.” You peck Angel’s cheek, feeling a soft twinge on your lips. The last bit of bruising on his face fades without him even realizing it. “Thanks toots. I don’t know how you did it, but I owe ya one.”

On queue Husk turns down the stairs with your medical kit. His face twists in a mix of relief and shock watching Angel up moving as if he wasn’t just on the verge of death five minutes earlier. He chuckles making his way back behind the bar. “Damn you’ve got quite the touch I see.” You tense at his choice of words. Fuck fuck fuck…calm down, he didn’t see anything. “Remind me to keep you on speed dial. Satan knows this one is bound to need you around again!” Husk points to Angel who by now has taken his usual place at the bar. “Oh shut up pussycat – the only thing I need right now is a few shots to forget this day ever happened! Let’s go! Booze me up Mr. Bartender!”

Deciding you have had enough excitement for the night, you say good evening to the guys and drag yourself through the quiet halls. Cursing the aftershock your body was going to endure after having to heal such extensive damage. It wasn’t horrible, more annoying like a bad hangover or flu, but the joy and warmth you felt from being able to help always made the pain more than worth it. You were just a few doors away from your room when your vision blurred. Why is the hall spinning? I don’t remember drinking. Oh fuck ----

Soft music fills your ears as you regain some form of consciousness. A familiar smell floods your senses causing your eyes to shoot open. Looking around you realize you’re in Alastor’s room. Not that you’d been here before, but between the bayou to your left and the freshly laundered red suits hanging by the door - it was obvious. Plus, his smell filled the room. You’d only dreamt of that smell and his warmth at least twice a week since first meeting the demon, much to your frustration.

Sharp static and ringing fill your ears as you sit up. Is this going to happen every time with this guy? Alastor appears in his chair by the bayou, chest puffed out and legs crossed. “Finally awake I see. I was just leaving my radio tower for the evening when you were coming down the hall. Quite a spectacle watching you try to walk straight. Drink too much with our good pal Husker?”

There he goes again trying to drill his eyes into your soul. You’ve seen him interact with the others. His eyes never had the same intensity as they did with you. Lie lie lie. “Yeah, you know how hard him and Angel go some nights. Guess I shouldn’t try to keep up next time.” You try to laugh it off hoping the answer was sufficient enough for him to drop the subject.

It wasn’t.

“Hmmm that’s funny. I didn’t smell a bit of alcohol when I picked you up off that floor.” Shit. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything dear however blatantly lying to me will get you on a side you don’t want to be on.” The static in his voice was piercing. You stared at him in silence. Work brain work, please give me anything. Rule #4 Never let your w̸͉̐e̵͓͐a̷̘͆k̴̭̏ñ̶͔e̶̢͒s̵̩̉ś̵͈è̸̮š̶͚ ̴̣̏s̴̖̈́h̷̲͐o̶̳͗w̷̱̾. Your lack of response apparently told him everything he needed in the moment. Standing up now, he begins to mindfully take off his jacket, unbutton his vest, and push up his sleeves.

This is it. This I how I die. And all because ---- oh fucking hell --- how did he get even more attractive? Is he doing this on purpose? Wow I’ve really got to get my priorities straight.

You can feel your heart pounding into your throat in anticipation as he sits in front of you on the bed. He slowly removes his gloves and tosses them to the side table.

“Let’s try this again…“

He reaches for your hands making you jerk slightly but he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. You feel him pull you and as if under a spell, you follow mindlessly until you’re resting on your knees. He brings your inner wrist to his lips, gently peppering kisses between his words.

“What could possibly... “ kiss

“cause someone to drop as if… “ kiss

“the very life was sucked out of them?” kiss

An unfamiliar heat rips through your body, settling in your stomach and a little lower if you were being honest. You’ve never allowed anyone to be this intimate with you. Rule #3 N̴e̵v̴e̶r̵ ̷b̶r̷i̶n̸g̷ ̷a̸n̵y̷one too close.

“I – I – don’t..I didn’t – just tired.“ you give up on trying to form a coherent answer. What is he trying to get out of this? Alastor rests your hands on his cheeks. A deep sigh leaving his lips when he feels your warmth. You didn’t dare move, realizing you were just as touch starved as the demon in front of you.

Your mind is at full blown war. Torn between the desire to lean into this precarious high and absolute rage that he was trying to get into your head.

“I need to know so I can help you, my dear. I want to protect you.” His voice was clear but low. It lacked any trace of his usual radio effect. It’s as if he was dropping every façade. Speaking to you not as the Radio Demon but as just Alastor. “You and I could do great things [Y/N]. Trust me. Let me show you.”

What is he doing? I have worked relentlessly to be one of the strongest, most elusive demons in Hell. I fear no one. I need NO ONE. Yet here I am completely unravelling…

….to the Radio Demon.

Rule #̴̤͌1̴̢͝ ̶̘̽N̵̹̐e̴̯̋v̷̳̈́e̸̯̎r̵̠̕ ̸͈̊t̵̼͑ŗ̷̃u̴͔̓s̷̢̑t̴̪̓ ̵͎̊a̴̺͛n̶̛̳o̴̺͆t̴̤̿h̶̗̿e̴̞̋ȓ̸͜ Overlord.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #fanfic #x reader #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #reader insert #fem reader #slow burn #alastor smut

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crazyinlovewithbucky · 1 year

Text

“don’t fill your void with me”

“Свою пустоту мною не заполняй”

Pairings: Villain!The Winter Solider!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: this takes place in an alternative universe where Hydra took over the world and the winter soldier killed all Avengers and he became the leader of Hydra and he’s controlling the whole world. He saw you one day and he determined you were his and he made sure of that. making you live very comfortably as his “favorite” mistress and he turns very very soft with you.

Warnings: heavy smut, some fluff (if u squint), villain bucky turns sweet, oral (f receiving), jealousy, dark themes, dark!bucky to soft!bucky, dom bucky, lots of praise + lots of praise in Russian.

This was inspired by Яд by Erika Lundmoen

please read my author note it’s very important!

AU/N: this is only part one and still working on part two. thought I’d make this only one part but it was too long I had to cut it into two parts. I need to remind you that English is not my first language so excuse any misspelling or mispronunciation of any words or any grammatical mistakes lol. Hope you enjoy this dark fantasy I had of Bucky as I was wondering how he would be still a villain. Also, this was heavily inspired by ‘Yad’ (Яд) by Erika Lundmoen, I love this song so much and it always reminds me of Bucky in his Winter solider era. Enjoy loves xx

PART 1.

You sighed before swallowing that last sip of the red wine glass that the air hostess brought you. This was already your 3rd glass. You looked through the window to the dark clouds and the night sky as you kept thinking and wondering how you get here in the first place. It was somewhat a normal Friday late afternoon, you were getting ready for the evening, and your –rich new– friends have prepared for you. They were setting you up with a blind date, they said it’s a very handsome guy who's an heir to a big industrial company. You weren’t amused that much as none of them know your secret or your secret lover.

Then you remembered him, your secret mysterious lover, who’s the reason you’re living this lavish rich lifestyle. You remembered six years ago, on the news, you were watching Captain America getting brutally killed by none other than The Winter Soldier himself. You watched the fall of this new organization of superheroes and agents called “The Avengers” and the new world order seeing light under the hands of The Winter Soldier. Hydra ruled and controlled every country in the world, including the USA. It was three years ago when you saw on the news that every leader and all the rulers of Hydra were killed and it was an inside job. The Winter Solider rebelled and killed every single one of them and he, alone, became the new Hydra leader, recruiting super soldiers and making the biggest army of super soldiers known to man.

A year ago, you were just a normal waitress girl, in a hotel restaurant, minding your own business and working just to make ends meet. You weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth and your upbringing was very normal and somewhat poor. Until one day your boss came and told you there will be a very important diplomatic meeting that’s happening in the hotel and he assigned you and two of your coworkers to wait on the leaders and diplomats. On this same very evening, you saw him for the first time. The Winter Solider. Bucky Barnes. Captain America’s best friend who was brainwashed by Hydra and was under control for decades. He was so charismatic, terrifying, very handsome, and absolutely dangerous. Just like a fallen angel, just like Lucifer himself. You were drawn to him at first glance until he noticed you and made eye contact with you. Your heart skipped a beat then, there was a connection between you both, you were certain of this as at first glance, you saw his face change emotion and he was staring at you.

“барышня, only 5 minutes till landing” You were brought back to reality from that memory train you were on by the sound of the bodyguard on your left. you nodded to him with a smile and fastened your seat belt around your hips.

Looking back at your past now made you wonder if you actually deserve to live this life or not, to go everywhere with a private plane like the one you’re in now. To live in the finest, most luxurious apartment in Brooklyn, to have rich friends and live a rich lifestyle, to attend galas and be the face of many luxury brands, all because of him, all because he liked you the first time he saw you, all because he promised you to make all your wishes and dreams come true only if you became his, all because he wanted his “favorite one” to be separate from the other women and to live like a princess whose all her dreams are granted.

In fact, you didn’t ask for any of this at all, but you loved the idea that he made all of this for you just because he thinks you’re worthy of it. In the end, you were “his favorite”.

The plane landed in the small very private airport near his mansion in Russia. you had your fur coat covering you. At least, you were dressed very fancy for the ball you were going to with your friends to meet your blind date. As you were about to leave your apartment, you were met by Bucky’s super soldiers' bodyguards at the front door of your apartment, telling you that The King wants you now. So you didn’t argue, you nodded and just took your bag and phone and left with them. This was your deal with him, him giving you whatever you want and desire in life, and you being available and there whenever he calls for you or want you. He has the plane ready for you and super soldiers protecting you and going everywhere with you, in case something goes wrong.

The guards guided you into the mansion and into Bucky’s suite which took up the whole second floor of the mansion. You walked with them till you arrived in front of the door of his office then they left you there alone. You knocked slightly.

“входить” his voice was deep and calm, you just felt butterflies in your stomach as you were very anxious and excited to see him, it’s been nearly a month since your last meeting with him and you missed him dearly. You opened the door and entered and as soon as you closed it behind you, he looked up from the pile of papers in front of him, his hair was perfectly combed, and he grew his beard, which was a very new look on him but also a very sexy one. He grinned widely as soon as his eyes met yours. “ahhh моя кукла”. he stood up from behind his desk and you walked closer to him and he moved closer to you too.

He kissed you very deeply and passionately before hugging you tightly, you hugged him back and buried your face in his neck. “Missed you so much, кукла” he whispered in your ear and kissed your neck softly.

“Missed you too, James” you smiled softly and he started to rub your back slightly.

You didn’t actually know how to address him, didn’t know if you should call him sir, king, soldier, Bucky, or James. You never actually asked, but you found James to be just perfect as you felt weirded out to call him sir or king. ‘James’ was good enough based on the relationship you both had, you were not actually lovers or boyfriend and girlfriend to be intimate and call him Bucky and yet you both weren’t platonic or had a strict respectful relationship to call him sir. so ‘James’ did the job perfectly.

At least, he didn’t complain about whatever you call him.

He removed your fur coat slowly and looked at your body and your fancy dress. “You look so beautiful,” he held your hand and spun you around to take a good look at the dress. It was a tall tight dress that hugs your curves perfectly with a very long slit on the left that shows your whole left leg from your upper thigh to your left foot. It was burgundy colored with a black sheer silk attached to it that gives the dress a matte look under lights. “did you get all dolled up for me?” he smirked at you when his eyes left your body and met your eyes.

“Well, umm-,” he leaned back on his office desk and sat on its edge and pulled you to him slowly “you didn’t give me any heads up that we were supposed to meet so I was actually going to a ball party with a bunch of friends” you looked down to your hands playing with his black suit’s blazer, trying to hide the truth that you were going on a blind date.

The thing you didn’t know about Bucky is that he is very good at reading body language and the second you broke eye contact and said that, he knew you were hiding something and that’s not the truth. But he didn’t want to confront you yet about it so he took it slowly. “Oh really?” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as your chests now touching and he has a perfect view of your boobs as it’s pushed up from the tight dress. “what kind of a ball party?” he moved his head and start kissing your neck.

“A normal one.” you bit your lower lip as his kisses now moved down to your shoulders and collarbone.

“normal one? what kind of a ball is that exactly?” he chuckled while his right hand moved down slightly and he started rubbing your left butt cheek as his kisses never stopped and his lips moved down to your chest, leaving more kisses.

“Just a normal ball party, James” you sighed, feeling more frustrated as you are getting more turned on by his touching and kisses and you feel yourself getting wetter, you can’t stand wearing your panties anymore, it’s getting more uncomfortable as you are soaked down there.

“A normal ball party where rich people gather around for whatever reason, stuffing their faces with crab cakes and drinking champagne until they’re passed out,” you said with an annoyed tone as you can’t just stand the teasing anymore.

The relationship you had with Bucky was just casual sex every now and then unless that was what you thought it was until 8 months ago, he started to show more feelings, starting saying “I miss you”, “I want you”, “you are beautiful”, “my girl”, “my favorite girl”, “my doll”, “baby girl”, but never the word “love”. He started being more romantic. Taking you on dates, of course, they were secret private dates as he was a known criminal and he shouldn’t be seen in public at all but with his power and money, he can rent or buy any restaurant or place in the world just so you both could enjoy your time and dates together.

He was very gentle with you, protecting you, getting you a big apartment in Brooklyn which was like 3 blocks away from his childhood home, he didn’t mention that at all but you knew it when you went to the Captain America museum and explored the whole room dedicated to Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, Captain America’s best friend.

You learned a lot about him, actually about the old him. Now, he’s just the winter solider, the cold blooded murderer who killed all his superiors and killed the avengers and is now running the Hydra organization and having the biggest super soldiers army in the universe.

But at least, he had a soft spot for you.

He moved his hands to the back of your thighs and lift you up, your legs wrapped quickly around his waist, which was sort of a habit as he loved picking you up like this, like his small girl. he kept looking at you and murmuring I miss yous and you look so beautiful, against your lips while kissing you and walking towards his bedroom, there was only a wall between his office and his bedroom. he opened the door, and his room wasn’t unfamiliar to you but you were just amazed every time by how big and wide it is. The ceiling is so high up and the walls are filled with paintings and mirrors.

He put you on his king-sized bed and you just laid on your back, looking at him. He smirked at you and moved his hands down your dress and took off your panties, freeing your soaked cunt from the now-uncomfortable material. “So, it was just a normal ball party with normal rich friends, huh?” he held your left ankle and pulled it up, and rested it on his shoulder. you nodded and saw him undoing the straps of your heels and taking them off. “Are you sure about that, кукла?” he gave you a very intense look and at that moment you knew that he knows you were hiding something so keeping it hidden won’t do you any good. “You know I hate it when you lie to me.” he rubbed your ankle and calf slowly, giving it a simple soft massage.

“I am not lying to you” Your tone was serious. “My friend, Emma, she set me up on a blind date with this guy,” you saw his facial expression get more tense and his hand tightened on your ankle a bit harder. “I mean, no one knows that I’m- umm, that we-… you know, together” Your tone was shaky as you started to get more anxious as his grip hardened on your ankle. “they just thought I’m single and wanted me to have a date so-..”

“So you decided to dress and doll up for a strange man, didn’t you?” he cut you off suddenly as you can see he started to get angry.

“No, they don’t know about us. No one knows. So I’m just playing the part. acting it. That’s it.” you said with a sad tone, breaking eye contact with him and looking up at the ceiling and huffing. this is truly what you felt like. Playing a part in Bucky’s world. Being nothing more than his sex doll and his mistress. You hate the fact that you wanted him and wanted to be with him forever and you just can’t handle living this lifestyle anymore. Yes, it’s a blessing but you didn’t want all of that, you didn’t ask for any of that. You just wanted him.

“Well, this dress is no good anymore. Can I tear it apart?” he put your left leg back again on the bed and pulled your other leg by the ankle and on his shoulder and removed your heels from this one too.

“Why isn’t it good anymore? I think it’s pretty.” you looked at him confused, not knowing what the dress has to do with anything.

“It is pretty but now, for me, it’s what you wore for another man’s eyes and not mine. I hate it now.” he pulled it up to your upper thighs and your legs are now bared to him.

“But what am I going to wear when I leave? Can’t just be wearing my fur coat. It’s freezing outside.” he chuckled darkly at your words and looked at you with a dark smirk on his face.

“As much as it would be so fucking hot of you to not wear anything except for a fur coat, I can get you any other dress that you want,” he grabbed the dress from its slit on your left thigh with his metal hand and ripped it open until the dress was fully ripped from the left side. “anyways, you’re staying for the whole weekend with me, I don’t want you wearing any clothes at all.” he moved up to meet your eyes and he pepper kissed your jawline. “and if you got cold, you can wear my clothes, my wardrobe is all yours, милая” he ripped and removed the dress from your body, leaving you fully naked underneath him.

you moaned slightly as his hands roamed your body, massaging and rubbing your boobs while his tongue is attacking your lips and mouth, kissing your hungrily. You opened your legs more for him, signaling to him where you wanted him the most. he removed himself from on top of you to get undressed. He removed all of his clothes and got on top of you again, kissing you passionately then starting to kiss you all over. Leaving marks and love bites all over your body, showing you who you truly belong.

“ты моя навсегда, куколка” his voice is raspy and deep, he moved his head down and kissed and sucked on your nipples, of course leaving marks and love bites on your boobs too. You were so needy for him and a part of you was glad that he was as much as needy for you as you are of him.

“James, please. I need you so bad. Please fuck me” you whined and opened your legs more for him. he pulled his head up and looked at you with nothing but pure lust in his now dark blue eyes.

“No, baby doll. No fucking. I missed you too much to just fuck you. I’m going to make love to you ‘cause you deserve this, honey. you’ve earned this.” he kissed your lips passionately but you were just startled, confused, and slightly shocked. You kept wondering why he would say such things and do such things. It’s the first time you ever see him being like this to you or talking like this to you. You were sick of these feelings you have for him and he was just toying around with them.

“You make love to someone you love, James. What we have isn’t love” You looked directly into his eyes with a concerned look on your face.

“Maybe you are right,” these words went straight to your heart and smashed it. You had a little hope he would correct you and tell you he loves you. “But tonight, just pretend that we’re in love. act it like you just said you’re acting it and playing a part.” you wondered if toying with your feelings like this was his way to punish you for what you just said about playing a part in your new life. “make me make love to you. make me show you how you’re supposed to be loved. Or at least humor me, принцесса” his mouth never left your face or your body. He couldn’t stop kissing you and leaving marks everywhere on your neck and body. You weren’t sure what his intentions were by what he just said. A little part of you hoped he meant what he was saying.

You felt his cock twitch against your thigh and felt him leaking. You couldn’t hold it any longer and you lift your hips up to meet his. Signaling to him that you need him. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just let me take my time with you first. I missed you too much” He said between breaths and kisses as he’s now moving down, kissing and leaving love bites all over your belly. “missed this belly,” he kissed your belly button. “missed my little ladies,” he grabbed your boobs with his hands as his mouth kept going down to your lower belly.

“but I missed this pretty girl the most.” you could feel his hot breath against your soaked cunt now, gushing more at the new nickname he gave to your pussy. he groaned when he saw you gushing and your slick is wetting the bed underneath you, making a mess everywhere. he looked up at you and you locked eyes with him while he slowly licked a long stripe between your folds, never breaking eye contact. This sight alone had you crying out and shutting your eyes while throwing your head back on the pillows.

Bucky kept flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud and sucking on it. He was really taking his time, he wasn’t fast or hard. He was simply just eating you out, slowly, gently, like he actually wants to taste you. You were so needy that you wanted more than that. You started pushing your hips more into his face and grinding slowly. “Greedy aren’t we, my little girl?” He got up and wiped his chain from your glistening slick with the back of his hand.

He got on top of you again and pressed his lips against yours, and you can taste yourself on his lips. he licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance and you opened your mouth happily for him, licking his tongue and tasting more of yourself. “Do you know what do you taste like?” he broke the kiss but his lips were right above yours. you shook your head slightly and bit your lips. “Like fucking peaches.” he pushed his tongue into your mouth again, kissing and licking it all over. “You taste like fucking peaches, especially your pussy.” you moaned into his mouth “You’re driving me insane, принцесса. Guess peaches are my new favorite fruit”.

He buried his face in your neck, attacking the sensitive skin again with kisses, especially that sweet spot that gets you all turned on and horny. As if you’re not going to lose your mind already from how horny you are. You could feel his tip pushing slightly on your clit and you were just a moaning mess at this point. “Ready for me, love?” he lifted his head and rested his head on your forehead, locking eyes with you.

“Always, Bucky” you whispered, his whole expression changed. his eyes widened a bit at the sound of his name slipping out of your mouth like honey. He hadn’t heard this name in so long, and you say it like this had his heart beating faster, if he wasn’t in love with you before, he believes now he is.

………………………………………………………………..

PART TWO

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raine-soft · 5 months

Text

Konig kidnapper and Ghost accomplice.

Warning: Kidnapping, tell me if I missed anything.

The abandoned warehouse was shrouded in oppressive darkness, interrupted only by the flickering light of an old lantern hanging from the ceiling. In the center of the room, y/n lay tied to a chair, her eyes full of confusion and fear as she looked at Konig, whose figure was silhouetted ominously against the shadows.

Konig, with his usual air of authority and confidence, approached y/n with sure steps, his gaze fixed on his prey with a mixture of obsession and adoration. “Finally, you are here, my dear y/n,” Konig murmured with a smile that sent shivers down y/n’s spine. "You have been the light in my life since I met you, and now you will be mine forever."

Y/n's eyes widened at Konig's words, trying to understand the surreal situation she found herself in. Before she could utter a word, Konig placed a soft but firm hand on y/n's cheek, caressing it with a tenderness that contrasted brutally with the violence-filled atmosphere.

“Everything in me belongs to you, y/n,” Konig continued, his voice echoing in the silence of the warehouse. "I will protect you from everything and everyone, because you are my reason for existing."

Meanwhile, in the shadows, Ghost watched the scene with a mix of worry and confusion. He had followed Konig to the warehouse after discovering his dark plan, but seeing the way his friend interacted with y/n, something inside him began to change.

"Konig, this isn't right," Ghost interjected, his voice heavy with anguish. "You must free y/n. This is not love, it is obsession."

Konig turned to Ghost with a piercing gaze, his eyes shining with determination. "You don't understand, Ghost. y/n means everything to me. I won't let anything or anyone separate us."

As time passed, Ghost continued to observe the dynamic between Konig and y/n. Although he had initially planned to rescue y/n and take her away from Konig, he found himself increasingly attracted to y/n's sweetness and innocence, which seemed to stand out even more in the midst of the darkness.

The relationship between Konig, Ghost and y/n became more and more complex. Konig, obsessed but also deeply in love, was overprotective of y/n with a ferocity that often bordered on the dangerous. Ghost, for his part, was torn between his loyalty to his friend and his growing feelings towards y/n, whose presence had filled a void in his life that he didn't even know existed.

Over the course of the days and nights in the warehouse, the dynamic between the three of them became more intense. Konig, increasingly consumed by his obsession and his need to protect y/n, found an unexpected ally in Ghost, someone who understood and shared his feelings towards the same person.

The situation reached a fever pitch when y/n, in an act of bravery and determination, confronted Konig and Ghost about the complexity of her feelings. “I’m not an object you can share or protect at will,” y/n exclaimed, her eyes filled with determination. "I am a person with my own desires and choices."

Y/n's words echoed through the air of the warehouse, her voice filled with determination and bravery as she confronted Konig and Ghost about the complexity of her feelings and actions. However, instead of receiving understanding or redemption, y/n was greeted with icy silence from Konig and a somber look from Ghost.

“How dare you talk like that, y/n?” Konig exclaimed, his voice filled with suppressed anger. "I brought you here to protect you, to love you, and this is what you get in return. You don't understand what I do for you."

Ghost remained silent, but his look was a mix of pain and disappointment. He had found a light in y/n in the midst of the darkness, but now he was faced with the reality of his actions and the complexity of his feelings.

Before y/n could respond, Konig stepped forward determinedly, his face masked by a harsh expression. “You must learn your place, y/n,” Konig said, his words heavy with menace. "I will not allow you to challenge my authority or my feelings. From now on, you will follow my rules without questioning them."

Konig's commanding tone and the implicit threat in his words left y/n breathless, feeling the weight of her vulnerable position in the hands of someone obsessed with controlling every aspect of her life. Ghost, for his part, remained silent, his gaze sad but resigned to the situation.

From that day on, the dynamic between Konig, Ghost and y/n became more tense and controlling. Konig exercised his authority with a firm hand, imposing strict rules and watching y/n's every move. Ghost, while sharing Konig's concern for y/n, felt increasingly caught between his loyalty to his friend and his own confused feelings.

The abandoned warehouse became a scene of oppression and conflict, where love was intertwined with control and obsession.

Over time, y/n resigned herself to her situation, adapting to the rules imposed by Konig and trying to find small moments of calm and comfort in the midst of oppression. Although the desire to escape still burned within him, the opportunities were few and the risks too high.

#tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere male #yancore #yandere #yandere x darling #obsessive love #yandere könig x reader #yande.re #yandere konig #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #ghost yandere

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writeriguess · 21 days

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The apocalypse. That damned word had haunted Five Hargreeves for decades, in timelines that stretched on endlessly, each one more painful than the last. He had been alone in those lifetimes, walking through the ashes of a world long dead, the silence of the void his only companion. Five had given up on love, given up on hope. He’d seen too much, lost too much, to believe in such fleeting things. But then there was you.

He had been twenty-eight in a teenager's body when he first met you, stuck in a timeline that wasn't his, in a body that no longer felt like his own. You were the newest recruit at the Commission, a fresh face among the sea of assassins and agents. Five was instantly drawn to you, though he couldn’t explain why. Perhaps it was the way you looked at him, not with fear or pity like the others, but with curiosity, with interest. Or maybe it was the way your smile seemed to light up the sterile, cold environment of the Commission. Whatever it was, you had captivated him in a way no one had before.

You weren’t like the other agents. You weren’t driven by bloodlust or a sense of duty to the Commission. Instead, you seemed to take the job for what it was—a means to an end, a way to survive in a world that made no sense. There was a warmth to you that Five hadn’t felt in so long, a kindness that seemed out of place in a world as brutal as this one.

The first time you spoke to him was in the break room. Five had been sitting alone, as usual, nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. You had slid into the seat across from him, offering him a soft smile that made his heart clench in a way that was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

"You're Five Hargreeves, right?" you had asked, your voice gentle, almost hesitant.

Five had raised an eyebrow, surprised that you didn’t already know who he was. "That's right. And you are?"

"Y/N," you replied, extending your hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

Five had stared at your hand for a moment before shaking it, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. "None of it's good, I imagine."

You had laughed softly, a sound that seemed to echo in the empty room, filling it with a strange sense of peace. "Depends on who you ask."

That was the beginning of whatever it was between you two. It started off slow—casual conversations in the break room, brief encounters in the hallways. But Five found himself looking forward to those moments more than anything else. He started to seek you out, craving your company in a way that both terrified and exhilarated him. There was something about you that made him feel alive, something that made him forget, even if just for a moment, about the apocalypse, about the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It wasn’t long before those casual conversations turned into something more. You and Five began spending more time together, your interactions becoming more intimate, more personal. You would share stories about your past, your hopes, and dreams for the future. Five, in turn, found himself opening up to you in a way he never had with anyone else. He told you about his siblings, about the pain of being separated from them, about the countless timelines he had lived through, the horrors he had witnessed. And you listened, really listened, never judging, never questioning. You just… understood.

The first time Five kissed you, it was after a particularly grueling mission. You had both barely made it out alive, blood and sweat mingling as you collapsed against the wall of the safehouse. There was a moment of silence, a shared breath between the two of you, and then Five couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the blood that had dried on your skin.

"Y/N," he had whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

You had looked up at him, your eyes wide and filled with something that made Five's heart clench painfully. "Five…"

And then his lips were on yours, desperate and hungry, as if kissing you was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. You had responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could melt into him, become one with him. The kiss was everything—years of loneliness, of pain, of fear, all culminating in this one perfect moment. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Five felt something other than despair. He felt… whole.

From that moment on, things changed. You and Five were inseparable, drawn together by a force neither of you could explain. Your relationship was intense, passionate, as if you were both afraid that if you let go, the other would disappear. And maybe, in a way, you were. Because the truth was, Five knew this couldn’t last. He knew that the timeline he was in was wrong, that eventually, he would have to leave, have to go back to his siblings, back to the apocalypse. But every time he thought about it, every time he considered telling you the truth, he found himself unable to do it. Because the thought of losing you was too much to bear.

Five had lived through countless timelines, had seen the world end more times than he could count. But this… this was different. You were different. And for the first time, Five allowed himself to hope, to dream of a future that didn’t involve death and destruction.

But the universe has a cruel sense of humor, and Five’s happiness was short-lived. The Handler found out about your relationship, and she was not pleased. She considered you a distraction, a liability, something that was making Five weak. And in the world of the Commission, weakness was not tolerated.

The day they took you away was the day something inside Five snapped. He had always prided himself on his control, on his ability to remain calm and collected, no matter the situation. But seeing you being dragged away, your eyes filled with fear and betrayal, broke something in him. He had fought, had tried to get to you, to save you, but there were too many of them, and he was too late.

The next few days were a blur for Five. He went through the motions, completing missions, interacting with his coworkers, but his mind was elsewhere. He kept replaying that moment over and over again, the look in your eyes as they took you away, the sound of your voice calling out his name. It haunted him, driving him to the brink of madness.

When Five finally found out where they were keeping you, he didn’t hesitate. He stormed the facility, cutting down anyone who got in his way. He didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care about what the Handler would do to him. All he cared about was getting you back, was making sure you were safe.

When he finally found you, locked away in a cell, bruised and battered but alive, something inside him broke. He fell to his knees in front of you, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch you, to make sure you were real.

"Five…" you had whispered, your voice weak, but filled with relief. "You came for me."

"I’ll always come for you," he had replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."

That was the night Five realized he couldn’t stay in this timeline. He couldn’t put you through this again, couldn’t risk losing you. But the thought of leaving you behind, of never seeing you again, was unbearable. So he made a choice. He would take you with him, back to his timeline, back to his siblings. It was risky, dangerous even, but Five didn’t care. He couldn’t live without you, not anymore.

The day you left the Commission was the day Five felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. The journey back to his timeline was long and arduous, but with you by his side, it didn’t feel as daunting. You were his anchor, his light in the darkness, and with you, he knew he could face anything.

When you finally arrived in his timeline, Five was met with the chaos he had left behind—the apocalypse was still looming, his siblings were still a mess, and everything seemed to be falling apart. But for the first time, Five didn’t feel overwhelmed. Because you were there, standing by his side, holding his hand, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

Your arrival in his life had changed everything. You brought out a side of Five that he had buried long ago—a side that was capable of love, of compassion, of hope. You made him believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a future where he didn’t have to be alone, where he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you and Five settled into a routine. It wasn’t always easy—the apocalypse was still a constant threat, and there were days when the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. But with you by his side, Five found a strength he didn’t know he had. You became his confidante, his partner, his lover. You became everything to him.

Five had never believed in fate, in destiny. He had seen too much, lived through too much, to believe in such things. But with you, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the universe had finally given him something good. Something worth fighting for, worth living for.

And fight he did. Every day, Five fought to keep you safe, to protect the future you were building together. He fought for a world where the two of you could be together, where you didn’t have to live in fear. And slowly, but surely, that world began to take shape.

The apocalypse was averted, the world was saved, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Five allowed himself to breathe. He allowed himself to imagine a future—a future with you.

One night, as you lay in bed together, Five found himself staring at you, his heart swelling with a love so strong, it threatened to consume him. You were asleep, your head resting on his chest, your hand clutching his shirt as if even in sleep, you were afraid he would leave. Five tightened his hold on you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to burden you with the depth of his feelings. But now that the words were out, he couldn’t take them back. And a part of him didn’t want to. Because it was the truth. He loved you, more than he had ever thought possible, more than he had ever loved anyone.

You stirred in your sleep, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you mumbled, "I love you too, Five."

The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, Five couldn’t breathe. He had been so focused on protecting you, on keeping you safe, that he hadn’t allowed himself to truly consider what it would mean to love you. But now, hearing you say those words, Five realized that he had been a fool. Because loving you was the easiest thing he had ever done. And he would spend the rest of his life making sure you knew that.

The next morning, Five woke up before you, as he often did. He lay there for a moment, watching you sleep, his heart swelling with a warmth that he was still getting used to. He wanted to stay like this forever, in this perfect moment, where the world wasn’t ending, and you were safe in his arms.

But Five knew that the world was far from perfect. There were still threats out there, still dangers that could take you away from him. And that was something he couldn’t allow. So he made a decision. He would protect you, no matter what. Even if it meant giving up everything else, even if it meant turning his back on his siblings, on the world. Because you were his world now. You were his everything.

And Five Hargreeves would do whatever it took to keep you safe. In every lifetime, in every timeline, he would find you, love you, and protect you. Because that was his purpose. That was his fate.

And for the first time, Five didn’t feel cursed. He didn’t feel like the universe was punishing him. Because he had you. And that was enough.

It would always be enough.

#five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #five #five hargreeves imagines #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x reader #five imagine #tua x reader #tua imagine #tua

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dreamtuna · 11 months

Text

Control

Finally wrote something for the first time in a while. With the final episode aired I feel a weird combination of peace and a void within me, but it's unlocked my desire to write once again. And ofc it's just giga horny posting, with a little bit of love intertwined. Attack on Titan - Levi x fem!Reader smut, submissive Levi (to an extent), (trying her best to be) dominant Reader, begging, unprotected sex w/ creampie Word Count: 1.7k Levi agrees to let you take control for the night.

Sinking down on him, you gripped his arms, feeling the muscles beneath your fingertips. You gasped, your mouth hanging open as every inch of him filled you so perfectly. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your cheeks flushed. It’s too much, he’s too much. He’s always too much. You’re not even all the way down yet, there’s so much more to take. After teasing him so much earlier, saying you’d have no problems you could take it all… You have to take it all. You need to take it all.

He hissed underneath you. You could feel his grip tightening on your hip and instantly your insides clenched around him. Knowing he felt so good was a powerful drug. It hit you hard, your back arching as a moan ripped from your lips. Those soft, pink lips that he so loved to kiss when you were alone together. He was enjoying quite a show with the way you twitched on top of him. But he wasn’t the only one. It intoxicated you seeing the way he felt for you. You loved his desperation when his hands would roam all over you, but seeing him underneath you, powerless to do anything, was something really special. He had promised to just sit back and enjoy and in exchange you had allowed him to put his hands on your hips. The rope would have to wait for another night, assuming he could behave anyway.

It felt like years, centuries, maybe even an eternity, before you had taken his full length inside you. He was squirming underneath you, fingers sinking deep enough into your skin to leave marks, but he stayed still. You looked down at him. Your captain usually looked so composed, but that blush across his cheeks was so much sweeter. His brow was furrowed not in his usual cool mask he showed the others but with need. The brutal honesty of his facial expressions had you even more aroused.

“Levi,” you gasped, moving your hips the smallest amount causing him to gasp right back. “You’re so lovely like this.”

You leant forward, rolling your hips ever so slightly as you did so. His eyes darted to your breasts as they came closer, drinking in your figure. You placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed your thumb across his plump lower lip. God, you wanted to bite it.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

He complied quickly and a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“Good boy.”

His muffled moan was so beautiful to you as you closed the distance and claimed his lips. The soft warmth of him against your own was so sweet, almost overwhelmingly so. But you craved more. You always did. You lightly nipped at his lower lip, smiling at his delicious little gasp. You took this opportunity to dive into him, tongue finding his and enjoying his sweet nectar. The more you tasted it, the more you fell even deeper for him.

One of his hands left your hip, but before you could even begin to think about reprimanding him he had already placed it back, squeezing your soft skin as if to apologise. His thumb swept back and forth over you, massaging the skin his nails were terrorising. He was so desperate for more of you. He could feel your nipples grazing against his bare chest as you kissed him.

You pulled back from the kiss. There was a dazed look in those beautiful eyes and his mouth hung open, lips glistening with your combined saliva. You could get lost in that sight forever.

“Levi, my love,” you whispered, stroking his face absent mindedly as you braced yourself on your other arm to observe him. “You’re being such a good boy for me. Do you know what good boys get?”

At first he didn’t respond, unsure of whether or not the question actually demanded an answer or if he’d find out regardless. The uncertainty on his face mixed with his desire had your pussy pulsing around him. You watched his neck as he swallowed hard, imagining all the ways your teeth and tongue could attack. But before he could come to an answer, your thumb pushed between his lips and your mouth swooped in close to his ear. Your breath tickled his skin. Your teeth nipped at his lobe. He swallowed again, the sensation radiating through your thumb into your body, your mind and your core.

Your hips began to move on him again, up and down. He listened as your breath hitched in your throat right beside his ear, his own moan barely contained. These were no small teasing movements. With every lift you went a little further until with one unbearably slow movement you felt the emptiness grow and grow until only his tip was still inside you. Carefully, you balanced there, not wanting him to completely withdraw from you. You were unable to bear the thought of being without him inside you.

Your tongue darted out to lightly lick his ear lobe where you had bitten.

“Good boys get rewarded.”

You pushed your hips back down on him. Hard. Levi bucked up into you. Hard. The pleasure overwhelmed him, choking him on the intensity of it. He loved teasing you like this, but now it was your turn to take control. You bounced up and down on his shaft, the obscene sounds of your wetness filling the room alongside your moans. He was practically whimpering under you, noises you’d never heard him make before that just made your pussy tighten even more around him, like you could massage those sweet, sweet sounds out of him. His fingertips were definitely leaving a mark on you.

You pulled your thumb from his mouth and pushed up to sit looking down at him. Resting your hands on his taut stomach you began to grind on him. You could no longer pretend to play it cool, not that you were doing a great job at that anyway. The feeling was too intense, he was too deep inside you. Inside your very being. Looking down at his flushed face was too much. He was just too much. He was always just too much.

You gasped. Levi. His name repeated endlessly in your head but your voice wouldn’t come out anymore. So much for taking control when you end up an overwhelmed mess as well. Your muscles were starting to tense around him. His head was hitting you deep inside, making your body shake and spasm atop him. Your fingers drifted to your clit but just barely grazing against yourself was enough to make your back arch violently and your eyes squeeze shut.

Just when you thought you were gone completely, when you were about to let your body take over, the fingers on your hips pulled at you. You looked down at Levi. The look on his face was incredible. His desperation had never been clearer. His eyes seemed like they could barely focus as he looked up at you, his mouth was working soundlessly around words he couldn’t form, and every now and then his nose scrunched up as he tried to hold back. You realised, with a deep moan, that he was still obeying your earlier order to look at you. You wanted him to look at you and only you for eternity if it meant you would get to see this face for even a moment longer. It was really taking everything in your being to hold out.

“Please,” he whimpered. Oh God, he whimpered. “Please use me. Let me cum for you. Please.”

God, he really was such a good boy. You hadn’t even told him to beg yet. It was too much. The warmth in your core exploded through your body, your walls pulsing around him as you spasmed on top of him. You wailed in ecstasy, feeling his cock push up inside you as he bucked, making your eyelids flutter as you lost control of yourself entirely.

You grabbed his hand, fingers automatically weaving between his. You could barely see, barely think, the orgasm was so intense, and it just wouldn’t stop. It was consuming you. You were grinding and whimpering on him now. You fell forward, barely bracing yourself with your free hand until your head nestled into Levi’s neck. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you felt another orgasm rearing its head, the intensity of the first barely even fading yet.

“Levi, Levi,” you pleaded, still moving on him. The motions weren't even a conscious effort at this point. Your pussy and your soul wanted him. His cock felt so heavenly inside you, soaked in your juices.

His free hand left your hip but you couldn’t be mad as he wrapped it around your back, holding you tight against him as the next orgasm exploded inside you. You were almost sobbing now.

“Cum for me, cum for me,” you howled into his neck. “Cum inside me. Fill me with you.”

Levi turned his head slightly to kiss you through your hair as he clamped his arm down hard on your back, holding you in place on his cock. You moaned loudly for him, your body still trembling with your own climax as he slammed his hips up unto you and let go. The collision was almost painful but the flood of warmth within you was one of the most pleasurable things you could ever imagine. You loved so much the feeling of him unloading inside of you, the intimacy of the moment as you held hands and held each other and became so deeply intertwined soothing you to your very core. Levi was everything to you, and there was no moment when you felt closer to him than this.

He was panting now. You raised your head wearily from his shoulder, wet eyes meeting his. He kissed your cheeks where your tears had rolled. He kissed your lips, deeply.

You let out a contented sigh. “I’m not sure that really counts as me taking control.”

“I don’t care,” he said with that rare soft smile of his gracing his features.

“Oh? Was it that good?”

He pushed his hips up into you again. The combination of your fluids was audible.

“Yeah, I think it was,” he whispered, lips claiming yours once more, right along with your heart.

Thank you for reading. ♥ I intend for more horny posting and maybe some sweet stuff too. Post war Levi has got me feeling incredibly soft and I want to write some sweet peace romance. That man deserves so much love.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #n.sfw #dream writes #dream writes: oneshot

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libellule-ao3 · 3 months

Text

In the Shadow of Lost Time 2/2

As a reminder: This fanfiction is a response to Tamayula's HC and written with great appreciation for her vision regarding Sebastian and Sakurako, which you can find [here]. I hope it resonates with you.🤞

Thank you to @tamayula-hl for entrusting me with Sakurako for the time of this story and thank you also for being an integral part of this fandom: she is one of the sweetest creators I've met in the HL fandom and her artwork always brightens up my day!✨️

Rating: M

Summary: Devastated by the loss of his wife Sakurako, Sebastian falls into despair and obsession. Torn between his duty as a father and his quest for escape, he seeks solace through questionable means.

Extract from the second chapter:

Their mouths joined in a fiery kiss, a collision of desire, despair and willing submission. A wave of heat swept through him. Every fibre of his being awoke as Sebastian found the one he missed so much. The feel of her fleshy lips against his, like Sakurako’s, sent him into an almost animal frenzy. He pressed himself against her, his hands roaming her body with a violent urgency, trying to find what he had lost.

His tongue entered her mouth, and a single hand slid over her skin, feeling every curve, every hollow, checking every familiar detail. The other undid her hair and tangled in her silky strands, adjusting the angle of their kisses. Each touch intensified his desire.

Sebastian lost himself in the sensation of her skin against his, warm and soft, each caress, each kiss bringing back a painful fragment of the past sprinkled with voluptuousness. Reality dissociated, and the outside world disappeared, leaving only them suspended in this moment for which he had paid.He let out a moan, his mouth pressing against hers with an almost desperate intensity. He moved down her neck, nibbling and sucking at the tender skin, his hands eagerly exploring her back, her thighs, her stomach, regaining possession of the one he had lost...

And she was so fucking receptive!

His lover.

His wife.

His Sakurako.

As he thrust into her, a wave of pleasure washed over him, further blurring the boundaries between dream and reality. Her hips moved frantically, in harmony with his, as if her body already knew how to welcome him inside her, reinforcing the illusion. He closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the sensation of her muscles contracting around him, her warmth enveloping him in lust and erasing the pain of her death with each of his comings and goings.

Over and over again...

When it was all over, he collapsed beside her, panting and completely drained.

But the hint of pity he detected in Sakurako’s eyes brought Sebastian back to the hard truth, with the same crushing brutality as if the Hogwarts Express had just crashed into him.

He had tried to fill an unfillable void, like the bottomless Danaides’ barrel, with a metamorphmagus whore, and the pain of this realisation pierced him. He turned away from her to get dressed, hiding the violence of his inner turmoil.

How could it be so bewitching in the moment and so heartbreaking afterwards?

Chapter 1 on AO3

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #Sebastian x Sakurako #hphl fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sakurako nogi

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selnyam · 4 months

Note

— “You fell asleep in my arms. It was kind of adorable.” For the touch starved prompt :3

A morning after shot I've been wanting to make from my story "You Find A Way" story below, contains Shadowbringers spoilers. Story takes place shortly after Holminster Switch

It was still bright outside the window of her room. Flidais lay on the bed, sleep eluding her. Her mind kept going back to the day prior. Killing the Lightwarden at Holminster Switch and having all that light flow into her body. The Exarch had been so sure the effects wouldn’t kill her, and something about him seemed so familiar it had caused her to trust him. Now she lay, trying to adjust to the way the Light felt, her throat scars itching in a way no amount of scratching would help. The itch almost seemed inside her skin. She eventually gave up and walked to the table, needing some water to refresh her dry throat.

The First was such a strange place, so much light. Her Void touched body, one that had spent so much time lost to Darkness felt out of place, like at any moment she could just break apart and dissolve away. There was also that nagging sensation she knew the Exarch, that he knew far too much about her than she should be comfortable with. Her Floppy ears twitched, and she turned to the door just in time to hear a soft knock. Someone was there, someone who by the sound of their sniffing and breathing had been crying. Her keen Viera hearing picked up smaller feet, their knock had been lower on the door. One of the twins maybe?

The tall woman threw on a robe and tied it before moving to the chamber entrance. She creaked open the door and peered out into the bright hallway. Alisaie stood there, a long nightshirt reaching below her knees exposing bare feet. The young girl looked up at her friend, an almost adoptive mother to her and her twin. Her eyes were about as red as her Red Mage soul crystal could suggest. Her soft voice when she spoke was almost imperceptible and Flidais was grateful to her excellent hearing.

‘I’m sorry. I know it’s late and you might be sleeping and I didn't want to wake you up but… I… I’m sorry but. I don’t. I can’t…” Flidias ushered the young girl, a teenager but still so much younger than her own century and more of life, into the room. Quickly kneeling, she put an arm around her.

‘Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, I’m here.” Alisaie; sweet, confident, tough Alisaie looked into her eyes and tears formed again. What she said next nearly broke the older Black Mages heart and she hugged her daughter tight.

“How do you continue on after losing the love of your life?” Memories filled Flidias’s mind.

K’shai.

Fighting together, laughing, falling asleep in each other's arms talking about a little cabin in the forest.

Running through the bloodstained, corpse filled Waking Sands, heart in her throat.

A still form crumpled against a wall.

The anger and loss.

The brutal revenge quest that left her empty and drained.

The ache that still hadn’t gone away.

She held Alisaie as the young woman cried, heaving sobs of loss and pain. The Elezen girl whimpering “Tesleen! Tesleen, I’m so sorry!” What do you say? What can you tell someone so young, someone experiencing a loss so immense and raw? Flidais stood and scooped the young Elezen into her arms, feeling her cling tightly, her slender arms wrapping around her neck. Carefully she carried her bundle to the bed, sitting and holding the girl tight.

“I’m sorry dear, I don’t know. Loss is never easy and yours is especially hard. I do know that Tesleen cared for you as you cared for her. I didn’t handle my loss well, as I’m sure the stories you’ve heard. All I can offer is that we find a way. We find something to keep going, to honour her memory. We keep her in our hearts and live a life that would make her proud. I’ll be right here beside you each step of the way, for as long as you’ll have me.” The Viera bent and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, Alisaie tightening her grip as her sobs lessened.

“Can I stay by you tonight? Sleeping alone is…” she trailed off and swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. Flidais nodded and gestured to the large bed they sat upon,

“There’s plenty of room, if you want I can cast Sleep to help you rest” Alisaie shook her head. She shifted off the older woman’s lap and lay down

“I just don’t want to be alone. Thank you. For everything.” exhaustion was clearing taking over the girl and Flidais carefully tucked her in before laying beside her in the large bed. The poor girl was far too young to have to deal with such a loss, and hopefully their work here in the First could prevent so many more losses. Her heart swelled in her chest though, as sleep finally seemed to overtake the girl, her last words before drifting off so quiet Flidais almost missed them

“I love you Mom.”

#flidais oakclamber #ffxiv #ffxiv viera #ffxiv gpose #alisaie leveilleur #shadowbringers spoilers #loss of a loved one

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moonlight-prose · 2 years

Text

HURT

➝ 02. ONLY ONES WHO KNOW

a/n: i am in deep for this man and it's only the second week of his show. not sure how i'll survive the rest of it. what did y'all think of episode 2? so, the story continues and i finally get to delve in a bit deeper on the relationship between these two. something i'm incredibly excited about. look out for some drabbles/interludes coming soon regarding this story. thanks for all the lovely comments on the last chapter. i'm glad you're all enjoying it!

summary: for days you traveled with a man you barely knew. until you finally gain the courage to ask him about the watch on his wrist.

word count: 4.7k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit yet but still 18+, cussing, violence, gore, angst, blood, tw death, gratuitous prose about the apocalypse setting, slow burn, tw food consumption.

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Silence filled the space between you, filling the void of what was never there. You’d been walking together for days, taking paths here and there through unknown streets and abandoned towns. It seemed that when Joel made the offer for you to accompany him, he simply meant he’ll show you the way. He wouldn’t be your friend, your buddy as you walked, hell he would barely even talk, and for a while you accepted that.

You kept yourself busy by looking at the scenery, digging through empty buildings for useful things, and fighting off the odd infected that still remained. For the first three days you told yourself that neither of you would stick around long enough to know the other. Eventually, you’d part ways. Meaning you would be alone once more. So what was the point of learning meaningless information, that would do nothing to help either of your situations

By the fourth day you were slowly losing your mind with just small worded responses, and questions that still hung in the air—frozen against the time that passed. You weren’t sure how long it would take to get to Boston. Shit you weren’t even sure where you were now, having crossed through town after town without ever finding a name or sign. All that would remain of them in your memory was the sight of the decay. Of the buildings slowly losing the remnant of a lifeless humanity that remained—nature overtaking what was rightfully hers.

You’d seen it everywhere. The brutalization of the apocalypse coming to full fruition before your very eyes. With humanity gone, the world could finally heal. You could recall learning about the fall of humanity in school; professors talked about what the world might look like once everyone disappeared. Would the world fall to pieces from the destruction humans caused, or would it adapt?

You never used to see it that way though. Never thought that nature was healing, so much as it was taking over. There was a time where you could remember hating the world—wishing for its ultimate demise. You wanted it all to end. Life, death…time. You didn’t care which one went first, as long as it took you with them.

But now that the years had passed and you’d finally grown up, you could see what you didn’t catch before. You were still alive…somehow. Yet still the pain remained. The grief that you tried so hard to forget about was stored inside your bag, carried around with each trudging step you continued to make in silence.

Silence had been your only companion for some time now, and you were thoroughly exhausted of its company.

Perhaps that’s why you eventually broke down and asked him the question that made him close himself off.

It was a reaction you never expected to happen. One that left you wracking your mind for what you could have said that made this journey even more uncomfortable.

“Where did you get your watch?”

You had asked him as you ate dinner—or at least a makeshift meal of something he killed. The fire crackled in the night air, creating warmth you hadn’t enjoyed in awhile. Reminding you of late nights in your childhood home. The fireplace emitting the soft warmth that lulled you to sleep on the couch. Before you could stop and think about it, you’d simply asked him—thinking it would start a small conversation.

Only for the question to hang in the air like the deafening silence. Each minute ticked by just a little bit slower because of it. You watched his entire body stiffen, his jaw twitching as he stopped chewing his food, and stared into the fire. The man you thought you knew as Joel, disappeared before your very eyes.

It was an honest question. One that usually created small talk. Except you couldn’t help but think that you’d fucked up in a big way once the words left your mouth. You’d seen him fiddle with the watch before. Tracing his finger along the wristband, touching the broken glass that still remained. You had half a mind to ask why he still wore it if it was broken. But then you realized…if you had something left from your old life—you’d keep it with you too.

Even if it stopped working.

The sun began to dip below the horizon again, bathing the small forest area you were currently traveling through, in darkness. Eventually you’d have to stop for the night, find a place that both of you deemed safe enough, but Joel seemed intent on continuing. The past few days he stopped before the sun began to dip below the trees. However, today he seemed different. Off. You didn’t want to blame your question on his actions that resembled a lost man simply putting one foot in front of the other, but you knew it had to be the cause.

So, you stopped walking. The small hideout was covered with larger rocks, creating a makeshift sitting area. You wondered if people used this before—thinking they could survive in the woods as the cities were torn apart.

It took him a minute to realize the echo of your footsteps didn’t follow his, forcing him to turn. A look remained in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know. He was lost. Though his expression was empty, he couldn’t hide the dazed glint in his eyes.

“We can’t stop here,” he said gruffly, his voice rough from not being used.

You shrugged, dropping your bag to the ground and starting to button up your coat. “You’re exhausted, I’m hungry, and there’s nothing we can do in the dark.”

“I’m not—” he started, his eyebrows pulling together.

“You know how to use a bow and arrow right?”

He watched you dig up the archaic weapon you both found in an abandoned house a day ago. Joel didn’t question why you picked it up, figuring that you knew how to use it. When in reality, you simply grabbed it in case it would come in handy. Weapons weren’t your forte. You barely learned how to shoot a fucking gun the right way. But he looked like he knew enough to use the weapon with ease; hopefully it would assist both of you in hunting down something larger to eat.

“If you didn’t know how to use it, why did you take it?”

Tracing the design on the side of the arrow with your eyes, you stepped away from the small hideout, heading towards the thicket of trees that were ahead of you. “Figured you knew how to use it,” you called over your shoulder. “Thought you might need another weapon.”

He didn’t respond, but he did follow you. The crunch of leaves underneath his boots, reverberating off the trees. If you weren’t careful you would attract something that neither of you would be able to outrun. You knew his bullets were too important to use hunting wise, but arrows could be reused if they stayed intact. Or at least you hoped that’s what would happen.

“We’ll need to go further out,” he said, walking past you and quickly taking the lead, his gun still strapped to his shoulder—his bag back with yours.

Once again, you walked in silence. Conversation didn’t seem to come easy to him you noticed, and rather than push him into talking, you allowed him to start it off. After the question, you knew that stepping where you didn’t belong wasn’t the best choice with Joel. He was reserved. Far more than you. His past would remain a mystery—you were okay with that—but it seemed he didn’t want to share anything other than hunting tips and small words shared over a meal.

He headed towards a small cliff, his eyes scanning the area for animals. Over the years, you’d seen hunters before. Been privy to how they worked, how they killed. They held an animalistic quality to their movements that reminded you too much of the infected. They killed as if they enjoyed it. You had killed yourself, but Joel was different. He moved like a predator, taking in his surroundings with a careful and analytical gaze. You noticed it while walking with him, watched him take note of everything that could be used as a weapon and every place he could hide.

Joel was a survivor, that much remained clear to you. He was dangerous beneath the surface. And you wondered how much he had to endure to get to this point. What had he seen or even done to stay alive as the world crumpled at his feet? You figured you’d never know the truth, and perhaps it was better that way.

What was the point of knowing this man? By the time you reached Boston, you would go your separate ways—following different paths in order to remain alive and somewhat human. You didn’t want to see his humanity, witness his vulnerabilities, because that would make parting so much harder.

What was the point in growing attached when eventually…time would tear you apart in the end anyways?

“You know what you’re doing with that?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. Thankfully he ignored the fact that your gaze was trained on him.

Nodding, you notched the arrow in place, attempting to pull it back and aim well enough to make the shot. “Easy,” you replied, hearing the slight shake in your voice.

Fuck the nerves. You’ve killed before. Taken life from animals and people alike, but never like this. A gun had always been your preferred weapon, due to its easy nature, and you hated that Joel could see that. All you ever had to do before was aim and pull a trigger, but this called for something more. A skill you didn’t have in your arsenal.

He shook his head subtly, standing to his full height as you struggled with the weapon—your arms shaking beneath the strain of keeping the position.

“Relax,” he said, his hand settling on your tense shoulders. “You’ll hurt yourself if you do it this way.”

Huffing, you tried to listen to his words, forcing your body to release the tension that riddled it. “I told you I don’t know how to use this.”

“No, you didn’t.” If you turned your head you would have caught the small hint of a grin forming on his lips. “Lift your elbow more,” he stated, nudging it with his hand and causing a jolt to go through your arm.

“Like this?” Your words were soft as he shifted your movements with his hands that barely touched you.

Something moved in the distance, the rustling of branches telling you where to aim, but Joel was already way ahead of you. His hand slid over yours, helping you adjust your hold until the arrow went steady—pointing directly where it needed to go. The breath you released was shaky; your nerves showing through clearly enough for him to see. You hoped he had the decency to ignore them. To help you take the shot and move on, but his hand clasped over yours tighter, as if to reassure you.

Whatever existed in the air between you, unspoken and forever silent, worked its way through your body. Until the shake in your arms disappeared and your chest felt lighter.

Once again the rustling echoed in the distance, what you guessed to be a wild rabbit coming out to find food for itself. You didn’t give yourself time to wonder anymore, because Joel was nudging your foot forward with his. Pushing you into a stance that released the pressure you felt on your lower back. Taking in a breath, you felt him release his against the back of your neck, causing your hair to stand straight and chills to spread down your spine.

You wanted to lean into him. Feel his warmth a bit longer, but the animal was getting closer—your window closing with each passing second.

“You see it?” he murmured, head nodding in its direction.

“Yeah…I see it.”

Taking in a breath, you felt him guide your arm, the arrow in position, before you let it go. You could have sworn time slowed down as it flew through the air. Its movements, soundless amidst the echo of nature that resounded through the area. With bated breath, you watched it soar until it hit its mark with a thud—the animal collapsing into the brush. Dead.

Laughing, you dropped your arm and half expected him to shift away from you, but he remained. His hand, still clutching onto yours with a gentler touch. Rather than pull away, you allowed him to stand there—his breath brushing along your neck softly every few seconds. Neither of you spoke. Too afraid of breaking whatever this was, of losing the small comfort of his touch.

Eventually you would have to collect the rabbit and things would go back to the semblance of normal that came before. But for now…you weren’t two survivors. You weren’t on the brink of losing to the fear, giving into the idea of a quick death. For those small minutes, you were a woman being touched by a man.

You were human again.

“Good job,” he said, pulling away entirely and allowing the cold air to envelop you again.

You wondered if he felt it. The speed of your heartbeat, the longing that caused an ache to spread throughout your body. Did he long for touch too? Or had he cut himself off from that? You wanted to know the answer, but asking him questions never went well with you. So you stood there, watching him walk down the cliff and towards the animal whose life would sustain yours for just a bit longer.

That was the irony of the apocalypse. No matter how much you tried to escape it, death would remain.

Whether good or bad, it would forever be the only constant in this world.

The fire crackled in the night air. You watched as sparks floated up to the sky before being extinguished by oxygen. The sight made you smile, bringing you back to childhood memories of camping and college nights sitting at bonfires. You remembered fire being contiguous to joy, small moments of peace that came before the pain.

It was pure, a way to end the infection, but also a way to sustain life. So, you relished in it, sitting on ground beside your bag as Joel worked with the rabbit. He claimed that it needed to be cooked and eaten so you could move on—the smell attracting not just infected, but larger animals that might have survived too. You took his word as the truth, assisting him by bringing the fire to life and setting it in a makeshift pit.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” he asked, setting up the rabbit over the flames.

You grinned, pushing a piece of wood in closer. “He speaks,” you joked.

“When he needs to.” He didn’t smile, didn’t offer you anything other than the small retort, but you took it nonetheless.

“My brother. He used to be a Marine.” You pushed around the brush beneath the wood. “He’d always tell me that I needed to know two things. How to defend myself and how to build a fire. Somehow I was always better at building the fire.”

He didn’t comment, didn’t need to. You saw the way he listened to you, his eyes flickering back and forth from the fire before landing back on you. The moon hung low in the sky, the light from it illuminating the area around you, but the fire illuminated him. Casting shadows across his face and deepening the growing lines that were barely beginning to show with his age. You never asked how old he was—didn’t feel the need to—but now as you gazed at him, you wondered.

“I’m sorry about before,” you admitted, tearing your eyes away from him.

“Sorry ‘bout what?”

A crack echoed in the air as the wood snapped in two, falling to the ground and catching onto the brush.

“I shouldn’t have asked about your watch.” Once again he averted his attention elsewhere, turning the rabbit and avoiding your gaze. After a moment, you figured pushing past it was your best option. So you opted for something different. “What’s your name?”

He glanced up, eyebrows furrowing. “You know my name.”

“No, I mean your full name.”

“Hm.” He shifted, stretching his leg out. “Miller’s my last name.”

Your lips pulled up, teeth digging into your bottom lip. “Joel…Miller. It’s nice.”

He huffed slightly, almost a laugh but not quite. “What’s yours?”

“Hm.” You mused, glancing at the fire that ate away at the wood.

Your full name fell from your lips, foreign sounding to your ears after years of never hearing it. At times you felt like a myth that no one could remember—a forgotten deity with no name to hold as your own. When he repeated it, the sound curling around his tongue and filling your stomach with warmth, you knew you wanted to hear him say it again.

If only to remember who you used to be for a brief moment longer.

He used his knife to tear off pieces of meat, handing it to you quickly before it cooled off. The small gesture reminded you of the people you used to survive with. How they’d make sure everyone got enough to eat, handing off the food with a smile; the kindness in their hearts, extinguished at the first pull of a trigger. You wanted to remember them with the same nostalgia as your old life, but there was nothing to be had there.

“Where’s your brother now?” Joel asked, interrupting your train of memories.

A sour feeling spread through your stomach, your chest tightening with each intake of breath. While normally, you’d forgo answering questions about your past, it seemed only fair this time.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, digging your teeth into the meat and chewing slowly, savoring its flavor. “I uh…I managed to get out of Boston before they bombed the place. Made it home to see him gone.”

He stayed quiet, giving you room to continue if you wanted to. You should have stopped there, having answered his question with the truth, but after so long of sitting in your grief—it begged you to spill free.

“I had a mom too,” you said, staring at the orange glow of the flames. “I thought I’d find her when I got back. I mean she raised a man to become a Marine so she obviously must have known how to fight.” The breath felt heavy in your lungs, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “She was dead when I got there. Didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye,” you finished bitterly, the memory still burned into your mind.

If you could go back you would in a heartbeat. If only to have a chance to speak to her again, to tell her all the things you left unsaid. The world fell to shit faster than anyone expected—the virus spreading too quickly to give you enough time. So, you remained with what little you could still remember about her—hoping it would be enough in the end.

Joel didn’t respond. He simply stared at his watch, his thumb brushing along the face of it tenderly. You almost didn’t want him to say anything. For the first time in days, you were okay with sitting in silence with him. Content to simply stare at the fire, finish your meal, and go on your way. You knew that if he spoke, if he answered your question, there’d be no going back…for either of you.

“Her name was Sarah,” he said, eyes not meeting yours and body rigid. The words made you freeze, eyes trained on his silhouette that the shadows played along.

You didn’t ask who she was, what she meant to him, because you knew he wouldn’t tell you either way. He said her name, and answered your question in his own way. It occurred to you that you were the only ones who knew each other's secret weight of grief and that was enough for you. Taking his words with a nod, you continued to eat until you finished off what he gave you; your stomach finally full after so long.

The smell of smoke filled your senses as you fought against the wave of exhaustion that riddled your body. You couldn’t sleep here. Not when the threat of infected remained dangerous in the woods. Although you weren’t sure what the fuck they’d be doing in the middle of nowhere anyways. They couldn’t survive here.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before you decided to lay down, your head propped up on your bag. The floor was uncomfortable; the rocks digging into your spine were the only thing keeping you awake, but you made do.

“What I wouldn’t give for some vodka,” you said, staring at the stars in the sky, trying to catch sight of some familiar constellations.

Joel scoffed, the sound still unfamiliar to your ears. “I’m more of a whiskey man myself.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you from?”

“Texas,” he replied, his southern drawl thicker as if to emphasize his point.

You snorted, staring at the moon. “Should’ve known with the way you can fucking shoot.”

The fire would die down soon enough, leaving the both of you to freeze. Yet that didn’t stop you from settling further into your position, in an attempt to find a comfortable spot. You missed the bed from a few days ago—how it was so soft beneath your body. So normal after the hell you’d been through. But you knew if you two had stayed there, you’d be left to deal with the consequences that were sure to come.

“Do you think they’ve got alcohol in Boston?” you blurted out, feeling your eyes grow heavy.

He sighed, shifting his movements until his back was pressed up against the boulder. “Don’t know. I hope so.”

“What else do you like Texas?”

“Ha ha,” he drawled, his eyes falling shut. “I used to own a guitar.”

That perked you up a bit. “Don’t tell me you can sing?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Shit,” you whispered. “A girl can dream.”

“What about you Boston?” You could have sworn you heard a smile in his voice.

You smirked. “Ha ha.” Crossing your arms, you did your best to fight sleep, knowing if something happened you needed to be ready to run. “I used to have a record collection my mom started for me as a kid.” He hummed, his eyes still shut. “Nothing you would have listened to since you probably like country music.”

His foot tapped your arm, bringing out a peal of laughter from your chest that was most likely caused by the delirium of your sleeplessness. The last time you got some rest was a few days ago in that house. Even if you wanted to fight against it, you knew you’d pass out regardless—leaving the both of you vulnerable to any attacks. You reasoned that an hour or two wouldn’t hurt and before you could question the feeling in your gut, you were gone.

Falling into the arms of exhaustion that beckoned you closer. Promising a safe haven of a dark void without pain.

“Boston. Wake up.” Someone shaking your shoulders, jolted you awake. Your eyes flew open, hand going to the gun on your side. Only to see Joel crouching over you—the morning sun barely coming up above the trees.

You groaned, head falling back against your bag. “There’s a nicer way of waking people up, you know. A good morning—”

His hand slapped over your mouth, fingers curling around your jaw to snap it shut as he raised a finger to his lips. Fear filled your body, the cold wash of anxiety spreading down your spine as you sat up slowly. His eyes were hard, expression mimicking his emotions. The longer you stared at him, the more you realized that the man you met had returned—the hunter who was ruthless when need be.

Before you could ask him what was going on, you heard it. The familiar chilling screech of an infected. Your body jolted, eyes going wide before you slowly reached for the gun and pulled it into your lap.

Joel nodded, letting go of your jaw before gesturing with his hand to follow him as he crouched behind the rocks. You had half a mind to ask what the fuck one of those things was doing all the way out here, but figured neither of you knew the answer. Both of you were bound to run into another one sooner or later. From the sound of it, you could tell it was a runner.

Probably some poor bastard who was out trying to survive on their own. A flash of sympathy shot through your heart, before you loaded a bullet into the chamber of your gun.

“We need to go around,” he said lowly, his gun at the ready—bow and arrow strapped across his back.

“Can’t we just kill it?”

He shook his head, slowly shifting around the rock. “There might be more than one.”

“Shit.” Exhaling, you nodded at him to move, ready to run if you had to.

Standing to your full height with him, you caught sight of the infected staggering around the forest. They were barely turned, the fungus not even grown out of its body yet. Which meant that they were fast, able to chase if they caught sight of you and Joel. Holding your breath, you crept around the trees with your weapon at the ready—the nerves now prominent in your racing heart.

Neither of you spoke, too afraid of catching its attention, but it was too late. Before you could pull him back, Joel’s boot landed on a stick, snapping it in two. The sound bounced off the trees—a terrifying stillness accompanying it, and for a moment you thought maybe you both got lucky. Maybe it didn’t hear.

Until it screeched, whipping around to see you and him standing there, guns at the ready.

Joel loaded his shotgun, pointing it at the runner, but it launched its body at him, taking him to the ground in a tackle. You heard Joel shout, his arm slamming against the thing’s throat to block a bite. Only you knew that wouldn’t work. Grabbing the fallen gun, you pointed it quickly, took the best aim you could, and pulled the trigger. It went off with a loud bang, blood splattering on the dirty floor. The gun slammed into your shoulder, nearly toppling you over, but you held steady as Joel pushed himself free. His head falling to the forest floor.

While he caught his breath, you surveyed the area for signs of more of them. But the forest remained silent. You must not be far from a city or town for one of those things to find you all the way out here. Thankfully it was only a runner and not something far worse. You’d heard the stories, knew what else resided in the darkness, and hoped that you’d never have to meet it.

“Not bad Boston,” he rasped.

You shrugged. “I had a good teacher,” you said, offering your hand to pull him up. He groaned as he stood, wiping the leaves off his pants. “Hey Joel.”

His eyes met yours—a flash of something you guessed to be concern going through them. “Yeah?”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

For the first time in days you saw his lips pull up into a smile, his laugh hitting your ears and sending that familiar and welcome heat through your body.

“Good idea,” he replied, taking the shotgun back.

This time, you took the lead. Heading further into the trees with him following close behind. The sun continued to rise in the distance, morning finally greeting what remained of the world. All the while your brain replayed his laugh, the sound deep and raspy just like his voice, yet…more. You found that you wanted to hear him laugh again. Wanted to know what he sounded like when he was happy, but that you’d probably never get to witness it again.

Maybe in another life, you reasoned to yourself and that thought alone was good enough for you.

For now.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #the last of us #my writing

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pretzel-box · 20 days

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I fell asleep but have a 1k word sneak peek for chapter 4 of As Above So Below

Warnings for Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Graphic mentions of injuries, violence, anxiety, a bit of gore, blood.

This is NOT a wholesome series!

Last chapter here! Includes Masterlist link

You lay there on the cold ground, surrendering to the soft light of his lure. The shadows, once clinging tight, began their slow retreat, and you let go—sinking into the gentleness of that pure, tender glow. Light so delicate, it kissed your skin with a softness that mocked the cruel brutality of Sebastian’s nature. A faint ringing filled your ears, like distant bells swaying in the wind, haunting and persistent.

He had hurled you to the earth with a force newly found, his face twisted in a mask of disgust and seething anger. The tenderness that once lived in his gaze had vanished, leaving only the stark void of his hate. It was in that moment you understood: Sebastian Solace’s hatred ran deeper than any ocean, plunging into depths so dark and distant that no one could ever fathom them.

The moment you began to trust him was the moment your hands wrapped around the handle of the shovel, digging your own grave, deeper and deeper. You carved the earth, ready to bury yourself in a tomb unmarked, unworthy of remembrance. God forbid, how you hated yourself—loathing, cursing, despising every inch of your being. You were cursed, a creature detested, revolting even to yourself. Trusting him came so easily, too easily, and the world watched with cruel laughter, mocking your naivety. Alone in the silence of your mind, you wept on the ground, but you would never do in front of him. You knew he would feast on your tears, savoring them as a victory, a cruel triumph over your shattered spirit.

“Let’s return.” His rough voice sliced through the silence like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. It was ready to stab and tear through more than just the simple void. Before you could react, he hauled you up from the ground, two of his arms wrapping around your torso with bruising force. In one swift motion, he slung you over his shoulder, the suddenness of it stealing the breath from your lungs. But it was the pressure of his shoulder digging into your stomach that truly sent pain radiating through your abdomen. You swallowed a whimper, biting back any complaint. You knew better than to protest, especially with Sebastian teetering on the edge, his fury barely contained.

The world swayed violently with each of his movements, your body jostled against him as if you were nothing more than a lifeless weight, it reminded you of the ride in the submarine. Every jolt sent fresh waves of pain through you, but you bit down hard, refusing to let a sound escape your dry lips, even if it means chewing on the flesh of your tender cheek to the point where it draws flesh blood. The cold air stung your skin like tiny needles, mingling with the heat of your bruises, but you stayed silent, knowing that any sign of weakness would only fuel the storm raging inside him.

You could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface, a volatile force that threatened to erupt at any moment. His grip on you was firm, almost punishing, as if he was holding back the urge to do more, to let his rage take over completely. His claws kept scratching your skin and the fabric of the diving suit, ready to dig deeper. Each step he took was heavy, deliberate, as if he was walking off the edge of the world, and taking you with him.

In the silence that followed his command, the only sound was the rhythm of his breath, harsh and uneven, like the growl of a beast barely restrained. The distance back felt endless, the path ahead shrouded in the same darkness that now cloaked your screaming mind. But you knew you had no choice but to endure, to be carried wherever his fury would lead, all the while praying that it wouldn't be to a place darker than where you already were but actually his shop.

The air grew colder, and the familiar scent of rust and oil began to creep up into your nose and senses as you neared his place. When the heavy metallic door creaked open, the dim light inside cast long shadows across the cluttered space, a dismal sanctuary of metal and tools that seemed to mirror the darkness in his soul. The faint memories of your unusual wholesome friendship became almost transparent as you took in the surroundings once more. The butterflies that were flying freely in your stomach turned into hard heavy stones pressing against your guts.

He didn’t say a word as he entered, his grip on you unwavering and you were sure it would stay like that. The rough texture of the concrete floor scraped against your skin as he finally lowered you from his shoulder, dropping you unceremoniously onto the ground. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you up as you stumbled forward, trying to catch your breath.

Sebastian moved with a cold efficiency, his face a mask of controlled fury as he reached for the heavy iron chain hanging from the gray wall. The sound of it dragging across the floor echoed in the small space, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He bent down before you, his fingers rough against your skin as he clamped the shackle around your ankle with a forceful motion. The half rusted metal was icy, biting into your flesh with a finality that made your heart sink.

As he secured the chain, you could feel the weight of it, a cruel reminder of the captivity you were bound to. He stood, his towering figure casting a shadow over you, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on you—dark, unreadable, and devoid of any trace of the person he once was. The silence between you was suffocating, thick with unspoken threats.

He didn’t need to say anything, words were not needed, at least not his. The chain, the cold floor beneath you, and the emptiness in his eyes spoke volumes. There was no need for words when the reality of your situation was so painfully clear.

Sebastian turned away, retreating to the shadows of his shop, leaving you chained and alone. The only sound that remained was the quiet clinking of the chain as you tried to shift, the cold metal a constant reminder that you were trapped, helpless, and entirely at his mercy.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure x reader

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pearlsinmyhair · 8 months

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༄ breath of venus༄

chapter eleven • catch me if you can

synopsis: a girl born from nothing has spent her entire life trying to be everything her family and her clan needs. but when dead faces and old ghosts come back to haunt her, her life takes a sharp turn. the question is: for better, or for worse?

summary: in a matter of hours, maybe even less, deja-blu will finally make contact with the tawkami. but eywa has her ways of setting things… right. her will is strong, and not even venus can fight it, even as it topples her down, and down, and down.

warnings: canon-typical violence. lopez (you’ve been warned). violence. cursing/swearing. hostage situation. mentions of blood.

an: i’m not very proud of this one, ngl, but i needed to just get through it. i hope you like it <3

wordcount: 3.9k

“i adored you. you were so soft, so diabolically angelic looking.”

— anaïs nin

࿓

In the clouds above the ever chattering forest, the world was silent. Not one person tried to fill the void where words and laughter normally dwelled. They cast sidelong looks at one another before returning their gazes forward. The recombinant squad had risen this morning with a purpose.

Today, they would have their first encounter with the Tawkami tribe. Lyle had estimated only a few hours flight based on the coordinates of Greenhome that he was sent by Ardmore’s team. It had been a month since any of the soldiers had lifted their guns to na’vi, and the were antsy.

Venus flew just behind all of them, unwilling to lead the charge to begin this farse.

If she had to guess where her father was, it would not be with the Tawkami. They were far too approachable and far too easy to find with their shaky alliance to the RDA. It was a miracle that the squad had made it, let alone two adults and four children. The month of flying through tricky forest and hostile territory would have been deemed dangerous by Jake.

This was pointless. But Venus hoped that this would at least slow them down, and that somehow, someway, the Sully’s would be alerted of where they were in time to flee.

Fog was thick in the air this morning, and many of the younger ikran were nervous at the limited visibility it caused. Rutxïryo could care less, just as Venus could care less. Trust was in their blood, and she knew how to navigate the skies in ways her mount couldn’t.

But Quaritch and Wainfleet, who led the pack, had no such practice. The colonel took to growling at Cupcake, even as the ikran expressed her discontent. Wainfleet simple kept Turbo on course, refusing to acknowledge how uncomfortable he was.

Venus scowled at them, not for the first time wondering just why Eywa had allowed the soldiers around her to make tsaheylu. Lo’ak had failed his first iknimaya, and it took meditation training for Venus to be comfortable dwelling in the space between minds.

Yet even as she thought it, Venus knew why they had succeeded where so many failed. Lo’ak had been terrified and unsure when he approached his ikran. But the recoms and herself? They had given their bonded mounts no other option. The soldiers were more brutal, that was true. But even Venus had approached a young Rutx with the firm belief that she’d leave the rookery on ikran-back, or not at all.

Her thoughts were broken when a tuft of air brushed the side of her face, and she turned to see Lopez grinning at her. He had been doing this since they left- trying to lift her spirits. But Venus was in no mood to play when she faced the promise of confrontation. Nonetheless, Lopez tried again, and Rutxïryo snarled.

A sharp whistle from the front drew both their attention, and Venus saw Quaritch looking back at her pointledly. She cocked her head to the side, and he nodded forward. With the same pace of a child dragging their feet, she sent Rutxïryo to Cupcake to see what he wanted.

“You travel in this kind of fog before?” he said over comms, and Venus wanted to roll her eyes.

“It’s a common occurrence at this time of year. I’m comfortable.” she replied, keeping her voice even as Rutxïryo chirped at Cupcake. The female ikran watched him before chirping back.

“Good.” the colonel replied and, much to Venus’s surprise, he fell back slightly. “Then you can take the lead.”

So much for the illusion of indifference.

Venus reluctantly took his place, guiding the group slightly down and out of the thick of the fog. As she navigated, she pondered leading them away from their target, or even using the fog to run. Maybe if she could get her knife back she could cut her tracker out fast enough-

“Try anything and you’ll be cuffed and grounded while we go and negotiate.” came Quaritch’s voice from behind her. “You can kiss seeing your friends goodbye.”

Venus turned around in her seat at the audacity, silently willing Rutx to continue on the course she had mentally drawn out. She opened her mouth to reply with something witty, but the seriousness in his eyes halted her words. It wasn’t so much malicious as it was certain. Keeping Venus away from the Tawkami was a strategy that could solve many possible problems.

For example, it would ruin Venus’s plan to get to Ku’altu and tell him to ready an army for a rear attack to the RDA.

She glanced at Wainfleet, who himself only met her accusing stare for a moment before his gaze returned firmly forward. Her eyes narrowed.

You know something that I should.

Rutx crowed suddenly, and Venus had to swerve to narrowly avoid a cliff that suddenly emerged from the fog. She heard someone spit a curse, and there were a few grunts of effort as she navigated the twists and turns of the paths through the floating mountains. After a few moments the group calmed, and the sense of familiarity returned.

A buffet of air warned her right as Lopez appeared beside her, his banshee swatting his wings at Rutx. Venus hissed irritably, and he only grinned.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Lopez.” she sighed, turning her attention forward and squinting through the still-thick fog.

“C’mon, V, don’t be like that.” he replied, and again his ikran buffeted air against her ikran’s wings, tipping them slightly off course. Rutxïryo snapped his teeth, and the banshee squealed before backing off a few feet. Playing like this wasn’t foreign to Venus or her mount, but she couldn’t shake a sick feeling in her stomach as she tried to see.

She felt like she was being watched, and glancing behind her, she could only barely make out the forms of Wainfleet and Quaritch.

She saw Lopez come at her again out of the corner of her eye, and she instructed Rutx to maneuver around him. Just as he twisted, Venus heard the hiss of wind, and Lopez spun in air, the sudden change in air current hurling him against her. Venus was slammed into the cliff side, losing her foothold on her stirrups and the air in her lungs. She scrambled for purchase, and Lopez reached a hand out for her, his eyes wide.

Their fingertips just barely brushed, and then Venus was in free fall.

She heard Rutxïryo’s cry as she dropped, his blue-orange blob of a body vanishing in seconds as the fog ate up her vision and the distance between her body and the ground lessened. Vaguely, she knew she was screaming, calling out for something to help her as she tried to see the ground. Only grey mass and cold water droplets greeted her.

An ikran call made her glance back up to the sky, and the deep blue of Cupcake’s face raced down to her falling body, crying out. Venus only had a second to prepare before Quaritch was on her, her body hitting Cupcake’s and rolling off. Before she could even register the sudden change in momentum, Quaritch grabbed her arm and kept her from falling.

Venus’s shoulder dislocated with a sickening pop, and she cried out as her body dangled in air. Her eyes met Quaritch’s, his wide as he tried to haul her back up. Cupcake screamed again, twisting to balance out the uneven weight of two na’vi bodies, and Venus had to swing her legs to avoid the banshee’s talons.

“I got you-“ Quaritch grunted, and again tried to pull her up. She felt her hand slip, and she couldn’t muster the strength to help him. “Quaritch-“ she tried, her voice tiny.

Were not done, he had murmured in her ear only a few days ago.

Cupcake twisted again, and this time her claw scraped against her thigh, slicing it open. Venus threw up her other hand to grab Quaritch’s arm. Right as her hand slipped from his.

Venus twisted in air, turning her body to the ground as she awaited the pain of impact. Taking a breath, she remembered every exercise her mother had taught her in case she fell.

The canopy rushed up to meet her, and she inhaled sharply before her body slapped against a leaf.

Her shoulder burned in protest, but she gritted her teeth and allowed her body to fall, grabbing from leaf to leaf to slow the speed of her body. She had nearly made it when she missed a turn, and the back of her head smacked against a branch. She saw stars, and just barely managed to grab a few more leaves before her body slumped into soft grass.

The light behind her eyelids warmed, and she felt sunlight prick at her damp skin. Maybe she’d die here, Venus thought. Alone in a foreign territory, bleeding and bruised.

She lay there for what felt like eons, the back of her neck and the socket of her arm throbbing with pain. Vaguely, she registered drips of blood trailing to her ear, and she flicked it to prevent any from getting in her ear canal. The other ear she used to strain for noise, trying to ground herself even as her vision swam and her body ached.

Venus couldn’t catch her breath, but she reminded herself to be slow and steady even as her body panicked. Now, in an unknown forest, was not the time to be without her wits.

For once in this month of torture, she mourned the loss of her communication back to the squad. Venus would give anything to hear Wainfleet or Lopez or, hell, even Quaritch telling her that they were on the way. But instead she had to remind herself that the tracker in her arm would eventually lead them to her whereabouts.

And soon enough, right after her breathing had finally evened, the swoop and flush of ikran wings greeted her ears, the wind of their decent tickling her skin. Her mouth was unwilling to make a sound, so Venus settled for flicking her tail.

An ikran chuffed in her face, and she fought down a smile at the promise of getting off the dirt. She was going to kill Lopez once she was able.

The riders hand encircled her upper bicep, carefully turning her so that the sun shone down on her front. When Venus peeked her eyes open, she saw a male with short hair leaning over her, his hands gentle as they ran across her skin in assessment.

Mansk, her mind whispered, and she tried to make her vision clear.

But something was wrong. The hair on her body rose. The ikran beside her head was unfamiliar.

As the wheels in Venus’s head turned, she felt the sharp and cold press of a blade to her arm. She jerked, and the man’s grip tightened.

“Easy.” he whispered softly in accented Na’vi, and all at once she went still. “This will hurt, yes, but not much.”

Venus wondered if her heart has stopped beating and her blood had ceased pumping. She thought he was dead. She thought that they were all dead.

He reached a hand to his chest, grabbing something from a long string of beads. Her vision sharpened right as he brought a small herb ball under her nose and crushed it.

He was just as handsome as she remembered him to be. Only now, she could see the trail of heat that creeped towards his front, the soft blue-green scars that looked like strips.

“ ‘M so sorry.” she managed as her eyelids dropped, and she saw him smile bitterly as the blade against her arm pierced her skin.

Ku’altu.

She wanted to jerk against the bite of obsidian, but her body failed to respond to her, and her thoughts slipped slowly to the distant ikran screaming above her and the feeling of warm blood oozing onto her skin, before finally her mind went numb.

࿓

“Tracker’s popping a signal just a few feet from where she initially dropped.” Lyle called from Quaritch’s left. “She must have tried to use the leaves to break her fall.”

He nodded, his stomach rolling as he studied the canopy only right below Cupcake. His ikran had since calmed, and was now letting out some kind of whimper to the ground concealed under the leaves.

The baby, she squawked in his head, snapping her teeth at him over her shoulder. We must find the baby.

She’s not a baby, he countered. She’s more than capable of handling herself.

Not here. Cupcake’s eyes flared anxiously, and again he felt his gut clench. She’s not safe here.

Rutxïryo screamed from beside them, frustrated and antsy as his talons slashed the greenery. Somehow, Venus had found the soft spot in an otherwise dense canopy of branches, because the ikran couldn’t make it through.

At least, Quaritch prayed that she had. He really, really didn’t want to find teenager smeared and splattered across a tree limb.

Your daughter, Cupcake reminded him, her not-voice still high with agitation.

He really didn’t have the energy to fight her right now.

Looking to his left again, he met eyes with Lyle, finding him looking just as worried as he felt. His sunglasses had been flipped up on his head, and he glanced between the locator on his tablet to the ground and back again. Every recombinant around Quaritch held their breath, waiting for orders.

This wasn’t like before. When they got on solid ground, they’d be in hostile territory. And more than likely, the little aerial show they just performed drew some attention.

Wind broke to his right, and Quaritch turned to find Mansk hovering there, his eyes on him. It was always a surprise to find his shades off, the mismatched eyes on full display.

“We’d need to drop, just like she did.” the younger soldier explained, and Quaritch quieted his pride for a moment. More than once, Venus and Mansk had snuck off under the guise of prisoner and escort to stretch their legs. If anyone were to know how Venus got down, it was him.

Carefully, the recombinants circled up and disconnected their queues, their ikran getting them as low as they could. With a nod from their colonel, they dropped as one.

Instantly, Quaritch felt disoriented, leaves and vines slapping at him. But he followed Mansk’s instructions the best he could to slow his decent.

Turn, grab, glide, repeat.

And then his feet were on the ground.

There was a soft squelch around him as each soldier landed, and vaguely he heard one or two groan as they no doubt sunk ass first into the fresh mud. But seven pairs of eyes appeared in the dimness around him, and Quaritch circled a finger in the air and clucked his tongue.

She’s rubbing off on you.

He shook off the thought as soon as it rose.

With Lyle leading the charge, tablet in one hand and rifle in the other, they walked to the blipping point that was Venus. Quaritch counted the minutes, praying to whoever was listening that there were no hungry viperwolves or thanators near enough to call his girl a meal. His hand tightened around the grip of his own gun, squinting and listening to the world around him.

Venus had warned him of the danger of quiet. How it meant that nothing wanted to be spotted. The once unbearably chattery forest had gone completely silent and, glancing around, Quaritch found his squad just as on edge as he was.

They weren’t alone.

“Fearless, come in.” Quaritch murmured into his throat comm, waiting a beat for a reply before trying again. All the while they trudged through the mud and muck of the still dripping trees around then.

Finally, they neared a small clearing where Venus’s tracker was radiating a signal, and Zdog, Lopez, Ja and Brown carefully circled the outer rim while the others stayed put.

Looking up, Quaritch could vaguely see a glimpse of red along a branch about twenty feet above them. Sniffing the air, he smelled blood. Prager cursed under his breath when he followed his gaze.

Please, please let her be okay.

After the all clear was sounded from the scouts, Lyle stepped into the clearing. Quaritch held his breath as he was illuminated by sunlight, the striking blue of his skin looking off in the greenery around him. The coloring was different here, more green. Odd.

Prager and Mansk followed the Corporal’s lead, scanning the tree branches around them and above as Lyle knelt down. Quaritch watched Wainfleet’s shoulders tense, and he felt his own body go taunt.

Against every instinct, Quaritch walked into the clearing. Wainfleet was holding something in his hand, something tiny. In his peripheral, he watched Mansk go still. Quaritch looked over Lyle’s shoulder.

In his palm, still wet with blood, was Venus’s tracker.

He took the small device from his hand, examining it and trying to breathe. The thing was imbedded in her inner arm, the same as the rest of them, and would have had to be removed with a knife or something equally sharp. Only, Venus’s knife sat securely at his belt. So how the hell was the tracker in his hand?

Somewhere above him a branch snapped, and he saw Prager slowly slump to the ground out of the corner of his eye. Quaritch’s blood rushed in his ears as he stared at the feathered tip of a dart protruding from the private’s neck.

He glanced up, and up, and up into the trees, both him and Lyle holding their breaths as they tried to spy the assassin. There was nothing at all glance, but Quaritch squinted, and-

Something shifted against a tree, and he watched as what initially looked like a branch became an arm holding a bow, the arrow aimed directly at his face. Just to the navi’s left was another, and then another, until Quaritch counted at least ten hostiles hidden and armed in the foliage around them.

Sweet hell, he needed a fucking break.

A body thumped just behind him, and he heard Mansk cock and raise his gun, the click of metal loud in the silent clearing.

“Stay still or die.” came an unfamiliar masculine voice, and Quaritch immediately disobeyed the order by looking back over his shoulder.

The man was just as tall as Mansk, though he tried to stand taller and look down at the private as if in some form of intimidation. The stranger’s hair was cut short sans his braid at his back, and his skin was more green than blue. Quaritch clocked the burn scars that stemmed from his back, as well as the jagged one that ran from him side to his cheek. The man didn’t so much as glance at him, which he found just a little rude, and remained staring down at Mansk. The private glared right back, though his shades remained on his face.

“That’s the ex.” whispered Wainfleet, who still crouched around Quaritch’s knee level, and he could hear the smirk in his voice. He was about to scoff, but the man sniffed and practically snarled in Mansk’s face, baring his fangs in clear threat.

“You smell like her.” he hissed, and Mansk didn’t so much as flinch. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the ‘her’ he was referring to, and Quaritch fully turned. The man’s eyes finally flicked to him, and the bubbling aggression on his face turned into full, fiery anger.

That’s right, you know who I am.

“Where is the girl?” Quaritch demanded in admittedly clumsy na’vi, and he heard a few snickers from the trees. The man (Ku’altu, he reminded himself) did not laugh. “She is safe.” Ku’altu hissed, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his head, slapping the gun out of Mansk’s hands before stepping around him and closer to Quaritch. The movement drew his gaze to the adornments on his neck, the intricate beading bringing to mind the old memories of Sully right before his wife buried two arrows in his chest.

“You will come with us to be judged for your crimes. This is nonnegotiable.” Ku’altu spoke in english, and Quaritch chuckled darkly. At least eleven to their now seven, with Prager being down, were not the best odds. But four of his soldiers were still hidden, hopefully with their guns pointed up. “We’re not going anywhere. The RDA demands you relinquish Toruk Makto or any information you have about his whereabouts. And I highly doubt the commander would be too pleased if we suddenly went missing.”

He expected Ku’altu to submit, or at least back down, but the boy smirked at him. “I thought you might say that.” he said, and Quaritch had to steel his expression as four na’vi pulled the unconscious forms of Zdinarsk, Ja, Lopez, and Brown into the clearing. He heared Lyle hiss a soft “fuck” beside him. Mansk looked unbothered.

“You will not be missed for the hour you’ll be quiet, and I’m sure that Venus will be more than happy to explain why you won’t raise an alarm when you see her again. That is, if you do not force us to kill you.” The bastard was smug, and Quaritch fought the urge to punch the shit out of him for the sake of not dying from arrows. Again.

He glanced down at Wainfleet, who clenched his jaw and shook his head. They were screwed no matter what decision he made. Now it was a matter of dying and keeping his pride, or being taken as prisoner and protecting his squad.

“So you do have her, then?” he asked, and Ku’altu flicked his tail, not answering. The boy turned on his heel and walked past Mansk, who grabbed his arm. Quaritch and Wainfleet both inhaled sharply, and he wanted to yell at the private to keep his hands to himself, goddamn it-

“If I find out you hurt her-“ Mansk hissed, and the sheer malice in his voice made Quaritch stop short. But Ku’altu was unmoved.

“Speak for yourself, demon. When I found her, she reeked. Now I know it was you she smelled like. Believe me, if you laid a single finger on her, it won’t be just me who will want to slice it off.” Ku’altu practically spat in his face, before disappearing into the trees.

Quaritch stood baffled in the clearing, reevaluating his idea of Mansk and Venus, wondering if they were meant to follow when pain pricked his neck. He raised a hand as he fell to his knees, already feeling Lyle slump against him as his fingers closed around the dart. Mansk himself already lay in the grass.

Through his muffled hearing he could make out the sound of ikran wings, and he thought he saw a flash of orange and blue right before his eyes closed. Something blew air at his face, and he thought about swatting it, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He settled for hissing between his teeth, and he swore the sound that vibrated against his ear came from Rutxïryo.

Then everything went fuzzy, and his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

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