#and away from the long shadow of their family

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 3

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The shadows unceremoniously dumped a whole stack of Sellyn Drake Novels on Azriel’s desk.

Azriel eyed the stack of novels dubiously, wondering how in the Mother's blessed name the Shadows had gotten their hands on these. Or why.

But they stayed silent, clearly waiting for him to outright demand an answer. *Why?* he asked with a long suffering sigh. *What's this about?*

No response.

Azriel reached for one of the books, pulling it off the top of the stack and flipping it over. And immediately he regretted that decision. The cover was…certainly something.

A shirtless man holding a rather skimpily dressed woman up against a wall. 

Azriel let out a long, long sigh.

*You need to read the books, Master,* the shadows told him seriously.

Azriel stared at his shadows, then at the books, then at his shadows. *You cannot possibly be serious.* What exactly was this supposed to give him? 

He flipped it over, reading the synopsis. 

When Lady Eleanor is forced into an unwanted marriage, she despairs—until the enigmatic Sir Tristan, a battle-scarred knight with a fearsome reputation, crashes into her life. Bound by a promise to protect her, Tristan whisks Eleanor away from her gilded prison, thrusting them into a wild escape across enemy lands.

Haunted by his past and wary of love, Tristan tries to keep Eleanor at arm's length. But as they face danger together, a fierce passion grows between them, tempting them to trust in a love that could heal even the deepest wounds.

What the fuck. 

*We are, Master.* The Shadows told him, sounding as earnest as they possibly could.

He opened the book. Titled The Dark Knight’s Desire, flicking through the pages. Was this…a first edition?

*It’s important!* The shadows insisted. *You know…to brush up on these flirting skills of yours.*

Azriel shot the shadows an unamused look. *I can flirt perfectly well,* he protested.

*You most certainly cannot.* The Shadows deadpanned. *It’s research! Read them for her!*

*Read them for…* Azriel started, his voice trailing off.

*You found...* he trailed off weakly. They had found a female for him?

The shadows swirled around him almost playfully. *Of course we did,* they said innocently. *We told you we would, didn’t we?*

They were working quickly. It had only been weeks since he had agreed to let them find him a wife.

*You did,* Azriel said slowly, but his mind was working fast, so fast, trying to wrap around the idea that his Shadows were trying to help him find a wife…and more importantly, that they had found a female they thought he would find suitable.

*Where did you find her?* he asked, carefully.

*Here in Velaris!* the shadows answered brightly.

*Here?* Azriel asked, his surprise obvious. The shadows had found...a female...here in Velaris? Someone who was compatible with him? And they wanted him to read...what were these again? Sellyn Drake novels? So he would know how to best romance this female?

*Read the books, Master,* the shadows said with a sigh. So he did.

And that was how Azriel spent his next few hours. Reading a book, and blushing like some sort of adolescent boy when certain…particularly intimate scenes came around. The Shadows cackled beside him the entire time.

How the fuck did Nesta do this with a straight face?!?

Azriel had no idea, but by the Mother, he was never going to ask her. Ever. He would just die of embarrassment.

Though he needed to admit...he actually quite liked it.

The novels, that is. The…intimate scenes. Azriel liked them. A lot. Not even the...smut, like Nesta called it...no, he liked the love story. He liked the two people that came together and would do everything for each other...the falling in love part. He liked that.

But the Shadows were probably never going to let him live this down. Azriel did find comfort in a single thought, though. Whoever this possible future partner was, she was never going to know about this. There was no way in hell he would let her find out that he read smutty books to brush up his flirting skills.

But even that did not stop the nagging thought in Azriel's head, one that made him hesitate, and doubt himself, and doubt the Shadows' judgment. "What if..." he said softly, hesitantly. "What if she just...doesn't like me?"

He knew he had some...rough edges, to put it kindly. And he had his own...troubles. His own...insecurities. Some of the things he kept to himself, so many of his...issues. The shadows knew of them all, of course…There were many nights they stayed up with him, soothing him when the ghosts in his mind became a little too loud, a little too real.

What if that scared her? He didn't want her to be scared. He didn't want to scare her.

*She'll like you, Master.* The Shadows assured him, wrapping themselves around him comfortingly and soothingly. *She’ll love you.*

He exhaled. *Can you read minds now?*

*Only yours,* the Shadows assured him. *But as long as you don't cheat on her with her sister, you'll be doing a better job than her ex-partners!*

What. 

"Are you seriously reading a Sellyn Drake novel?" Only 5 centuries of training kept him from flinching as he looked up to find Cassian in his doorway.

"Nesta said it was good," he shot back flatly, not hiding the book, because that would just give Cassian even more reason to tease him. 

"You...actually listen to Nesta's...book recommendations?" Cassian stared at him, as if he had grown a third head.

"She is intelligent, and she reads more than either of us," Azriel shot back, sharply. "So yes, if she says it's good, I'll try it."

Cassian gave a slight shake of his head, not believing what he was hearing. "You are…actually reading a Sellyn Drake novel?" He repeated as if he couldn't quite believe that Azriel was actually doing that.

"Yes," Azriel said, his words clipped. "You have a problem with that?"

Cassian just stared at him for a long moment before letting out a quiet laugh. "No, I just never thought I would actually see the day that you read a Sellyn Drake novel."

"Well, I like it," Azriel said evenly. "It’s very are well written."

"And smutty," Cassian said with a grin.

Azriel rolled his eyes. "It’s are more than just...smut, Cassian, It actually has a story, and good characters."

"Characters who can barely keep their hands off each other long enough to solve the mystery, you mean," Cassian drawled, but Azriel ignored him, flipping a page. 

."Have you ever actually read a Sellyn Drake novel, Cassian?" Azriel asked, shooting him a look. "Or do you simply judge by the covers?"

Cassian just grinned, clearly enjoying this conversation and how defensive Azriel had become. "The covers are pretty damn attractive though."

Azriel rolled his eyes at that comment, but didn't respond. Just looked back down at the book, completely ignoring his brother.

"Are you coming to dinner tonight?" Cassian asked him instead. 

"No," he answered flatly. He did really want to know how the book ended.

*We found a house! We can show it to you!* the shadows hissed at that moment. Huh.

"There is something that needs my attention," Azriel said simply.

Cassian gave him a searching look, a frown etched into his face, but Azriel simple met his gaze. 

"Az," Cassian said quietly. "Come on."

"I have something I need to do, Cassian." Azriel's voice was still flat, but more firm, a clear sign that he did not want any arguments.

"Az," Cassian said again, and this time, there was a small thread of pleading in his voice. "Just… come have dinner with us. Please. It'll be good for you."

Good? Good to sit at Rhys' table and be told to "behave"? Azriel would rather eat crushed glass than do that. Which was the reasons why he skipped out of them as often as he possible could.

He knew, he knew that Cassian was just looking out for him, but that didn't mean that he felt like he was obligated to go.

"I have something I need to do," he repeated, his voice even.

Cassian sighed. "You are so goddamn stubborn," he muttered, but he let the subject drop, clearly knowing that Azriel was not going to listen.

That evening, instead of sitting through that dinner, Azriel let the shadows swirl around him in excitement, tugging on his jacket, practically dragging him forward.

*It's a lovely house, Master!* they said as they wrapped him in their embrace.

He blinked twice as he rematerialised in front of a lake. Somehow not quite what he had expected. But then���then he saw the house.

Grey stone and wood and the biggest windows he had ever seen that promised an breathtaking view over the lake… and nobody around as far as he could see. He stared at the house, a brow raised. It was nice…very nice. A little too nice. Exactly too his taste.

Azriel turned towards the shadows as he raised another brow. *And how exactly did you…* he started with a huff. *You know what, nevermind.*

He could already hear the shadows saying that they asked for a favor in exchange. Or maybe they stole it.

The house was still nice though, perfect really. He just…didn't want to know what they had done to get it.

Azriel glanced towards the building again. He could almost picture himself in the space, walking around, just….simply existing. It was peaceful and quiet…and he would not be…disturbed or bothered.

He could see himself reading in front of the fireplace, looking out into the night sky through the large windows. 

Azriel walked towards the building, his fingers brushing over the wall. He could feel it already….he could already feel his muscles loosening, his shoulders lowering from their stiff position.

Home, he thought as stepped into the space, the shadows following after him as his lips tugged upwards.

Yes, he could already see himself calling it that. Home. He liked the ring of it. 

*You're welcome, Master,* the shadows said as they swirled around him, nuzzling him affectionately. They were happy for him, so very happy for him.

The living room was spacious, filled with  overstuffed couches and armchairs made for wings… the view indeed was spectacular. And one long uninterrupted wall was lined with tall, massive bookshelves.

It was perfect.

*Does she like books?* he couldn't help but ask.

*Yes, Master! She loves books!* The Shadows assured him in an excited chorus.

She liked to read. That was the first little tidbit of information he learned about her.

*Will you tell me something else about her?* he asked them softly, as he kept exploring the house.

*What do you want to know?* the shadows asked.

*Did her ex-partner really cheat on her with her sister?* he wondered aloud.

*Yes. They are engaged to be married now,* the shadows answered. *He's an asshole,* they muttered darkly.

Azriel couldn't help but give a nod in agreement. An ass was too kind. Whoever he was, he was more than that. Azriel hated him, whoever he was.

*Anything else?* he asked the shadows, curious, so damn curious, to know more about the female.

*She has a cat. His name is Hector. He may be the ugliest cat in existence,* the shadows said primly, *but she adores him.*

Not what he expected, but it was...sweet. It was kind. She had a pet cat. His lips tugged upwards into an involuntary smile.

*And...?* he trailed off, waiting for a response. He was greedy, so damn greedy for more, so greedy to get to know the female more. His curiosity about her had grown to a fever pitch, it seemed.

The Shadows hummed thoughtfully. *She is very, very kind, Master,* they finally said softly.

Those words caused Azriel's smile to go soft, so damn soft. His heart fluttered at the Shadows' words. She was kind. She was kind and she had a cat that she adored. Her ex was an ass who cheated on her. She read, liked books, which meant she was intelligent, and…

Was he getting excited about someone he had never even met?

*When...when can I meet her?* he asked softly.

*Soon,* the shadows promised. *She doesn't leave the house that often...*

Azriel's brows drew together at that. *Why not?* he asked quietly, not sure if he really wanted the answer to that question.

The Shadows hesitated for a moment before responding. *People...people aren't very nice to her,* they admitted slowly.

Azriel blinked, confused. People...weren't nice to her...? But…why? What was there not to be nice about? From what he had gleaned, she was kind, had a cat, was smart, and liked books. What was wrong with any of that? It didn't make any sense.

*Why?* he demanded shaprly.*Because people are idiots as usual,* the shadows snapped right back. *People aren't nice to you either.*

Azriel gave a small wince at that, the shadows words hitting him like a bucket of ice cold water. But they were right, people weren't all the nicest to him, either.

Still...he didn't like the idea of her being treated poorly. He wanted...Gods, the want was so strong, all of a sudden. The want to…to protect her. To guard her, and protect her. To keep her safe. To make sure she was alright.

*Tell me when she leaves her house,* he demanded.

For a moment he could swear the shadows were nearly frozen in place.

*Change of Plans. Put on a different shirt,* the shadows said quickly. Azriel just stared at them.

*A different shirt?* he asked. He didn't even have any clothing here! That was back at the House of Wind. But the shadows were clearly not taking no for an answer.

He batted away a tendril as it started to unbuckle his fighting leathers and did it himself, only for them to shove him into a shirt that was so dark green it was nearly black and then start fussing with his hair.

Azriel barely had time to even process what was happening before the shadows were pushing him towards the door, still trying to fix and smooth his hair and clothes as they moved forward.

*What is the change of plan?* he asked them

*You are getting to see her right now,* the shadows said with a hint of glee to their voice. *Her sister and some friends are taking her to a bar.*

*The same sister that cheated on her with her ex-partner?* he demanded.

*Yes,* the shadows agreed in a hiss. 

Great. So he was going to have to stop a fight from happening, all while trying to meet the female he apparently was connected to? That was a...recipe for disaster right there..

*She'll be at the Crystal Drop* the shadows informed him, and his heart gave a strange little clench at those words. He was...he was actually going to get to meet her. Tonight.

The feeling of excitement was back, rushing through him like a wildfire. But there was also a hint of trepidation, a hint of nervousness. What if he screwed it all up? What if he messed things up? His stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.

Azriel didn't have time to dwell on those thoughts, though, as the shadows gave him a little nudge forward again, all but forcing him to start moving towards the tavern.

He could see it in the distance, the sign proclaiming it as “Crystal Drop”. It...it was right there. She was there... 

Taking a deep breath, he headed towards the bar, his heart pounding in his chest with every step that he took closer to the entrance. Gods, his hands were shaking. 

He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was

He entered the tavern, and his eyes automatically went to the crowd, searching for...something.

The shadows let him towards a place in a corner where he could view the whole bar and he ordered a single fireale, because he was not getting drunk. He wanted his wits about him when he met her. 

But right now…right now, Azriel settled in to watch.

He watched the crowd, his eyes roving around, searching the whole tavern once again. He just wanted to know where the group was. He wanted to know where...she was.

*Do you see her, Master?* the shadows asked him, nearly teasingly.

*I have absolutely no clue how she looks, so how should I?* he gave back in a growl. The door opened and he watched as a group of females poured in...and then right there at the edges of that group...

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on her, and...oh.

Between one blink and the next everything changed. A golden bond unfurled in his chest, connecting him to her.

Her.

He knew it.

She was his mate.

Mine. He whispered in his head, barely more than a thought. He knew it with every fiber of his being, every part of his heart.

He took her in hungrily. 

She was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Azriel had to physically restrain himself from going over to her right then and there. 

He could hardly breathe. He couldn't form a coherent thought. His whole world had suddenly narrowed to the sight in front of her. His mate.

*Master?* There was alarm in the shadows voices as his breathing became near erratic.

*She's...You found my mate,* he said weakly.

The shadows hummed in confirmation and his eyes were glued to her still, drinking her in. She had long brown hair with soft curls, falling over back, bangs framing a rounded face with high cheekbones and plump cheeks...full rosy lips too and adorable freckles dotting over her nose...

She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.  She was simply...stunning. 

And mine, he thought to himself. She was his. She was his mate.

He didn't even look at the rest of the group. Just focused on the one...the one who was at the edge of the group, seemingly trying to vanish, to become invisible. 

Even from the distance, Azriel could see the tension in his mate’s form. He frowned slightly at that. He didn't like it, seeing her like that.

He...his instincts were starting to kick in, a soft, protective urge rising up in him. He wanted to go to her, to...to stand by her side and ease away whatever was bothering her. But he stayed rooted to the spot, just...just watching her. Just watching his mate, the sight of her soothing every single little part of him until he felt warm all over.

He let the group settle at a table a few feet away from him, forcing himself to look down on the bottle in front of him and not stare at his mate like a total creep.

If he strained his ears, he could hear the whole conversation. Apparently it was his mate’s sisters Hen Party, the kind of celebration that some High Fae Females had before they got married.

Nice. Why not bring along your sister, when you were engaged to the guy that cheated with you on said sister?

The fact that his mate even came along into this bar that evening was probably a sign of how fucking nice she was. And Gods...no wonder his mate was so anxious...this whole thing was just...a disaster waiting to happen.

He glanced towards the group again, his attention once again immediately falling on his mate. He could see it, the small twitch of her fingers, the tightening of her lips...the small little things, and he felt his heart wrench at the sight.

She didn't talk. She was just sitting there silently, while the other females had a raucous conversation, that she wasn't part of. It made him bristle.

He didn't understand why they were doing that, why she wasn't a part of the conversation. She was right there. But they weren't listening, they weren't noticing her...or maybe they were ignoring her on purpose.

He...he didn't like it. He didn’t like it at all.  

Just minutes later, Azriel realised that he should have wished that they kept ignoring her.

Because Azriel was quite certain that he was going to slit his mate's sister's throat with Truthteller if she said one more word. 

The blonde, her sister, stared at his mate and this time a sharp, nasty smile curled on her lips. "Oh, what's the matter, little sister? Mad that I nabbed the male you were going to marry?" she taunted with a malicious grin. "I guess he just liked me better."

Azriel was so shocked that he could just sit there, staring. 

The other females laughed as the blonde continued, her lips curled in a sneer. "You should be happy for me, really," she said, her voice sugary sweet. "After all, you could never keep him happy. You've always been useless, haven't you?"

The comments made Azriel see red. What the hell was wrong with this female? Who treated their own sister like this? 

He had half a mind to go over there and wring her neck. 

*Don’t,* his shadows hissed. *You’ll make it worse.*

*Make it worse?! It can’t fucking get worse!* he hissed back. 

He itched to go over to the group, to protect his mate from these cruel, cruel words. 

*Yes, it can,* the shadows snapped. *What do you want to do? Massacre her sister right in front of her?!* Azriel growled under his breath. 

*Normally you are much more bloodthirsty,* he complained to the shadows. 

*You are the fucking spymaster. Act like it,* the shadows snapped. *You want us to make her sister’s life a misery? We’ll do it. We’ll do it and it will never be traced back to you. Besides, she deserves worse than a quick death.*

He clenched his teeth. 

The other females were laughing, but his mate...wasn't. She wasn't saying a single word, wasn't defending herself, wasn't saying anything. Just...just sitting there and taking the horrible abuse with a neutral, blank expression on her face.

"Cat got your tongue?" her sister asked her with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, it's not like you're good at talking, are you?" she asked her with a cruel little laugh. "Too bad for you that males want females that are able to have a conversation, not awkward little things who can't even speak when spoken to."

Azriel's body tensed as he listened to the words, every muscle coiled tight. It took every ounce of his control not to stride over to the group of females and punch her sister straight in the face. The only thing he wanted to do in that moment was to protect his mate.

The comment clearly found it's target, Azriel could see his mate flinch at the words, her face crumbling momentarily before it smoothed over into a neutral expression again. Gods...it must've hurt so badly to hear her sister speak to her like that…

*We’ll ruin her fucking life,* he vowed to the shadows. 

*Agreed, Master.”

Her sister rolled her eyes another time. "Come on, let's go," she told the other females. "You have the bill, don't you, Skylar?"

The words made Azriel snap. So the sister hadn't intended to even pay for her drinks in the first place? It was…they had just used her, he realised suddenly. Used her for the first stop on their tavern tour, to pick up the drink tab…and that was all she was good for in their eyes…

It was...Azriel couldn't stand by and watch this anymore, it made him so angry. So fucking furious.

"Ye...yes," his mate stuttered.

She looked so small in that moment, her eyes averted, her shoulders slumped, her hands trembling. She looked...wounded, so hurt, and Azriel was...he was sick of seeing her just accept this verbal abuse without a word. 

They left. They should thank the cauldron that they left at that moment, because otherwise Azriel would have made Cassian at his worst look like a puppy.

He wanted to storm after them, to give every single person in the group a piece of his mind, but that could wait. The most important thing right now was his mate. She was still here, after all. Azriel took a deep breath, and slowly, almost hesitantly walked towards her.

He watched as she didn't move, and he finally decided to speak, his voice a low, soft murmur. "Mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the chair beside her.

Her head turned, and he felt his heart stop as her eyes met his for the first time. Up close, her eyes were...mesmerizing. A deep, sparkling blue, framed by long, lush eyelashes. He couldn't look away from her.

And she stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes near comically wide.

He gave her a soft, slow smile. "Hi," he greeted her, his voice gentle. She blinked a few times, still staring at him, and he found it so cute, how shocked she was that he was talking to her. 

Her mouth opened but no words came out. She was staring at him like a poor bunny rabbit would at an apex predator , caught in his grasp.

For just a moment her scent went utterly haywire.

Caramel and Hazelnuts. So sugary sweet that he would have gladly rolled around in it. And she just stared at him, wide eyed, silent...until suddenly the scent changed to incadescent happiness.

"Oh." A small sound escaped her as she swallowed.

And he knew. He knew at that moment that the bond had just snapped for her.

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 4

A little treat in these trying times

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

***

The first time Daniel chirps (to Vlad’s knowledge, but it’s actually the fifth, he was just out of range in the GZ all the previous time) Vlad responds immediately. 

The boy attacks him just as viciously as ever, and Vlad assumes from then on that the boy is merely taunting him, crying out for family only to go “no, not you.”

Vlad ignores it from then on. It isn’t particularly frequent anyway.

When he hears him chirping back and forth with some other ghost somewhere on the East Coast he feels his eye twitch. 

He dismisses it, however. No doubt it is one of Daniel’s little ghost allies helping him try to antagonize Vlad into showing up just to be rejected again.

Well, Vlad won’t fall for Daniel’s petty tricks. He would be Vlad’s son in time one way or another, no need to indulge the boy’s temporary sense of superiority.

It is grating when it wakes him up in the middle of the night, but he goes back to sleep quickly after.

Midday, he thinks he might have to track down Danny’s little friend for a nice long chat about Not Doing That. But that’s an issue for later.

Before “later” can arrive, Vlad finds himself taken into “temporary custody” while the police search his house.

He goes peacefully, assured that they’ll find nothing amiss, all of his ecto materials tucked neatly away in a lab that is inaccessible any way other than phasing. And wrapped in lead just in case.

He does not notice that a member of the Justice League is involved, nor would he care, certain that none could find his lab. And utterly unaware of the JLD’s existence.

Not that the JLD is needed in this case.

Despite his best efforts to change every copy of the construction crews’ blueprints both digital and physical in order to eliminate knowledge of the inaccessible room, there’s no accounting for memory.

Officer Roger worked in construction before joining the force, and it was only less than a half a year ago that Masters’ Amity home was constructed. Officer Roger still remembers the doorless, windowless box they built alongside the small mansion itself. It’s nowhere to be found on the property, so he brings it up with his superior.

Orphan questions it - nearly giving the whole team heart-attacks in the process - but a simple “I used to work in construction” seems to be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

A two hour sweep with some metal detectors finds nothing.

Then Orphan reappears from the shadows, providing another jumpscare, before pressing a hand silently to the side of her head.

The crew watches in silence as well, giving their pulses a chance to slow.

A ten-count later Orphan’s hand drops, and she strides confidently to the rear-left corner of the mansion and points at the ground.

“200 feet beneath the foundation,” she says before disappearing back into the shadows.

The crew shares a look and gets to work.

The time it takes to dig up the cube is just more time spent in a cell for Vlad, where he waits patiently, assured he’ll be released soon enough.

The lab itself would be only a minor problem - there would be fines and inspections and a heavy watch until everything was brought up to code. Questions about how he accessed it would be a larger problem.

But worst of all, in the comfort of his lab? He’s not much for hiding away incriminating documents. 

Of which there are many, given his propensity for keeping extensive records of his experiments, which include unethical cloning and what sums up to human experimentation. 

Once they find the actual facilities for the experiments in his Wisconsin home? It will all be over for him.

Being a ghost he could, of course, simply flee the cell and start anew somewhere else, with a new identity or even in a new dimension altogether - so long as he could nab Maddie and her children to bring with him.

But within his labs, he also keeps extensive records of himself.

A copy of the Plasmius Maximus.

Other ghost- and halfa-capturing restraints.

When he hears steps approaching his cell 2 days into his stay when it is clearly not a mealtime, he thinks “finally” assured that he is about to be released.

He only registers that it is Batman after he’s been hit by the Plasmius Maximus - cut off from his powers for at least the next two hours.

He has no chance to complain, as he is subsequently tranqued unconscious to be taken to a more secure location.

***

It’s an hour and half after school let out when the cops - who had taken to trying to distract Jazz and Danny with cards games and work stories while they waited - step away to answer their radios. 

When they return, they tell them that it’s “time to go.”

The siblings share a look, then shrug.

It wouldn’t be the first time the cops had to drive them home - rare though it was, there were at least 4 such occasions in their memories. It wasn’t a big deal.

They were less than enthused when the cops explained that they’d be heading to take them to the station instead of to home. Still, they chalked it up to the whole “questions about the Red Hood” thing and moved on. 

At least it meant they could dodge a home visit like Danny had wanted.

Except when they get there, they are taken to a cushy room and introduced to their social worker, a woman with a kind smile and a soothing voice who introduces herself as Bethany Scott, sits them down and explains, very gently, that their parents are currently under investigation.

To her credit, she isn’t condescending. She doesn’t try to hide away the truth; when they ask why, she tells them.

It’s a surprisingly long list of charges. Of everything on it, the violation of the meta protection acts comes as the biggest surprise.

Their parents were obsessive about ghosts, but they were also good at it. They never attack anything that doesn’t have ectoplasm.

Well, barring a few misfires.

Another surprise comes then: the Anti-Ecto Acts don’t exist. Ghosts are covered by the MPA by design, the AEA would never have gotten off of the ground in any legal capacity. It is solely a creation of the GIW, an extreme “‘real’ humans only” supremacist group that had worked at every level to pull the wool over the eyes of the small town’s citizenry so thoroughly that they’d been thought a real government agency - the imitation of which would be just one of the many charges that every member they managed to capture would be facing.

Then Mrs Scott starts talking about placement options.

Their Aunt, they are told, is not an option. 

It comes as a surprise to Danny. On quiet nights, when no ghosts showed up to interrupt him and Sam and Tucker weren’t up to distract him with a game of Doomed, his mind would sometimes wander back to that darkest of timelines.

He’d wondered how Vlad had ended up with custody. Being his godfather made him an option, but Danny would’ve wanted to go with Alicia. Will be damned, Danny would’ve plead on both knees with the judge to go with his aunt. Grieving or not, he’d have wanted as much distance between him and Vlad as possible,

He’d assumed Vlad must have done something to her or paid off the judge to rule in his favor.

To find out it was because she simply wouldn’t take him?

A part of him understands. He doesn't - Aunt Alicia is a kind person, yes, but not particularly loving or caring. When his parents brought up the subject of children with her on one of their rare visits, she described herself as having “less motherly instinct than a starving axolotl.”

Not an encouraging description after he read a book on axolotls for context. 

With their options being “Aunt in a small wood cabin in the middle of nowhere with the emotional sensitivity of a bull in a china shop” and “Rich friend of the family who would enable them to stay in contact with their friends and could hire them therapists even if he’s personally useless for helping them through the grieving process” she probably also figured marking herself down as a solid non-option would just expedite them getting the help they need (because she does care, even if she herself can’t - won’t - be there for them in that way).

He doesn’t hate her, but the knowledge burns. To know that there really was no avoiding Vlad - in that horrible future and in the now - makes him sick to his stomach.

Except-

Except before he can spiral, Mrs Scott tells them that Vlad is also not an option. Because he’s also under investigation.

A hysterical giggle bursts past his lips before he can think to stop it.

“Why?” he asks, ignoring Jazz’ disapproving grimace.

It’s less funny when they’re told that he’s under investigation under suspicion of mostly the same violations as their parents - including MPA violation, given the whole “million dollar ghost” incident and related propaganda. As the mayor especially, he should’ve known the AEA weren’t real and that the GIW were frauds and it was his responsibility to do something about them.

Depending on how he’d interacted with the group, he might be looking at aiding and abetting treason - or just outright treason - charges.

“If Aunt Alicia and Vlad both aren’t able to take us, then where are we going to go?” Jazz asks, shoving her emotions aside to deal with the matter at hand.

“Ordinarily, we would call up a few local fosters and see if one could take you in for a few days while we look into more long-term options. Worst case scenario you would have to spend a night or two in a hotel suite connected to mine while I found someone,” she answers. “But the two of you are in luck; Batman is the one who brought the case to our attention - apparently some erratic behavior from Red Hood brought them here, don’t ask, I don’t have all the details - and offered to run your parents’ DNA to check for other relatives that could take you. There was a match.”

The siblings share another look.

Both grandparents on their mother’s side had been only children and both were dead. Aunt Alicia had already said no and had no children of her own. Their father had been disowned by his family, and even if their other Aunts and Uncles would have been willing to take them in it didn’t matter, because all 5 had died in various accidents on their “hunts.”

“Apparently your uncle, Jerry Fenton, had a fling before he passed with one Ms Sheila Haywood. Their son, Jason, was thought to be the son of Willis Todd and Mrs Haywood until the DNA test today. He was raised by Willis and Mrs Catherine Todd until his subsequent adoption by Mr Bruce Wayne, and is currently living in Gotham.”

And it sounds wrong - the only thing most Fentons could love was mystery and danger - thus why only one out of six had survived. But they don’t know enough to dispute it.

Also. The involvement of another billionaire is setting off alarm bells. On the one hand: this could be a fruitloop paying someone off in order to forcibly adopt them. On the other hand, maybe Jason Todd really was a Fenton and being adopted by fruitloops was some kind of curse on the current generation.

“We contacted Mr. Todd the moment the connection was made. He has expressed an interest in taking you in, and flew out immediately to come and meet you. He arrived not five minutes ago.”

She paused and gave them a sympathetic look. 

“I understand that this is all a lot to take in. Please know that placing you with Mr. Todd is not the end of my duties; even after he takes you, I will be following you to Gotham. I’ll be looking into counselors for the both of you, and we’ll have a follow up on that topic in a maximum of a week’s time. I’ll also be doing regular home checks to ensure you’re both settling in well and that you’re being taken good care of. 

Even with what little I’ve gleaned, it is obvious that the environment you both grew up in until now was neither a safe nor a healthy one. It is my job to ensure that doesn’t happen again. If you have any concerns about your placement home now or in the future, please do not hesitate to bring them up with me. If you worry something is not “important” enough to mention, rest assured that if it bothers you in the slightest, then it’s important to me.”

She gives them each a long look.

Then she brings in Jason.

[hiraethwa]

how to kill a god

zero from <the collection — how to kill a god>

pairing. gojo satoru x reader

cw. non-canon compliant, childhood friends(?), hella issues, special grade sorcerer!reader, satoru is a snobby kid, non-canon lore!

wc. 1.5k

all the legends are true.

gojo satoru remembers when he first met you at the age of ten. the cherry blossoms have finally bloomed a few days prior with the onset of spring on his family estate, soft pink petals scattered in large off-centered circles around the gracefully twisted trunks. 

the ever changing faces of the rotating guards and servants no longer faze him. he has long since stopped trying to remember their faces or their names, knowing there is barely any point with how frequent they come and go, from dying to protect, or kill him.

he didn’t care to ask for your name that day either, dismissing you as yet another fresh face following him around like a shadow. though he especially didn’t appreciate the way you are graceless, stepping so heavily behind him, each step loud and obnoxious, slowly ticking him off. so unlike the previous servants who were assigned to him, quiet to the point that he forgets about them.

a very loud and unorderly shadow.

he didn’t even need to have heightened hearing to be aware of exactly where you were behind him, your footsteps gave everything away. 

the obi on your kimono is tied haphazardly, as if you have never had to wear one before. he glances back at you, eyes falling on the fabric panels that are coming loose from the way you walk so very ungracefully, and sighs heavily. 

the petals crumple under your heavy steps, leaving behind small oblong footprints from your zori sandals. he doesn’t bother to explain himself at your confusion when you notice how his steps leave them untouched. 

satoru wonders the kind of upbringing that resulted in the unrefinement that is you. a thought pops into his head, annoyance lining his nerves from your disruption to the peace and quiet of his structured daily life. whoever had you assigned to him needs to rethink their choices, fast.

his infinity had been keeping steady for a few hours now with his training to hold it each day becoming longer and longer while he’s walking, sparring or learning. though sometimes it flickers just as an object enters its field and he fails to hold it firmly, resulting with the object, a dagger on a handful of occassions, whizzing by his head, missing him by just a couple of inches, as his infinity buys him some time. 

it would be interesting to try if it holds against you. purely for that reason of course, he would never stoop as low as to knock you off your feet just to delight in the confusion on your face, maybe a tear or two, because of how much you are annoying him. 

he would never.

satoru stops in his steps abruptly, coughing to cover up the snicker that slipped from him. you stumble into him, hand catching on the sleeve of his kimono to steady yourself. 

he almost shoves you off of him, whirling around instantly, features schooled into neutrality, the only disbelief showing when he blinks twice in rapid succession. wha— impossible. he peers down at you, and then at his feet, lifting each side for confirmation. 

the petals remain perfectly untouched.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, concerned for him. your eyebrows furrow, leaning into him to survey the path in front of you. your attention returns to him, head tilted to the side as his eyes lock onto yours, a nerve twitching near his eyebrow.

his infinity is perfectly intact. it has not faltered or dropped at all where he is concerned, fully aware of the cursed technique he kept active this entire time. and still here you are, your slender fingers latched on the thick kimono fabric, now running through his hair, with awe written all over your face at the sheer whiteness of it.

“get off me.” he bites out, unimpressed by your commonness. the audacity you have to even lay a finger on him, when no one, not even his biological parents whom he hadn’t seen in a year, lacks the sensibility to keep their hands away from him.

you scramble away from him at the sourness of his tone. he almost feels bad. almost. 

how did you get past his infinity? 

he crosses his arms at you. “what’s your cursed technique?” 

you look back at him in confusion. oh god, a commoner and an idiot. “well? cat’s got your tongue or something?” he taps his foot impatiently at your lack of response. there’s absolutely no way the clan would hire help with no knowledge of the jujutsu society. 

“satoru.” the current clan head appears behind him, stern voice calling out to him.

“yes, father?” he has addressed him as his father ever since he could remember, the act itself feeling more natural than calling his blood parents the same. 

“i see you have met your shadow.”

“she is extremely loud and ill-mannered, could you not have assigned someone else?”

he chuckles at satoru’s words. “for now, yes. but she will learn our ways and become what she was born for.”

“surely you do not mean that i have to put up with her indelicacy any longer than i already have?” ten year old satoru had impeccable manners from his extensive schooling. he knows that as the heir apparent, his wishes are granted most of the time, when it doesn’t concern his education and safety.

the clan leader glances between him and you, eyes lingering on your disheveled appearance, noting that perhaps you would be a bad influence for satoru if you stayed by his side during these crucial developmental years.

he slides his gaze back to satoru. “it is her purpose to be your shadow, satoru, but i am sure we can work something out in the meantime.”

satoru huffs in relief, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. thank god. he couldn’t stand another day of you trailing behind him, constantly reminding him of your presence. 

and so you are gone after that, barely an imprint in his memory. 

until you come stumbling back into his life almost three years later to be his sparring partner. your pudgy limbs grown from your adolescent years, having a good six inches on satoru, grinning as you kick his feet out under him. 

he bares his teeth at you, bouncing back on his feet and throwing a punch at your face. you dodge quickly, though your speed is no match for satoru. his knuckles graze your cheek. 

a triumphant smile threatens to break from him, but it seems that you will be having the last laugh, having given up your attempt to fully evade his attacks and throwing your own fist up in his abdomen instead. 

thirteen year old satoru doubles over coughing, having his breath knocked out of him unexpectedly. you had opted to tank a partial blow from him and gambled on landing a full forced hit on him. 

“well met, gojo satoru.” you offer him a hand as his instructor watches on from the sidelines. 

he narrows his eyes at you, his competitive nature refusing to take the loss and admit defeat. he should be the strongest. he is born to be the strongest, goddamnit. 

but he lets you believe that he has lost, accepting your outstretched hand. the corner of his mouth twitches upon finding his opening as you hoist him up. 

he yanks, hard, without the intention of pulling himself up. 

your golden eyes widen in shock as you lose your balance. satoru grabs his opportunity to sweep your feet out from beneath you, sending you to the ground flat on your back. 

those golden eyes. satoru blinks, images of a clumsy servant resurfacing in his sea of memories. you.

“the fight’s not over until sensei says so, shadow.” he crouches down, the words a whisper in the wind, though the smug smile he throws your way is unmistakable. his six eyes flare bright in response as yours dull. you look away, getting back on your feet as the instructor calls you over.

he frowns at you, wondering what exactly his clan elders are playing at now. 

you don’t spare him another glance as you quietly follow another instructor back into the main quarters, your behavior largely subdued in comparison to the person he sparred with just moments earlier. 

so it seems that you have learnt your manners in the time you were sent away.

he racks his brain in an attempt to recall your name. what is it? his father had called you his shadow, but someone must have said your name that day. though he wonders why your demeanor dropped when he referred to you as such. 

gojo satoru learns much later on what being his shadow meant—to protect and serve, and to be ready to lay down your life before his in a heartbeat. 

taglist.

@inlove-maze @regalillegal @danielmarie @lvrellie @suniix @madaqueue @celloccino @kalsplace @sharkiethrts @corvid007 @reactwithjan @cookielovesbook-akie @itsdragonius @hiraethwrote @nyahctrl @starlightanyaaa @just-pure-trash @ladygojooo @noble-17 @box-of-roses @fushitoru @mintgrumpy @hatsukeii @bakery-anon @daisy-room (open! add yourself here)

a/n. evil giggles, ohhhhh the lore i have in mind heheeee, hope you enjoyed! i also made a. yn moodboard hehehe

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 6 | Birthday Tears

summary: today was your birthday, the day you���ve never got to actually celebrate because of some family issues. Youve now always avoided your birthday and didn’t want to celebrate it, when you were coming home from the grocery store you were met with a sweet surprise when entering the house…

warnings: FLUFF, brief mentions of family issues but aside from that nothing else!

authors note: day 6 is now complete ! Big thanks to my honey @/strnilolover for the idea and the other ideas, luv u sm💋. And tysm for all of the support throughout this whole thing, I rlly appreciate very single one of you sm. Hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The crisp autumn air hung in the space around me as I clutched the grocery bags and carried them home, each step filled with a heavy amount of memories I wish to forget everyday. Today was my birthday-the day I’ve avoided for many years now, it’s always been a battlefield in my family and it just serves as a reminder of fractured connections and unmet expectations. Each year I have tried to wish it away, for it to vanish and forever be forgotten by everyone on earth, pretending like the specific date held no significance to my well being.

I arrive at my shared apartment with my roommate Madi and set the bags down in the kitchen counter, the delicious scent of fresh basil and ripe tomatoes filling the air as a reminder to the pasta I was planning on making for tonight’s dinner for me and Madi if she wouldn’t be staying at her boyfriends house again. Just praying I won’t burn it, like it happened the previous times. I dismiss the slight sorrow hollowing a hole in my heart at the thought of others celebrating their birthday and looking forward to it, while I was avoiding it at every cost and turn I made.

My hands moved over to the grocery bags, taking each product outside and placing them one by one in the fridge at their designated spots. Just as I turn around, my attention was immediately brought to flickering lights coming from under the door leading to the living room. Did I forget to turn off the lamp before I left? Curiosity piqued as I took a step closer, my ears picking up the soft hum of perhaps my favorite sounds. Laughter but genuine, joyful laughter. Was the TV left turned on too alongside the lamp?

I paused for a moment, my heart slightly racing as trepidation coursed through me. Maybe it was best to retreat my steps back into the comfort of my lonely routine and worry about it later but something, perhaps a whisper of longing and something I lost a long time ago, pulled me towards the room without my consent. Cautiously I creaked open the door, expecting to see the same mess of a variety of items I was going to clean up when I got back home but instead I was met with colorful confetti scattered across the floor of the room along with a chorus of “Surprise!” Which caught me completely off guard.

The confetti danced in the air as I stood at the doorframe, completely surprised but then I scanned the living room. Alongside the festive chaos was standing my boyfriend, Christopher and surprisingly my roommate Madi without the presence of her boyfriend along with some of my other friends who managed to somehow scrunch into the small space of my modest living room. My heart swelled, shocked by their presence as it was unprepared for the flood of overwhelming emotions all coming down at once.

Chris moved to stand next to me, wrapping a loving arm around my waist and pulling me closer to his side as I admire the whole surprise still. “Happy birthday, ma” He celebrated, glancing down and chuckling at how well the surprise worked on me. The warmth of his small embrace scattered across my whole body and enveloped me in a safe space I never knew I needed to feel, urging away every of the shadows that clung to my heart on this day.

“What is all this?” I stammered, continuing to try and process the sight placed in front of me. On the small coffee table landed a homemade birthday cake topped off with several candles, decorations created from paper and a pile of gifts wrapped in pretty shiny wrapping paper. “We figured you finally needed to stop avoiding your birthday, everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday after all.” Madi beamed as she stepped closer to where me and Chris were standing while Chris adds, “We couldn’t let another year go by without making it special, y’know?”

Realization washes over me, the overwhelming kindness in their gesture felt like a balm to all of the years I’ve neglected my own birthday. I didn’t expect anyone to remember, let alone plan a whole celebration surprise party in my honor. “I- thank you guys. I honestly don’t know what to say.” I finally managed to speak, my voice faltering. I suddenly felt vulnerable, emotions catching right in my throat as the memories of family disappointment flooding back. Yet, while standing among my friends, a new warmth takes me into an embrace. This was love but uncomplicated and genuine which makes a soft tear roll down my cheek.

“Well let’s get this party started now, shall we?” Chris grinned, grabbing my hand and leading me to the couch, where they had already set up laughter-filled games and a playlist of my favorite songs. The atmosphere radiated with joy, and those initial bad memories and emotions I felt faded away, replaced with surprise and joy.

As we celebrated, each laugh, each honest word, chipped away at the walls I had put up to protect myself. The clinking of glasses, the sugary taste of cake, and the joy in my friends' eyes began to stitch together the lost fragments of my broken heart. I realized I wasn’t celebrating the absence of what had been, but rather embracing the promise of what could finally be.

When the time comes to blow out the candles, I wish for something different this year. Not for the day to disappear and be forgotten, but for the future where birthdays would mean love and connection. Laughter and joy echoes through the walls of my soul, when I open my eyes I was met with smiling faces, and I knew, despite all that had been, today had changed my perspective on birthdays.

This birthday was the beginning of a newfound respect for the day I had so long tried to erase—a day I could finally acknowledge as my own, filled with sweetness, acceptance, and the warmth of friendship. Today, I felt more than just celebrated; I felt alive.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[aewon]

golden

heeseung x f!reader g: fluff, angst ⚠️ : cursing, kissing wc: 1.8k

—————————————————————————

Growing up wasn’t easy for you.

Your sister was the golden child, loved by all, hated by none.

You on the other hand were the “other” child in your parents lives.

The one who didn’t get as much attention no matter what you did.

You yearned for the affection and praise from your parents that your sister got daily.

Even in school, your sister was popular with many friends while you had a small few.

You knew your sister truly hated you when you confided in her about a crush you had sophomore year, and she began dating him a week later.

Everything you wanted, your sister got.

Every birthday she was showered with love and lavish gifts, while yours were days mostly spent with friends as less effort was given by your family.

Family…can you even call them that?

It was at 18 when you decided to go low contact with your family, your sister included.

You vowed not to let them hurt you anything with their lack of care for you.

You’re now in your senior year of college, and living without being in your sister's shadow has brought more happiness to you than you could have ever imagined.

She decided to pursue school out of state, while you stayed.

You’re going to be graduating top of your class, but of course your sister’s graduation is overshadowing that.

Which is why when you get the text from your parents inviting you home to celebrate your sister, you want nothing more than to say no.

But you know if you do, they’ll raise questions and it’ll be a whole repeat of the conversation you tried having years ago.

Before you left, you tried talking to your parents about your feelings. How you felt inferior to your sister in their eyes.

They, of course, vehemently denied any accusation of favoritism, claiming you were overreacting.

That was the end of that.

So, you suck it up, telling them you’ll be there.

Your apartment and school are a good hour and a half away from your hometown.

You make the drive the next day, dreading being in the same room as your family for the next 2-3 hours.

When you arrive, the house is already crowded.

You pass uncles, aunts, cousins.

None of them bother to greet you, making you regret coming already.

When you find your parents and sister, they make half an effort to greet you.

“Sis, I’m so glad you could make it,” your sister says.

“Congratulations.” You smile, albeit awkwardly.

Without even saying thank you, she rushes off to greet one of her friends.

You saunter away from your parents, finding a somewhat quiet corner to bury yourself in.

You’re scrolling through your phone when someone sits next to you.

You’re surprised to see Lee Heeseung, one of your sister's friends since high school.

You think he’s just sitting down to relax, but then he’s talking to you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You look up, “…Hi?”

You remember whenever your sister had friends over, you weren’t allowed to talk to them because it upset her.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you,” Heeseung says.

“Yeah, I moved a couple towns away for college.”

“How have you been?”

“Great! I’m graduating this year.”

Heeseung, who's the same age as your sister, graduated before you.

“Congrats, that’s a big deal. Are your parents gonna arrange a party for you too?”

Your smile slowly fades, “Probably not.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “Why not?”

You want to tell the truth, the fact that your parents have never cared for you the way they do your sister.

The neglect, the lack of affection, you want to spill everything.

But, he probably won’t believe you, so you wave it off, “I’m just not really a party type.”

He looks like he’s about to say more when you hear your sister squeal his name from across the yard.

Before you know it, she’s rushed over, grabbing Heeseung by the sleeve and dragging him toward their friend group.

You sigh, it’s probably better you don’t talk to him anyway.

The hours drag on and your parents gather everyone’s attention, clanking a fork on a wine glass.

“We’re so happy to have everyone important to S/N here to celebrate her special day. 23 years ago we gave birth to the light of our life and everyday has been a blessing. Our daughter is smart, hardworking, kind and so much more. We can’t think of anyone more deserving. Please, a toast, to S/N.”

Everyone raises their glasses, toasting to her.

You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help the tears that begin to form.

Getting up, you quietly leave the backyard, heading upstairs to your old room.

It’s empty, with nothing but a bed and dresser, no essence of you anywhere.

When you moved out, you made sure to take everything with you.

Now, as you sit on the bed, you let the tears fall.

You knew your parents didn’t care for you the way they did your sister. Yet, some part of you still hoped you had a place in their hearts, but clearly that was not the case.

This feels like a knife was twisted in your heart.

“Y/N?”

Heeseung’s voice interrupts your thoughts as he enters the room.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, coming to sit beside you on the bed.

“It’s nothing,” you say, wiping your tears frantically.

“You’re crying, Y/N, that’s not nothing.”

“Why are you here, Heeseung? Why are you talking to me?

“Because you’re sad, and I hate to see you sad.” His eyes are soft, looking at you like you’re fragile.

“You don’t even know me Heeseung, why do you care if I’m sad or not?”

Without warning he cups your face, pulling you forward into a kiss.

Your eyes are wide open in shock, before you relax in his hold, closing your eyes and enjoying the kiss.

Your lips move desperately, as he scoots impossibly closer.

You’re so drawn into the kiss, you don’t hear the footsteps making their way upstairs.

“What the fuck!”

You hear your sister’s voice and immediately break away.

“S/N-” You try to speak but she cuts you off.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? I’ve always told you to stay away from my friends and this is what you do in return. You know he’s mine.”

You look between her and Heeseung, stuttering out an apology before you rush out of the room.

Running downstairs, you hear footsteps behind you and you run into the living room.

“What happened?” Your father asks as S/N and Heeseung follow closely behind you.

“Y/N apparently thinks it’s okay to kiss another girl's man,” S/N says, huffing.

Your parents turn to you, disgust evident on their faces.

You know it shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

“Is this true?” Your mother asks.

“I…I didn’t know—” You’re grasping at straws, trying to defend yourself.

Everyone is staring at you, looks of disappointment on everyone’s faces.

You feel a new onset of tears coming down and without another word you rush out of the house.

S/N watches you go, then turns her attention to Heeseung.

“Are you okay?” She asks, “Did she force herself on you? I swear I’m gonna—”

“Stop!” Heeseung shouts, silencing everyone’s whispers.

“She didn’t force herself on me S/N are you fucking crazy? I kissed her!”

S/N has the audacity to look confused. “Why would you do that? You know you and I are—”

“We’re nothing!” Heeseung shouts. “We have never been anything more than friends and we never will be.”

“What are you talking about? Don’t tell me you actually like her? She’s a loser, why would you like someone like her?” S/N is blabbering at this point, saying whatever is in her mind.

Heeseung looks at her in utter shock, terrified that someone could talk about their own sister like that.

“You know what I think S/N? I think you’re a spoiled, bratty, insignificant human being. The fact that you could talk about your sister like that, your own family, is appalling. I don’t know what planet you’re living on, but this one doesn’t revolve around you.”

S/N is shocked, “What do you mean? I’m insignificant? She’s the one who’s insignificant!”

Heeseung smirks, “I get it now. You’re jealous. Jealous that she’s pretty, that she’s smart, kind, successful… everything you’re not. And it seems you’ve been nothing but enabled your whole life,” he says with his gaze on your parents.

With that, he heads out the door in your direction.

He gazes down both sides of the street, looking for your figure.

Heeseung finally spots you, on the other side of the road, down a hill that leads to a park.

He jogs, nearly tripping on his way down.

He approaches you cautiously, hearing your small sniffles.

You’re sitting on a bench, criss-crossed, head buried in your hands.

He sits next to you, “Y/N.”

You glance at him, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you. What S/N said isn’t true. We’re not together, in any way.”

You sit up, “Even so, we shouldn’t have been talking to each other in the first place.”

“Why? Because S/N doesn’t like it? Who cares what she thinks!”

“S/N has always been the favorite. Everything she wanted, she got. I.. I never meant anything to my parents, no matter what I did.”

“They’ve enabled her behavior, haven’t they?”

You nod, “For years, I just wanted some kind of acknowledgment from them. But I know I’ll never get it, especially not now.”

“You don’t need people like that in your life. You deserve to be surrounded by people who appreciate you and give you what you deserve,” Heeseung says, pouring his heart out in hopes you’ll understand.

“Like who?”

“Like me.” He smiles. “I didn’t kiss you for no reason. I like you, Y/N.”

Your beautiful eyes blink up at him, “Me? Why? We’ve barely interacted in the past.”

Heeseung leans back against the bench, looking up at the sky like he’s thinking.

“Well, it all started when I came to your house for the first time. I came into your kitchen for water and you were just standing there, looking beautiful as ever. We didn’t talk other than you saying ‘excuse me’ but I knew then that I liked you.”

For the first time today, you smile, a genuine smile.

“That was my first kiss.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened in surprise, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay. I liked it,” you say, reassuring him.

He smiles back at you, “Then, can I do it again?”

You don’t answer with words, instead leaning forward to peck his lips.

He chases your lips, pressing them together again, longer this time.

When you part, he looks blissful. “Y/N, would you give me the honor of taking you on a date?”

You lean into his side, snuggling into it as he wraps his arm around you.

“I’d like that.”

For once, you have something your sister doesn’t, and damn does it feel good.

—————————————————————————

note: hi, this is based off the number of reddit stories i’ve read about golden child’s and bullshit like that so hehe, enjoy

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 7B

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. Jus sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

A/N: took a page from @whytheylosttheirminds with separating the part into 2. Because it’s a bit of writing. About 3k words each. I wanted to finish this off before S4 P2 begins so it’s finishing this is the last part until it airs.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: fluff, bit of angst, smut (oral m receiving, chest riding, p in v riding) death, Luke Maybank

“Can we please talk?”

You give it a second but you can see the desperation in his eyes, “okay, talk.”

He runs a hand through his buzz cut, eyes heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry. I do want to be better. I’m the man of the Cameron family now, and what am I supposed to do when all the women in my life hate me? Fear me? It eats at me. I should’ve stood up for Kie, set an example that Ruthie and Topper’s bullshit isn’t acceptable anymore, never was, I don’t care about that reputation anymore, not like I used to. When I look at V, all I want is to be better. I have no excuse.

He watches you, searching for a sign that you’re listening. You offer him nothing, forcing him to keep talking. “I took you for granted for so long. Used you, kept you a secret because I was scared of what people would think, all because of stupid titles. I knew Topper and Kelce wouldn’t say anything but that’s always what they’d use to try to piss me off when we’d be messing with each other. You always meant something to me and I constantly pushed you away. I hurt you more times than I can count, some of the times worse than others.”

Painful memories flash between you—He’s talking about the time he handcuffed you to his bed during his downward spiral after killing Peterkin, dragging you with him to Barry’s when he needed to hide out, putting you in the middle of gunfire with the police when he got caught. Drugging you alongside Sarah and bringing you on that ship then standing idle why he watched his dad strangle you until you were blue when you got smart with him about murdering Big John. All because he didn’t want to be alone.

“You came to me for protection from your father, and I failed you. You tried to help me, and I pushed you away. But all I want now is to see you happy. You shouldn’t have even forgiven me.”

Tears slip down your face as you reach out, cupping his cheek. “I told you what I thought your problem was, and I was right. You’ve grown without your father’s shadow. Even before I came back, you’d changed. You are the man of the Cameron family now, and you can be the kind of man your father never was. I need you to be all in, Rafe. No more half-measures. V needs you. I need to know we can count on you. Only then can we move forward.”

You grab the sea turtle V left on the bed this morning, unintentionally but great for the point you’re trying to make. “Because what if she was there, what if she could understand all that happened.” You toss it to him. “Think about her Rafe.”

“I promise,” he says, voice cracking. “Forever and always.”

A bittersweet smile spreads across your face. The words that once comforted you in your darkest moments return, anchoring you both.

I’ll protect you, I promise, forever and always.

I’ll be here for you when you need me, I promise, forever and always.

I’ll kick his ass for you, I promise, forever and always.

“I love you, Rafe, and that’s never changing.” You kneel closer, wrapping him in a hug.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice resolute. “Forever and always.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You look at him, and he smirks. You kiss him on the lips, then his jaw, then his neck. He coos at the feeling. You sit up and pull off your tank top, laying back down. You stare into his eyes intently as you play with the waistline of your shorts. He goes to reach out for you, but you smack his hand away.

“Uh uh, take your clothes off.” “Yes, mam.” He stands up and rids himself of his own pajamas, now standing completely bare in front of you. “Lay.”

He does exactly as you say. You straddle his legs, running a finger down his length to tease him. Kneeling your upper body down, arch your ass into the air, and he smiles down at you. You grab him in your hand, running your thumb over his tip, smearing his precum. You drop a glob of spit down onto him. You lower your head onto him, beginning to bob up and down. He thrusts up into you at the sensation, and you remove your mouth from him.

“Uh uh, I’m in charge tonight, baby.”

He nods his head and throws his hands up in a mock surrender. You begin bobbing again, taking as much of him as you can, gagging on his huge length but taking him nonetheless. You run your hand that's not pumping him up and down his torso, scratching your nails on the way down. You hear his series of grunts and moans and feel the way he'd tense up trying to refrain from thrusting up.

He was getting close, and you could tell by the way he'd twitch in your throat. When his breathing started to hitch, you let him go and watched for his reaction. As he realizes his orgasm was lost, he opens his eyes to see you kneeling in front of him with a big smirk.

“Not fun being treated like shit, right?” You laugh, and he rolls his eyes but eventually laughs quietly. He goes to sit up, and you push him back into the pillow. You want to tease him as much as you can. You made up, but it's nice to give him a little taste of his own medicine.

You start making your way up him, taking a seat right below his chin. You push down into him and moan. You begin to ride his chest. Rafe always loved to eat you out, and you know having him this close to your pussy drives him crazy.

“Let me taste you.” Gripping his head, moving it up closer to your clit. “Tongue out.” He lays his tongue out flat, and you move a little closer to also ride his tongue. Using him like this feels so good since you'd usually let him take control.

Your movements quicken, digging your nails into the back of his head, and you crane his neck. You're getting close, and you don't plan on slowing down. You hold yourself up on the headboard, and your body twitches. Rafe moans into your clit, and your head throws back. You shake as you come, arousal sticking to his chest. You lift up a bit to his mouth, and he cleans up what's left.

You move back down to his waist. Licking the palm of your hand and reaching back to stroke him. His body jolts at the feelings. You line yourself up with him and sink down onto him. Your nails dig into his chest at the stretching. No matter how many times you do this, the feeling always has you shocked.

You settle on him for a second before you lift up and throw yourself back down onto him. Your pace is immediately quick. You bounce like there's no tomorrow. Taking control of him like this is so rewarding. The feeling is amazing, but you need more stimulation. You begin to grind, feeling his pelvic bone rub against you has seeing stars.

“Can I touch?” You nod, and Rafe's hands roam your body. You're driving him crazy tonight, but his touch is soft. Taking every inch of you in. You're an angel sent from heaven to him. You're both close, and you're getting tired. Rafe grabs your hips and keeps you moving. You lean down and begin to kiss him.

“Love you, baby doll. Forever and always.” You lean your forehead on his as you continue your movements. “Fuck, Rafe. I love you more. Forever and always.” You cry out with a high-pitched moan as you release your orgasm. Rafe follows right behind you, gripping your waist hard and letting out a bunch of grunts.

You lift off of Rafe but stay on top of him. You shift down a little, enough to be able to lay your head on his chest. Following the rise and fall of his heavy breaths and listen to his heart race, while he holds you tightly, leaving kisses on the top of your head. You could lay like that forever.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

The next morning you and Rafe wake up still tangled up with one another. He’s dressed and doesn’t smell like sweat and sex anymore, which means he left at some point. It angers you a bit but you chose to let it go for now. You take a shower and come out of the bathroom to see Rafe flying V around the room like Superman. You’re downstairs having breakfast, really just talking to V trying to make her laugh. That fell into a bit of a silence.

“I took the deal.”

“What?”

“Last night, I took the deal. That’s why I was dressed. I know you noticed but didn’t say anything.”

Taken aback just a bit. You were still very nervous of what Hollis’s intentions were. But you said you’d be supportive no matter what. “Ok, so now what?”

“She sent the info to the investors. The deposit should come out at some point today. And now I’m in contract with them.”

“Did you read the fine print about murder if this thing goes wrong?”

He laughs at the outrageous statements and goes to reach for your hand. “Yes, I read the whole thing, no there isn’t anything about murder. Not sure it’s something they’d want in paper.”

You smile and grip his hand a little harder. You go to say something but he cuts you off, “after yesterday, after our talk, after last night (he winks and you giggle), I thought this was the best step for US.” I want to be taken seriously, I want to be a strong father for V. Then I saw a photo of me and Sarah and I thought about the things I did to her. How she hates my guts, how she looked at me yesterday. I can’t be that person anymore. I’m gonna do the right thing and this is a stepping stone in that. This is for our family. I know you always hated that I’d tried to treat you with gifts and money, but you’re stuck with me and what’s mine is yours. So get used to it.” He takes a deep breath and smiles at you.

You release his hand and walk to the other side of the table to sit on his lap. “Ok Rafe Cameron. I told you I’d be there with you the whole way. Anything you need I’ll help you. I’m not going anywhere this time.” You give him a big kiss on the cheek when your phone starts to vibrate.

You reach over and pick it up and JJ is yelling in the other side. “JJ calm down!”

“Sis I need you here right now. I’m alone and got this letter and I’m freaking out.”

“Okay, OKAY, I’ll come.” You hang up and turn back to Rafe. “Do you think you’d be ok for a few when I go handle something for my brother?

“I mean sure but I thought we’d celebrate.”

“Ok first rule of the “be a better man” journey is to know that when a sibling calls in distress saying they need you. They probably need you. That would’ve saved you a lot of trouble.”

Rafe looks at you with a blank stare. “Ok- go then. I’ve got V.” You’re shocked at the reaction. Not being able to tell if he was mad at it or not was difficult. You didn’t mean to throw in a little jab about the past. It’s just a good lesson for him to learn.

You lean down to give him a kiss. “I love you.” Looking deeply into his eyes. “Forever and always.” He returns back.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Meeting JJ at your old house feels strange. He’s standing in the living room, staring at a piece of paper and rubbing his head. He hadn’t explained anything on the phone, which left you uneasy, but seeing his disheveled state makes your anxiety spike.

“J? What’s going on? Where is everyone?” you ask, voice tight with worry.

“They’re out on the boat, taking care of Terrance’s body,” he mutters, barely looking up.

“Terrance? As in Cleo’s Terrance? What happened?”

JJ sighs, exhaustion lining his face. “Cleo got kidnapped. Terrance was involved but didn’t know who the target was. He tried to save her, and it got him killed. I’ll fill you in later, but I need you to read this.”

He hands you the letter. The first line catches your eye: “Master JJ Maybank. Don’t let that go to your head.” You laugh nervously, but JJ doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Genrette’s groundskeeper brought this to me,” he explains. “Said Genrette left it for me.”

The words on the letter blur as you try to piece together its meaning. “I think we need to find dad,” JJ say, your eyes dart back to him.

“Absolutely not. I’m not seeing him,” you snap.

“Good thing it’s not about you,” he counters. “He’s the only one who might have answers to whatever this is.”

JJ’s expression softens, and he nods reluctantly. “You’re right. Sorry. Any idea where he might be?”

“I have a hunch.”

Minutes later, you’re on JJ’s boat, slicing through the water toward Barracuda Mike’s house. When you arrive, Mike is in his yard fidgeting with a go kart, watching the approaching storm clouds.

“Hey, Big B, you know there’s a storm coming, right?” JJ calls out.

“Yeah, I see it,” Mike responds.

You hang back as JJ pleads with Mike for information on your dad’s whereabouts. Moments later, Mike sighs and mutters, “I’ll call you if Luke gets in touch.” Sending you both off to the dock.

JJ sets the phone on speaker as it rings. Luke’s familiar voice comes through, cautious and calculating, until he hears Mike’s dog bark in the background. Realization hits him too late.

“We gotta move,” JJ says, eyes wide. You both sprint back to the house and bang on the door. Mike steps out, irritation creasing his brow.

“Mike, I’ve got a daughter to get home to. Don’t waste my time with this bullshit,” you says, voice cracking under the strain.

“I’m a grandpa, huh?” Luke’s voice drips with smugness as he steps out, a twisted smile on his face. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Actually, you’re not,” you retort coldly. “She’ll never know you exist.”

Luke’s smirk falters, replaced by a fleeting shadow of disappointment. “That’s no way to talk to your old man,” he says, trying and failing to sound fatherly.

JJ shifts protectively in front of you, confronting Luke about his sudden reappearance and silence. You take a step back to the dock, needing space to process. Pulling out your phone, you FaceTime Rafe and V for a distraction. Rafe’s face lights up with a grin.

“Hey, when are you coming back? I’ve got something to tell you,” he says.

Before you can respond, the sound of sirens fills the air, and you see JJ and Luke sprinting toward the boat.

“Shit,” you mutter, forgetting you’re still on the call. “I gotta go. Bye, V. Rafe, I’ll call you later.”

JJ jumps in the boat with Luke behind him. “Take me home on the way,” you tell JJ firmly as you climb aboard.

Luke glances at you. “So, you’re a mom?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply flatly, not sparing him a look. “And don’t ask anything about her. You don’t deserve to know her.”

“It’s with that Cameron kid, isn’t it?” Luke chuckles, as if confirming a suspicion. “I always thought that’d happen—the way he used to sneak in and out of your window. And I knew that’s where you’d be when you disappeared. Good for you, little miss new Kook.”

You clench your jaw, holding back a response. As the boat nears your house, you quickly text Rafe: Home. Meet me at the dock.

When you hop off the boat, you wave to JJ as he drives him and Luke off. Rafe and V are already walking down to meet you. You pull them into a tight hug.

“So, what’s up?” you ask, sensing the weight in Rafe’s eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about everything,” Rafe begins. “I’m really sorry for all the shit at the beach. Pogue this, Pogue that. I shouldn’t have put you through that.”

“We’ve talked about this,” you say, tilting your head at him.

“I know,” he continues, “but I need to know we’re good. My dad was a Pogue; that shit doesn’t matter. What matters is I wanna be like him, hardworking and keeping this family together. I want to build things, be better, in my own way. I’m going to patch things up with my sister, and I want you there with me. When the deal with Hollis goes through, I’m keeping a piece for us. For the three of us.”

The thought of the deal makes you pause, the uncertainty gnawing at you. Rafe notices and takes your hand. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work—you and me. I promise.”

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With that reassurance, the three of you head inside, ready to face whatever comes next.

TBC

Taglist:

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505

@dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative

@writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

[buckets-and-trees]

A thot!

Curtis, with his face buried in the crook of your neck, his humid breath panting against your skin as he cums with a groan and frantically pumps you full of his cream.

Okay, bye! 👋🏻😘

I don't thin you intended to poke my muse specifically for our lake Creature Curtis, but I don't think you will complain about it either. 😏Just know that this has been growing in my head for a few weeks now...

Never Going Back Again Characters/Pairings: Bolotnik!Curtis x curvy!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Summary: One night near the lake has changed everything.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut - oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, breeding; breeding kink; Curtis's tail; teratophilia/monster fucking; size kink

Notes: This is a follow up piece to this ask about a lake monster CE character, but you could theoretically read this on its own. This is also another piece in my Countdown to Chris-mas collection.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

When you were small, you and your sister had sat up late so many nights curled up in the window seat of the small bedroom you shared, and looked out over the trees out to the shores of the seemingly infinite lake. Sometimes you could see pockets of water glowing out across the wide, blue darkness. Sometimes there were dancing lights along the shore. The lake was integral to your town’s way of life, providing fish, connecting you through trade to other towns and countries, and nourishing the plant life along its edges. 

As a child, those nights in the window had been frequent, both of you enchanted with the water and with the sky of stars and the moonlight. You had never given up the practice entirely, but as you’d both grown, sleeping hours had grown more appreciated. 

But now you sat up again far too late every night looking out over the water. 

Where he came from. 

There were old stories told about creatures in the mountains, in the forest, in the lake, under the bed, in the closet, living in the attic… too many cautionary tales told keep children in line and to grow up wisely. 

But now that you knew there was at least one man from the lake, you wondered how much of at least his folklore was true, and how much more you didn’t yet know. 

And, most importantly, how much would affect you.

Because you had been enormously affected by him already.

Foolishly lured away from the safety of others along the shoreline, snatched by a bolotnik, your virginity not only taken, but your body used, ruined, and exploited for pleasure all night. For by the end of it all, you could not deny you had succumbed to the pleasure he wrought from you, even though he was still terrifying.

And so you watched each night from your window, unsure what to do.

You couldn't shake the memory of his touch, the way he had made you feel things you'd never imagined. Each night as you gazed out at the dark waters, a part of you hoped to see those mesmerizing lights dancing on the surface again.

But weeks passed with no sign of him. You began to wonder if it had all been some fevered dream. Yet your body remembered - the soreness between your legs, the marks on your skin that had slowly faded. And there was something else, a change you couldn't quite place.

Your courses didn't come. Panic rose in your throat when you realized what that likely meant. But there was a chance his seed hadn’t taken. Your bleeding had come late or not come at all before. And it had taken your sister a fair amount of time until she had born her first child while diligently trying with her husband.

Still, you placed a hand on your belly, wondering if there was new life growing inside you. The child of a monster. Your child.

Though it was the water your eyes relentlessly looked to, a flash of movement in the trees drew your gaze. Heart pounding, you peered at the edge of the forest near your family’s home. For a long moment, nothing stirred. Then you saw it - movement among the underbrush.

A shadow detached itself from the trees, moving with an unnatural grace. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the hulking form of Curtis. He emerged into a patch of moonlight, his scales glinting, eyes fixed on your window.

Your heart raced. For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Part of you wanted to flee, to wake your family and raise the alarm. But another part, a part you were ashamed to acknowledge, felt a thrill of excitement at seeing him again.

Before you could decide, he was striding forward, pausing only for a moment at the edge of your family’s property, those eerie, impossibly bright, blue eyes fixed on your window. Then he continued forward. Even from a distance, you could see the way his muscles rippled as he moved. His tail swished behind him, hypnotic in its motion.

Your breath caught in your throat as the creature approached your home. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to hide, to call for help. But you remained frozen, transfixed by his otherworldly presence.

In mere moments, he had scaled the side of your house with inhuman agility. His clawed hands gripped the windowsill as he peered inside, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

Without him prompting you, you pushed the window open.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

"Did you miss me, little one?" he purred, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You almost balked at the term because anyone is little compared to him, but you couldn't find your voice to respond even if you'd wanted in that instant. Your body trembled, caught between fear and a shameful excitement.

With fluid grace, he slipped through the window and past you into your room. He towered over you, his massive form larger than you remembered. The cool night air raised goosebumps on your skin, but it was the intensity of his gaze that made you shiver. You could smell the scent of lake water and earth on his skin.

He reached out, his clawed hand gently cupping your cheek. You flinched at first, but then found yourself leaning into his touch. His skin was cool and slightly damp, reminding you of the lake's waters.

"You've been watching for me," he said, his voice a low rumble. It wasn't a question. "I've seen you at your window night after night."

You nodded, unable to deny it. "I... I wasn't sure if you'd come back," you whispered.

His thumb traced your lower lip, sending a shiver through you. "I told you I would return for what's mine," he said.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and a knowing smile curved his lips. His gaze dropped to your belly. "And it seems I've left more than just memories with you."

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach. "How can you know?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His chuckle was low and dark. "I can smell the changes in you, little one. Your scent is sweeter now, ripe with new life."

Your breath caught in your throat. So it was true. The suspicion you'd been harboring was confirmed by this creature who could somehow sense what your own body had only begun to whisper.

His hand drifted down to rest on your belly, his touch surprisingly gentle, brushing over your hand.

“Do you have a name?” you asked tentatively.

He smiled, a mixture of amusement and appreciation in his eyes. "Curtis," he replied. "Though I'm surprised you care to know it."

You swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Part of you was still terrified, but another part was drawn to him, fascinated by this otherworldly creature who had claimed you so thoroughly.

"Curtis," you repeated softly, tasting the name on your tongue. It seemed too ordinary for such an extraordinary being.

His hand moved from your belly to your waist, pulling up from your seat and drawing you close. "And what shall I call you, my sweet human?"

You hesitated, then whispered your name.

"Beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. His breath was cool against your skin, making you shiver. "It suits you."

You gasped as his lips brushed your throat, your body responding to his touch. Your breath hitched as Curtis's lips trailed along your neck, his sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin. A whimper escaped you, torn between fear and desire.

"Shh," he soothed, his large hand cradling the back of your head. "We don't want to wake your family, do we?"

The reminder of where you were, of the danger, sent a jolt through you. You tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.

"Curtis," you whispered urgently, "we can't - not here."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Oh? And where would you suggest, little one? Back to the lakeshore?"

The memory of that night flooded your senses - the cool grass and earth beneath you, the scent of the water, the overwhelming pleasure. You shuddered, heat pooling low in your belly.

He nipped gently at your earlobe.

"I've thought of you every day since our night together," Curtis murmured, his voice low and husky. "The taste of your skin, the sound of your cries... and if I hadn’t found you with child, I was determined to attempt to breed you again, little one."

You trembled in his arms, torn between fear and a growing desire. His massive form dwarfed you, reminding you of his inhuman strength. Your resolve weakened as Curtis's hands roamed your body, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever he touched. You knew you should resist, should cry out for help, but the words died in your throat. Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips as his fingers traced the curve of your breast through your thin nightgown.

"That's it," he purred, encouraged by your response. "Let yourself feel, little one. Your body remembers the pleasure I gave you."

And it did. Your skin tingled with anticipation, your core aching with need. You pressed closer to him, inhaling his scent of lake water and earth. His tail wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Curtis," you breathed, your hands tentatively exploring the planes of his muscled chest. "We shouldn't…"

But even as you protested, your body betrayed you. Your nipples hardened as he insistently brushed his thumbs back and forth over each tender nub.

"Please," you whimpered, though you weren't sure if you were begging him to stop or continue.

Curtis lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to your bed. He laid you down, then stepped back to shuck off his meager clothing - only a white shirt and dark pants. In the dim moonlight filtering through the window, his scales glimmered, casting otherworldly patterns across your skin as he loomed over you.

He settled onto the bed, slowly crawling over you. "Hush now," he murmured, a clawed finger tracing your lips. "I'll make you feel good, just as I did before."

Your nightgown was pushed up, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air. Curtis's hands roamed your body, reacquainting himself with every curve and dip. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as his fingers found your most sensitive areas.

"So responsive," he purred, his tail caressing your inner thigh. "Your body remembers me well."

You arched into his touch, shame and desire warring within you. You trembled, both from fear and anticipation, as the cool night air kissed your exposed skin. Curtis's eyes, gleaming in the darkness, roved hungrily over your bumps and curves.

"Gorgeous," he breathed, leaning down to press his lips to your stomach. "My child grows here."

You gasped as his tongue, longer and more dexterous than any human's, swirled around your navel. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them. You could feel the heat of his breath against sex.

"Curtis," you whispered, your voice trembling. "We can't... my family..."

He looked up at you, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. "Then you'll have to be very quiet, won't you, little one?"

Before you could protest further, his mouth was on you. His tongue, impossibly long and nimble, delved into your folds. You bit down on your fist to stifle a cry of pleasure. Curtis growled approvingly, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core.

Your free hand tangled in the sheets. His tail slithered over your wrist, then wrapped around your thigh, holding you open for his ministrations. You writhed beneath him, struggling to stay quiet.

Curtis's tongue worked magic between your thighs, lapping and probing in ways that made your toes curl. You pressed your fist harder against your mouth, desperately trying to muffle your cries of pleasure. His tail tightened around your thigh, keeping you open as you squirmed beneath him.

"That's it," he murmured against your sensitive flesh. "Let go for me, little one."

Your hips bucked involuntarily as he sucked on your most sensitive bud. The pressure built inside you, a tidal wave threatening to crash over you at any moment. Curtis's fingers joined his tongue, stretching and filling you. The dual sensation was overwhelming.

"Curtis," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't... I can’t..."

“But you are,” he growled, the vibrations sending you over the edge. Your back arched off the bed as

Your back arched off the bed as pleasure exploded through you. Curtis's mouth stayed locked on your center, drawing out your climax until you were trembling and gasping for air. Only then did he lift his head, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Stunning," he murmured, crawling up your body. The scales along his torso rubbed against your sensitized skin, sending aftershocks through you. "But we're far from done, little one."

You felt the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, and a mix of fear and anticipation fluttered in your stomach, remembering how painful and then how pleasurable his thick member inside you had been. Curtis nuzzled your neck, inhaling deeply.

"Your scent is intoxicating," he growled. "Especially now, carrying my child."

His hand splayed possessively over your belly. You shivered, torn between the lingering pleasure and the reality of your situation. This creature - this man from the lake - had claimed you in ways you never imagined possible. And now he was here again, in your own bedroom, ready to take every piece of you once more.

Curtis's lips found yours in a searing kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, tasting of you, of lake water, and something wild. You moaned softly against him, your body responding despite your lingering trepidation.

He pulled back, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. "Turn over," he commanded softly.

Your heart raced as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach. Curtis's hands gripped your hips, lifting them. You felt exposed, vulnerable in this position. His tail wrapped around your waist, steadying you.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his hands caressing your back, your sides, your bottom. You shivered at his touch, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You felt the blunt head of his member pressing against your entrance. Despite your earlier climax, you tensed, remembering the initial pain from your first encounter. Curtis sensed your apprehension and leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back.

"Relax, little one," he whispered in your ear. "Your body knows me now. It will welcome me."

Slowly, inexorably, he began to push inside. You bit down on your pillow to muffle your cries as he stretched you, filling you more completely than you thought possible. Your fingers clutched at the sheets, torn between the discomfort of the intrusion and the growing pleasure.

His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your still-sensitive bud. You gasped, pushing back against him instinctively. Curtis took advantage of your movement, slowly pressing inside you.

The stretch was intense, but not painful as it had been before. Your body, as Curtis had promised, seemed to remember him, accommodating his impressive girth. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he sank deeper.

"That's it," Curtis growled, his voice thick with pleasure.

Curtis's tail tightened around your waist as he seated himself fully within you. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, filling you completely. His hands roamed your body, caressing and soothing.

"So tight," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel exquisite, little one."

You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch. Curtis began to move, slow, shallow thrusts that made you gasp. His hand slid from your hip to your belly, caressing the slight swell there.

"Mine," he growled possessively. "Both of you."

You whimpered softly as he continued to move in slow, deeper thrusts that sent waves of pleasure through your body. His tail unwound from your waist, the tip sliding between your legs to tease your sensitive bud.

"Curtis," you gasped, struggling to keep your voice down. "It's too much..."

But your body betrayed your words, pushing back to meet his thrusts. Curtis chuckled darkly, nipping at your shoulder.

"Your body knows what it wants, little one," he purred. "It craves me, just as I crave you."

His pace increased gradually, each thrust driving deeper. You buried your face in the pillow, muffling your cries of pleasure. The initial discomfort had faded, replaced by waves of sensation that threatened to overwhelm you.

Curtis's movements grew more insistent, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. You clutched the sheets, struggling to stay quiet as waves of pleasure washed over you. His tail continued its teasing ministrations between your legs, the dual sensations driving you towards another peak.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me again, little one. Show me how much you've missed this."

Your body obeyed, even as your mind reeled at the intensity of it all. The coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. You bit down hard on the pillow, muffling your cry of ecstasy as your second orgasm crashed over you.

Curtis groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as your inner walls clenched around him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and humid against your skin. His hips jerked erratically as he reached his peak. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated through your entire body, he climaxed. You felt his member pulsing inside you as he pumped you full of his seed.

Wave after wave crashed over him as he continued to thrust, each movement sending another surge of his essence deep within you. His tail coiled tightly around your thigh, holding you in place as he claimed you completely.

The warmth of his release spread through you, a stark contrast to his cool skin. You shuddered beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation and the knowledge of what was happening. The room filled with the scent of lake water, earth, and your combined arousal.

Curtis's teeth grazed your shoulder, not quite breaking the skin but leaving marks that would linger for days. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he rode out the last waves of his climax, determined to empty himself inside you. You trembled beneath him, your body still quivering with aftershocks.

Slowly, his grip loosened, and he eased himself out of you. You whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. Curtis gathered you in his arms, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His tail wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

"Beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling into your neck, the scratch of his beard making you shiver. "You were perfect, little one."

You lay there, catching your breath, your mind reeling from what had just transpired. You could feel the stickiness of some of your combined spend that had oozed out of your cunt hot between the top of your thighs. Curtis's hand splayed possessively over your belly, reminding you of the life growing within.

"What happens now?" you whispered, fear and uncertainty creeping back into your voice.

Curtis's arms tightened around you. "Now," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, "you come with me."

Your heart raced at his words. "What? I can't just leave, Curtis. My family, my life..."

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Your life is with me now, little one. You carry my child. You belong to the lake, to me."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Please," you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes. "I'm not ready. I can't just disappear."

Curtis sighed, his breath cool against your neck. "I understand your hesitation," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But you must understand, little one. Our child cannot be raised in the human world."

You trembled in his arms, torn between fear and a strange sense of longing. "I can't just leave. My family—"

"Will never understand," he finished for you. "They can't accept what you've become, what we've created together."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. Part of you knew he was right - there was no way to explain your pregnancy, no way to raise a half-human, half-lake creature child in your village. But the thought of leaving everything you'd ever known was terrifying.

"Shh," he murmured. "I know it's frightening. But I will take care of you.”

“I’m not ready,” you cried softly. You weren’t ready to leave, you weren’t ready to carry his child, you weren’t ready for any of this.

Curtis's grip on you loosened slightly, though he didn't let go completely. His hand continued to caress your belly gently.

"I understand your fear," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "This is all new to you. But you must understand, little one - our child cannot survive in your world. And you... you've been changed by our coupling. The lake calls to you now, doesn't it?"

You shivered, realizing the truth in his words. Ever since that first night, you'd felt drawn to the water in a way you never had before. The sight, the smell, the sound of it called to something deep within you.

"I... I need time," you whispered. "Please, Curtis. I can't just vanish without a trace. My family will worry."

He was quiet for a long moment, his tail tightening slightly around your waist before loosening as well.

“Curtis?” you prompted, worried as his silence drew on.

"Sleep now, little one," he finally murmured, his arms tightening around you once more. "Dawn will come soon enough."

But sleep didn't come easily. You lay there, hyper-aware of Curtis's presence behind you. His cool, slightly damp skin pressed against yours, his tail still wrapped loosely around your waist. The rise and fall of his chest against your back was steady, but you could tell from the tension in his body that he wasn't sleeping either.

The moonlight filtered through the window, casting eerie shadows across the room. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves outside, made you tense. You kept expecting someone to burst through the door, to discover you in the arms of this creature. But the night remained quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the lake's waves in the distance.

As the sky began to lighten, your eyelids grew heavy. Despite your racing thoughts, exhaustion finally overcame you.

When you awoke mere hours later, you were alone.

Well... a little surprise monster fucking for your Monday. HOPE THE HOES IN THIS HOUSE ENJOYED IT!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[lvmoure]

Before It's Too Late CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x wife!reader

Summary: When he realized it when it's too late.

Warnings: angst, death

The house was too large for just the two of them. Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the massive glass windows, the atmosphere was cold, distant, like a room frozen in time. The walls were adorned with family portraits and lavish decorations, but none of them held any warmth, no laughter, no joy. It was just the echo of a marriage, one that had never truly been lived.

You sat at the long dinner table, your hands folded in your lap, eyes downcast as Carlos Sainz entered the room. His presence, though undeniably commanding, did nothing to comfort you. He didn’t notice the way your chest tightened with each breath you took, the way your skin felt too thin, as though it could tear apart under the weight of your own body. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, too cold to ever notice the way your body betrayed you in silence.

You had never asked for this life, for this arranged marriage that was meant to appease your families and bind two powerful legacies. You had never asked for a life of quiet suffering. Yet, here you were.

Carlos took his seat at the head of the table, his sharp features obscured by a faint, unreadable mask. He greeted you with the same indifference he always did, a polite nod, a fleeting glance, before turning his attention to his phone. You knew better than to speak. He would only respond with monosyllables, his mind elsewhere, as it had been for months.

"How was your day?" you asked, your voice soft but carrying an unfamiliar tenderness, an attempt to break the ice, to forge a connection. But you already knew the answer before the words left your lips. Carlos would give you nothing.

"Fine," he muttered, eyes still glued to the screen, fingers swiping through some images of race cars or corporate emails, his focus never straying from his work, never reaching you.

Your heart sank. You had known from the very beginning that this wasn’t love, not the kind you’d dreamed about, anyway. But there was a quiet ache, a pang that came from the realization that your life had been reduced to this. Just a contract. Just a duty. And the pain in your chest wasn't just physical; it was emotional. It was the kind of pain you couldn't escape, even in your sleep.

Each day was harder to bear than the last. Each step felt heavier. The weight of the world was pressing down on you. But it wasn’t just your family legacy on your shoulders; it was your sickness. The leukemia was already making its presence known, like a shadow lurking just behind your ribs, making your bones ache, making your body weaker, slower. But you hid it from everyone. You hid it from Carlos because he didn’t care enough to notice. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.

You excused yourself from dinner, your legs unsteady beneath you as you made your way to the bathroom. You could feel the familiar warmth creeping up your throat, a bitter metallic taste that signaled the start of another episode. The blood in your mouth tasted like iron. It was becoming a part of your life now—sickening, unyielding, relentless. But there was no one to see it. No one to understand.

Carlos would never know the torment you faced every day, not unless he cared to look beyond his own cold indifference. But he wouldn’t. You had accepted that. He wouldn’t care, because this marriage had been nothing more than an obligation for him, an arrangement for convenience. You were just a name, a title, nothing more.

But then, why did your heart ache when you saw him so distant? Why did you still long for something more, even when you knew deep down that it was never going to come?

It wasn’t until weeks later that Carlos started to notice the change. You were slipping away, little by little.

He wasn’t an idiot. He could see the signs—how your hands trembled slightly when you reached for a glass of water, how your face had become pale and drawn, like the color had been drained from your skin. It wasn’t just the tiredness that came with the burden of your marriage; it was something else, something deeper. Something he couldn’t name.

But still, he chose to ignore it. The coldness between you was a kind of armor, a shield against something he didn’t want to understand. He had his own life, his own race schedule, his own ambitions. And yet, as much as he tried to focus on them, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something more to you than the perfect, distant wife he had married.

One evening, as you struggled to make it from your room to the kitchen, Carlos couldn’t help but follow you. He had been waiting for you to ask for help, waiting for you to show any sign of weakness that would break through the carefully constructed walls of your relationship. But that day, you didn’t.

You hadn’t asked for help, but you were struggling, your movements slow, deliberate. It was so subtle, but it was enough for him to finally act.

He followed you out of the house, keeping his distance, and watched as you entered a small, private clinic just down the street. Something in his gut twisted. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to this, why he couldn’t just let it go and keep pretending like everything was fine. But he followed you anyway.

He waited outside for what felt like hours, pacing the sidewalk, his mind racing. Eventually, he saw you emerge, looking even more fragile than before. He wanted to approach you, to ask if you were alright, but something stopped him. He stayed hidden, watching you as you spoke to a doctor in hushed tones.

You didn’t know he was there.

"I don’t have much time left, do I?" you whispered, voice breaking. The doctor hesitated before answering, but it was clear what the prognosis was. You only had a month to live.

Carlos felt his heart stop. A cold, heavy weight settled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t know what to think. You, his wife—the woman he had ignored, treated like a stranger, was dying. And he hadn’t even noticed.

What kind of man was he?

He stayed in the shadows, listening as the doctor explained the severity of your condition, and all the while, his chest tightened. He had always thought of you as a distant figure, a woman whose emotions were locked away behind a facade of grace. But now, he realized the depth of your suffering. He had ignored it, ignored you. And now time was running out.

The days dragged on, and you grew weaker with each passing moment. Carlos could no longer ignore it. He had been trying to maintain the cold distance between you both, but now he felt the weight of his own guilt. Every time he saw you struggle, every time you gasped for breath or clutched your chest, it was like a knife to his heart.

But he pretended. He pretended like nothing had changed, like he didn’t know. He treated you as if everything was fine, as if the knowledge of your illness hadn’t completely altered the way he saw the world.

It was the only way he could cope. The only way he could feel like he wasn’t drowning in his own regret.

The last day came without warning. You were lying in the hospital bed, your breath shallow, your body frail, and Carlos sat beside you, trying to look composed, trying to look unaffected. But on the inside, he was breaking.

He had tried to make amends, but it felt like too little, too late. He was here now, but you were slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Carlos asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

You smiled weakly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. "You wouldn’t have cared," you whispered. "You never did."

Carlos felt a lump form in his throat, and he struggled to speak through the pain. "I’m sorry... I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there."

But you were already fading, your hand gripping his weakly. "You didn’t know... but I... I still hoped... I still... wanted..." The words were barely audible, and before he could say anything more, you were gone.

And in that moment, all the regret, all the guilt, all the missed chances came crashing down on him.

At your funeral, Carlos stood alone at your grave, his face buried in his hands, sobs wracking his body. He had been the one who had built the wall between you, and now he was the one left to mourn the wife he had never truly known.

It was too late. The cruel irony twisted the knife in his chest, and he couldn’t escape it.

You had been a mystery to him, but now, as he stood before your grave, he realized how much he had lost.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking, his words carried away by the wind. "I didn’t know how much I loved you until it was too late."

The world around him was silent, the only sound the rustling of the trees. But in that moment, Carlos finally understood. He had loved you in a way he never could have imagined. Too late. Too little.

And all that was left was an endless ache in his heart, the memory of a love that never had a chance to bloom.

[gxr25256]

The Ruins of Earth - Seekers x reader

🌵 Tranformers (Post-Apocalyptic AU).

🌵 The Decepticons have conquered Earth, leaving humanity in ruins.

🌵I'll try this for a bit. Remember: I'm not very good at it 👀.

-------------------------------

The sky was a smudged gray, casting a cold, washed-out light over what remained of the city. Buildings stood like jagged tombstones, their edges crumbling, splintered, and silent. Some days, the wind would send a loose piece of metal skittering down the cracked roads or rattle the empty cars left to rust. Otherwise, everything was still.

Below the surface, in the belly of a half-fallen office building, you crouched among scattered papers, their edges yellowed, flaked, and cracked from dust. The basement was littered with remnants of a world you barely recognized anymore. You had been lucky enough to find this hideout after wandering the ruined streets, and here you had managed to carve out some semblance of a life.

The ceiling is cracked, tangled with exposed electrical wires, and the single window on the far wall had long since shattered. Every now and then, a patch of sunlight filtered through, glinting off dust motes that swirled lazily in the stale air. It reminded you of better times—a stark, painful reminder of a past life that felt both close and impossibly far away.

You settled down on the cold concrete, setting your pack beside you. Inside were your treasures: a faded family photograph, a pocket watch, and a collection of scraps—small things you’d managed to scavenge that had kept you going. Some days, you’d sift through these items, each one tugging you back to memories that hurt as much as they comforted.

You stared down at the photo, feeling a pang in your chest. It was taken on a summer evening just a few months before they had come, when you and your family had still gathered in the garden to laugh and share stories under the stars. You remembered the warmth of your father’s arm around you, the way your mother had laughed, and how the smallest things—a shared meal, a joke, a sunset—had seemed so ordinary back then. Now, those were the moments you clung to like lifelines.

But here, in the darkened shell of a building, they were ghosts that haunted you. The faces stared up at you from the photo, as if asking, How much longer?

You didn’t know how to answer. Each day felt like a small miracle that you were still alive. They had laid waste to everything, turning cities into rubble, hunting down humans with a relentless efficiency. Survival required caution, silence, and instinct. Your hideout, tucked in a labyrinthine part of the city, had been a haven so far. But each passing day felt like playing a game of Russian roulette, and you knew that eventually, luck would run out.

The floor creaked—a sound you’d grown used to, but still one that made your muscles tense instinctively. Any sound outside the room was dangerous. You rose, carefully checking the faint tripwire traps you’d set by the entrances, crude but effective. Your heart thudded faster at the thought of one snapping. If it did, it would mean they were close.

They. The Decepticons. Machines built for one purpose: total, merciless domination. You shuddered as your mind dredged up flashes of their patrols: enormous metal bodies moving with purpose through the streets, the deadly glow of their optics as they scanned the ruins for any sign of life. You’d watched from hiding as they tore through buildings, shredding walls like paper. They were ruthless in their search for survivors, sparing nothing and no one.

They didn’t just kill; they hunted. The knowledge of that, of being part of a vanishing species in the face of such a brutal enemy, wrapped around you like a cold, crushing weight.

The wind howled outside, sending a shiver through you. You’d learned to navigate the city’s ruinous maze, moving with the shadows, slipping through alleyways, always watching your back. But every day, the Decepticons seemed to draw closer, tightening the noose with their relentless patrols.

The last human you’d spoken to was a scavenger named Mira. She’d been tough, gritty, with a quiet intensity that had made you think she could survive anything. She’d warned you about the Decepticons’ latest tactics, their setting traps to lure out survivors, their growing patrols in this area of the city. But that had been weeks ago. You hadn’t seen her since. Her face lingered in your mind as yet another ghost.

The hum of an airplane engine broke the silence, sending a jolt of adrenaline through you. You froze, every sense heightened, listening intently. It was distant—likely a patrol passing through the streets above—but even so, the familiarity of it triggered an instinctive wave of fear. You’d heard that sound too many times. Each instance had ended with a building being leveled or a life snuffed out.

Your heart pounded as you crouched low, moving silently through the office wall to peek through the cracked window. Outside, the city lay in shattered silence, but a faint glimmer of metal caught your eye, just visible through the haze. A Decepticon, its massive form standing out from anything else around the ruins. It moved methodically, its gaze sweeping the rubble as if it could sniff out human life in the air itself.

You crawled away from the window, slipping back into the shadows of the room, praying that the dim light and debris would keep you hidden. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you crouched, body tense, waiting. Minutes stretched on, stretching into an eternity as you listened for any hint that the Decepticon had moved on.

But the silence persisted, thick and oppressive. Part of you wanted to risk a glance, but your instincts screamed otherwise. That was the problem now; you’d lived in silence for so long that sometimes, even the slightest noise felt like a gunshot. Every step, every creak, every breath seemed like it could betray you.

As you tried to steady your breathing, your gaze drifted to a pile of old papers strewn across the floor. One caught your eye—a page from an old newspaper, yellowed and faded. The headline read, Hope for Tomorrow: Humanity’s Technological Golden Age. You almost laughed at the bitter irony. The hope they’d once touted had been torn away, replaced by cold metal giants who knew nothing of mercy or compassion.

A loud clang from outside startled you, pulling you back to the present with a fearful jolt. You remained still, barely daring to breathe. The footsteps outside were getting louder, a heavy, ominous rhythm. You recognized the sound: The unmistakable footsteps of the Decepticons, its weight causing the building to shudder faintly. They were close—too close.

The footsteps paused, and your heart seemed to stop with them. The faint hum of machinery echoed down, accompanied by the cold, mechanical sound of a voice you couldn’t quite make out. Your mind raced, considering your options. Running wasn’t possible; any movement risked drawing their attention. And yet, staying still felt like sitting in a cage, waiting for the predator to find you.

The Decepticon’s steps resumed, slower this time, each one punctuated by a metallic creak that reverberated through the building.

And the footsteps halted again, this time right on the other side of the wall you're leaning against, and you froze, body taut with fear. The building groaned under the heavy weight of machinery, dust drifting down in fine particles that tickled your face.The walls around you seemed to close in, your hiding place shrinking as the footsteps grew louder, closer. As if the Decepticon was zeroing in on your location, as if it were playing with your fears.

Then, with a metallic clang, you heard the Decepticon move again. Just when you thought the danger had passed, a deafening explosion ripped through the building, and the entire roof blew off with a force that sent you sprawling. A cry escaped your lips as you hit the ground, pain radiating through you.

Gasping, you struggled to your feet, but as you looked up, a chill gripped your heart. Through the swirling dust and debris, a pair of red optics glowed, locked directly onto you. Fear surged through your veins, and before you could even think, a scream tore from your throat.

Maybe your luck has run out.

----------------------------------

[oceansmotion]

Welcome to Gaudy Shore!

Power, fame, wealth— for decades, Sims have come to Gaudy Shore seeking fortune. On the outside, the glitz and glamour are dazzling, but the dark, seedy underbelly of the city casts a long shadow. Will these families shine bright, or will the shadow swallow them up?

Featuring 12 households, Gaudy Shore sees the return of some much beloved and missed families from Sims 1! Set 25 years in the future, this hood can be played as a companion hood to Pleasantview, or on its own.

Every family has their own storytelling album so make sure to check them out!

Keeping reading to learn about the families in Gaudy Shore!

Returning families:

The Mashuga Family

Content to dance the night away, - every night, for decades, - Frankie and Sylvia Marie have taken a hands-off approach to raising their children. Now that they're in their twilight years, what are their kids willing to do to get what they believe is owed to them?

The Hick-Charming Family

Elden only ever wanted what was best for his family, but somehow got himself involved in shady dealings. Charleigh is young and full of life, but will that get her into trouble with the boys? And will Clarke ever leave her bedroom?

The Jones-Smith Family

The Jones-Smith family has been a pillar of the community for decades, and the death of Chris has sent everyone reeling. Nick has vowed to honor his mother by setting his career aside to focus on his family, but that's easier said than done.

Michelle loves to dance, sing, and drink the night away, especially after the death of Mama Chris. Is her new interest in the town magnate genuine, or just another way to extend the party?

New Families:

The Banks Family

Rich, powerful, beautiful— the Banks family is known throughout town for everything beauty-related. Obsessed with only herself, will Arie uncover her husband's secrets? Lux thinks of himself as a good man, but is he really? Will Benjamin choose to follow his heart or his mind?

The Ramoz Family

Nora has always dreamt of being a famous movie star but has found mild success in the writing and voice acting world. Can that be enough for her, or will she strive for bigger and better things? Julien had his heart broken by his two best friends in the world. Can he ever forgive them? And will Carlos find himself involved in the shady underbelly of Gaudy Shore?

The Ermírio de Moraes Family

Wealthy, powerful, lonely, José has it all… except love. Is he blind to reality, or is this new relationship the real deal?

The Jenkins Family

Naive, sheltered Alyssa has lived her life under the strict thumb of her mother, Miriam. Will she be willing to ruin someone else's life to get the love and affection she's always desperately craved?

The Nelle Family

Quiet and reclusive, only a few Sims in town really know the Nelle family, but it doesn't take a genius to notice that something isn't quite right with them.

The Waltzman Family

Ever the partier, Wesley finally grew up and changed his outlook on life, but this has left him a little over protective of his sister, Wilma. Will he ruin her chances at happiness? And will he find love despite his ties to another?

Heartbroken for years, Wilma has finally gotten over her first love… or has she? She just met Donovan, but will her wandering eye lead her to her family's demise?

Four strangers living under one roof and a fresh divorce. Can Walda and Walter Waltzman get along after their divorce, or will they disrupt the perfect harmony Ines and Fernando Ermírio de Moraes have enjoyed for decades?

______________________________________________________________

Gaudy Shore features 12 playable households, 20 community lots, 3 apartment buildings, and 10 empty houses all built by me , except for Cafe Petit, a lot bin cafe (I like to think of it as a chain). Terrain also made by me. The hood comes with its own unique townies and strays; a few townies even own and work at some of the business around town!

This hood is not CC free but it isn't a lot

CC that I didn't use a lot of and the hood is fine without:

Wire Fencing by Cyclonesue on TSR

Stair Wall Fix by JRW on MTS

Photos & Plaques Hide with Walls Down by Numenor on MTS I used A LOT OF PICTURES taken with the career reward camera and the walls are very cluttered with photos, so I do recommend this mod.

Diagonal 3t2 Bungalow Windows by Nysha on MTS

Natural De Fences by Rosebine on MTS

CEP by Numenor on MTS

CC that will alter the hood significantly:

Bespoke Build Set by Bespoke on MTS

Shiftable Everything by Lamare on MTS

______________________________________________________________

I've been working on this hood on and off for a long time now, and I'm so happy that it's finally finished. It is definitely a labor of love and I hope you enjoy it <3 While Gaudy Shore was originally intended to be a subhood to complement Pleasantview, there are no ties to PV at all and can be played on its own. Please make sure to check out all the story images I included, I had a lot of fun taking them! For those adding the hood as a subhood, José, Michelle, and the Waltzman kids have which apartments they are supposed to be in at the end of their bios. And for the retirement home, I left it as a normal residential lot, but can also be converted into an apartment lot, or you can maybe use dorm doors, or mods to set each apartment to the correct Sim.

I have also gone through every Sim to set their intended names across all languages, so if your game is not in English, the Sims should still have the names I gave them!

Thank you to everyone that helped me along the way and play tested the hood for me, I really appreciate you <3

Download Mainhood || Mediafire Box

Download Subhood || Mediafire Box

Please let me know if the subhood version works as intended and does not yeet itself out of the game, test on a testhood!

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 7

Sinner

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: History

Word count: ~3.1k Warning: Mild NSFW, 18+, m!pleasure

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. (This is for the two kind souls who responded to my ask. It's not much but I tried y'all)

It’s a joke. Staring down at the closed door, Azriel reassured himself. 

Spying on his mate was never his intention. But Raya had stolen Ayla away before he could ask what she meant. If that wasn’t torment enough, he was invited into the bar only in the company of others. So now, like a lurker, he waited for hours on the rooftop of the inn across from Pharus. Azriel was beginning to truly hate the bartender. 

Ayla was his mate. It shouldn’t be a crime to want a moment alone with her, nor should he need to hide in the shadows afraid of her chaperones. From his family to Orvin to Raya, everyone seemed eager to decide his fate with her. Everyone except his mate, who was content playing oblivious to the bond between them.

Patrons walked in and out of Pharus without restriction and anger coiled in his gut. Until he saw her heading towards him—no, her home. She walked the long way back from the smithy, stopping at the warm-lit bakery and offering a pastry to the boy skipping up and down the street who in return handed her something that looked suspiciously like a pebble. 

Azriel knew it was the moment he had been waiting for. Yet, his body refused to move. Even his shadows that called for her day and night fell quiet and clung to his shoulders. Helpless, he watched Ayla round the brick building and disappear through the backdoor. 

The house remained in the dark though a silhouette floated beyond the white veil framing the balcony. It grew darker and darker. . .and collapsed onto the bed. 

A soft chuckle escaped him.

Then, he came around—tanned skin and stark hair and all muscles. Had he entered through the front, he was merely a regular to the bar. But faelight flickered to life upstairs. One silhouette met with the other and they shuffled around together. When they almost merged into one, Azriel turned away. He slumped to the floor and watched the sun slowly descend behind the mountains, then, the sky turn a deep red to violet to black.

Five hours later, the male left in the dead of the night, as tidy and proper as when he had walked in. But it was his satisfied grin that irked Azriel.

.

Though he stayed away from Pharus and the inn and the alley, his shadows didn’t. Until they sought Ayla on their own, he hadn’t known they could split away from him. They had always been a part of him—an extension. Most nights, they returned shortly with a faint buzz and whispered Alone in his ears. On other nights, they stayed with her longer. When they reappeared, they skittered in a corner refusing to come near him, and they were quiet—eerily quiet.

‘Angry with me again?’ he would ask.

The shadows would freeze in the air, tendrils poised high and darkness rippling, enough to send a chill down his spine as if the void glared at him.

‘I warned you,’ he would tease, though deep down, their silence sliced through his heart.

Usually, this ended with them smothering him or abandoning him as he lay awake in bed, wondering if Ayla was truly with someone else.

That night, when his shadows left him again, Azriel pulled a bottle out of the dresser beside his bed. Pale linen squares peeked from under his folded leathers and he slammed the drawer shut. Enclosed within the sachets was a blend of herbs and spices that smelled close to the scent lingering around Ayla. 

Knowing he had traversed the lands and collected each one himself only made him feel pathetic and desperate. Even Rhys didn’t know the reasons for the delay in his last missions.

Azriel took a sip straight from the bottle and let his senses accustom to the horrid taste. 

Since his banning, Uri supplied him with their brew every two weeks, although he wouldn’t admit to guilting the poor male. None of their customers preferred it and the server was thrilled to please the only one who appreciated his craft. It still tasted wretched. But the familiar fragrance took Azriel back to that evening and the memories it held were sweeter.

A glass thumped on the lonely book on top of the dresser, a subtle reminder he wasn’t truly alone. Wariness crawled up his spine. He knew better than anyone what it felt to be watched. Unlike his brothers and Mor, he never preferred the house’s magic. And with its recent sentience, its presence overwhelmed him. It saw everything, it heard everything.

His skin still prickled but the book pulled his attention, its binding simple and unsuspecting. Azriel was very aware of its content. Yet, he picked it up and settled into the bed. As he flipped through the pages, a sigh escaped him.

What started as indulging Nesta to ease her into their circle turned into a monthly ritual. A romance written by a female couldn’t be worse than the drag Cassian cherished. 

But Azriel realised his mistake the day he joined Nesta in the library. While he read her favourite book, her fiery eyes flicked to him at every page turn. Even his shadows sheathing him to cool his skin wasn’t enough to tame his breaths, and Nesta snickered, ‘Having trouble reading?’

Oh, these women had better restraint than him. Thankfully, his friend delighted in these readings alone with her Valkriyes, and his discomfort was not a public spectacle.

However, when he admitted to enjoying the book, her eyes lit up, and her smiles came easy. Thus began their private tradition—Nesta picked a book for them, and once he finished, he listened to her talk about her favourite bits.

Lately, he had been missing more of these conversations, and he hated it. Azriel was failing as a mate; he would, at the least, secure his standing as a good friend.

Crisp air breezed through the windows carrying omens of changing seasons. And with it, crept in his ‘companions’ as Ayla called them. They wavered by the window as if waiting for a sign to leave again.

Despite the dying flames in the fireplace and the cold air, his skin began to warm. Azriel removed his shirt and tossed it across the room. His wings stretched and folded over once as he rolled his shoulders. Bringing his focus back to the book, he leaned against the headboard.

Darkness twitched in the corner of his eyes. Azriel merely took another sip, and they guttered out.

Were his shadows with her again? Would they go too far without him and expose themselves? Would she know, and if she did, would she blame him? Sometimes, he wished he lacked conscience like them. He would seek Ayla without guilt too, no matter what she did, who she did. 

A groan left his lips. Thinking of her was the last thing Azriel wanted to do. Her eyes burning with challenge as she uttered those sinful words. Seven. Ayla was choosing to be with seven males before she accepted him.

Would she though—accept him, or would she discard him after a night’s company?

No. Azriel was her mate, and soon, she would realise it. And this, this was only a game. She was taunting him for leaving after their kiss. She was punishing him for the ones he touched instead of her.

But, Ayla had known about Mor. Maybe, she was punishing him for Mor.

Azriel exhaled deeply and reached for the drink again. The burn numbed his senses and the ache in his chest. He flipped the page, careful of his wandering thoughts as he read the detailed rendering of an. . .intimate exchange. A strange sensation bloomed in the pit of his stomach. 

His eyes were on the page, but his mind trudged behind. With every word, the vision grew clearer and clearer—a male, a female, a whole lot of naked—and he hated the faces he saw. 

Casting the book aside, he took a sharp breath. His fingers traced aimless circles over his heart and they stuck to his skin. Blood pounded in his ears.

A carnal need pulsed between his legs begging him for the one he yearned for. Gods, it was a mess. His mate was fucking another male and his body craved her.

It started as a speck in his chest, the urge, something he could suppress. With each beat of his heart, it rippled and flared through every nerve in his body, demanding to be felt, to be satiated, to be released. A moan escaped his lips, soft and low.

His hand trailed lower and Azriel pressed his fingers into his stomach. Even the pain of his nails clawing into him morphed into pleasure, dark and twisted, coaxing him to give in.

‘Please,’ the word uttered between broken breaths. ‘Not tonight.’ Not when he knew she was with someone else. Not when he knew she wouldn’t be thinking of him.

The gold string of the bond felt like a barbed wire around his heart. Azriel yielded. What was he but a mere man.

As his fingers smoothed over his crotch, his breath caught in his throat. The slightest graze of the fabric against him when he inched his pants low had his hips jerking. He closed his hand over the tip and a shudder coursed through him.

He intended to stop there.

His other hand remained on his chest, where the only connection to her in this world lay. His heart drummed under his fingers, steady and rhythmic, yet, he felt another racing beneath it—an illusion of his mind. Or perhaps the effects of the drink.

Azriel closed his eyes.

Her intense gaze peered back.

She stood at the foot of his bed. In the moonlight, he could see the smooth curves of her body under the shirt that caressed her bare legs as she walked over to his side. She sank beside him, nuzzling against him. A gentle smile curled her lips, as red and swollen as when they fell prey to his own. And her eyes hinted mischief.

There was no escape from the one who haunted him in life and dreams alike.

‘Were you thinking of me?’ She asked, her voice breaking into little laughs. 

Azriel hummed.

His grip tightened as the guilt did around his heart. Ayla was a gift from Mother herself. And he was sullying her existence, reducing her to one of his fantasies. He sucked in a breath.

‘Let me see you,’ she whispered as her eyes made a cautious descent down his body.

He let go with a hiss. ‘Do you see what you do to me?’

She blinked slowly and trailed her fingers down his bare arm, upto his wrist before making her way back up. ‘But isn’t this what you wanted?’ Her lips feathered against his cheek, ‘Touch yourself for me. Properly.’

Azriel obeyed. Pleasure shot through his veins ripping a gasp from his throat as he wrapped his hand around his cock. He rubbed himself slowly, teasing and torturing.

‘You know,’ her breaths echoed in his ear, ‘I dream of you too.’

He chuckled, ‘Liar.’

‘I do,’ she whined looking into his eyes. Moonlight flickered in hers and somehow it deepened her gaze. ‘Did you think I’d forget our kiss?’ She drew closer, stopping a breath away from his lips, ghosting her thumb over them. ‘I think of it every day,’ her voice lilted, ‘and night.’ 

When he leaned in, she turned away, instead nestling against his shoulder. ‘I wait for you, hoping you’d come for me.’

She did. She lingered in the bar often and worked until Raya and Uri took over. She was a masochist like him, longing to relive a moment so gone in the past.

‘And what would you do if I came for you?’ he croaked out. Her fingers moved to his torso carving a path onto his abdomen, so close to where he needed her. The cold breeze raked over his skin, but it was her nails that drew the shiver out of him.

Ayla looked up at him. ‘What do you think?’ She shot a glance at his hand moving steadily along his hardness and smiled. ‘Definitely better than what you’re doing.’

Azriel laughed at her arrogance. Although, he suspected a mere touch from her would be his unravelling. ‘I’m holding back,’ he said, reaching for her face, ‘I want to keep you for a while.’

Her fingers crossed the threshold past his hips and caressed the back of his marred hand while her eyes distracted him from her vicious deeds.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she murmured as her hand closed over his, guiding him. She shifted close, her body pressing against his arm, her leg draping over his. ‘I dreamt of feeling you like this. In my hand, on my lips.’

Azriel pressed his fingers to her mouth, feeling their softness and warmth as they trembled. No, not her lips—delicate as a flower, they were only worthy of kisses and praises, he decided.

Her breaths grew heavy, chasing his own and drowning the crackling of fire. ‘Please.’

It’s she who chose other males over him.

‘You want this?’ Ayla nodded at once. ‘Then why are you with him now?’

A sound escaped her, like a whimper. ‘You know why.’

Azriel hummed. ‘Tell me,’ he taunted still, ‘Is he enough?’

She buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her words skittered over his skin as she spoke weakly, ‘You know I only want you.’

Even in his dreams, she dodged his questions. Azriel gripped her chin and coaxed her to look at him again. ‘But you’d fuck anyone who walks through your door.’

Ayla laughed, her hand slackening over his. ‘You’re the one allowing it.’

She pulled away. Her shirt no longer tugged against him deliciously, her toe no longer traced his leg, and he no longer felt her heat.

Azriel held a hand out, the one that caressed her face. ‘Come here.’

Ayla shook her head. 

‘I thought you wanted me.’

Her face crumbled and she lurched towards him, her body flush against his again. Azriel sighed. 

‘You know they wouldn’t be the one with me now if you’d just take me.’ Her eyes bore into his, almost pleading. She ripped his hand away and grasped his cock—her smooth, soft skin such contrast to his scarred one.

His head fell back as he gasped a silent moan.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, tearing his attention from the pleasure radiating through him. ‘One night, please,’ she fisted him, deliberate but firm—just enough to take him to the precipice, ‘Let me prove it to you.’

Her heart raced in tandem to his. Her cheeks flushed. Her hair swayed with their mingled breaths and stuck to his skin.

Ayla licked her lips and almost his too. Her eyes fluttered when she spoke, ‘Don’t you—don’t you want me?’

The way her voice cracked broke his heart. Azriel caressed her face and pulled her closer. ‘I do,’ he said, ‘more than anyone in my life. It hurts to be away from you.’

She drew in a quick breath. ‘Then why do you deny me?’ 

Ayla wasn’t twisted like him. She was pure for she touched his skin without perversion and kind for she didn’t judge him for what he’d done. She wouldn’t torment him if she knew the truth of who she was.

Then, why did he stay away?

Before he could find the answer himself, Ayla racked her nails along his length. Azriel sucked a breath through his teeth.

‘You’re a tease,’ she grinned as though she were innocent, ‘making a poor woman wait.’

When she punished him with her grip, he grunted, ‘I’m sure it’s hard for you,’ earning a laugh from her.

Ayla kissed his cheek once, twice, thrice, trailing lower each time. She licked the corner of his lips, ‘You taste good.’ She did it again and under his jaw. ‘You taste this good everywhere?’

‘Gods.’ Azriel laughed, and then groaned as her mouth made its descent down his chest. He pulled her face back to his. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

Guilt flooded him at the sight of her lust-stained face, a travesty of his sinister dreams, dragging him from the pleasure that threatened to consume him.

‘I need you,’ her voice wavered. Azriel shivered. ‘How shall I prove it to you?’

‘No,’ he rasped, brushing his thumb over her cheek. He had even perverted her thoughts. ‘You never have to prove anything to me. When this is over, I’ll make you mine.’

Her movements ceased and her eyes hooded. A sigh left her lips, then a series of whispered yeses. His cock throbbed and she took charge again, stroking him faster and determined. 

‘Let me have this,’ she said, ‘Let me feel you tonight.’

Her hands drove him to the edge but it was her words that destroyed him. Shocks of pleasure went through him, one after the other. 

With their breaths still echoing in his ears, Ayla brought her hand to his chin. Her wet fingers, drenched in his essence, grazed under his lip. ‘Come to me, Az. Isn’t it your turn now?’

Azriel opened his eyes. Pages rustled in the breeze. His shirt lay rumpled on the floor beside the fireplace, with only the embers to hint at the fire long dead. Moonlight bathed his empty room.

His messy hand rested below his chest, where the desire and rush ebbed away, slowly baring him as shame began to corrode him. Once his heart settled, he tried to cleanse the filth residing in him with a cold shower. He knew it wasn’t enough.

Shadows danced outside the window when Azriel returned. He placed the culprit back on the dresser and folded his discarded shirt over the armchair. He picked up the bottle and liquor sloshed at its bottom as he strolled over to the window. He needed to visit Uri soon.

Velaris was a beauty to behold at night. From the mountains, it was more so. Lights glittered in every corner of the city like stars on land—each one a promise of life and future. Right in the middle of it was her house, a smidge somewhere in the vibrant square alive with music and laughter. 

Water dripped down his back, yet heat lingered under his skin. 

A tendril curled over his ear. Alone, it sang while another added, Asleep. Azriel heaved a sigh. Ayla was safe. Satisfied, his shadows draped over his shoulders returning to their home.

He took a sip and a smirk pulled at his lips. ‘Kiss her for me.’

There was stillness for a moment, then, the invisible weight lifted.

What harm could one more sin bring to a sinner?

[daycourtofficial]

vanilla americano 😈

Okay I went a bit different with this one I thought it’d be a perspective we haven’t seen before!!!

Order a drink for Gingerfucker Week here

Vanilla americano - a bat boy + angst

Azriel had spent the past three weeks thinking of nothing but the comforts he had become accustomed to in the last century. His large, much too comfortable bed that allowed him to sleep more than he used to (but not by much). The mattress seemed to pull his large body into it, forming in shape around him for maximum comfort. He had asked Rhysand once what it was made of. He still couldn’t decide if his answer of “peregrine feathers” was a joke or not.

His other comfort had come in the form of hot, relaxing teas Nesta had stocked the House of Wind with, a supply of jasmine honey that seemed endless.

He made it to the second floor landing, about to turn further up the steps, waiting for the house to make him a warm bath and a hot cup of tea when a flood of moonlight caught his eye. It streaked across the floor, the open door to a room he spent many nights complaining about Rhysand in.

“This room’s perfect for secrets.”

Your words echoed through his head as he moved down the hall, hoping to confirm to someone in his family he was alive and unhappy about it. The shadowsinger knew once he saw you he’d no doubt grumble about the past few weeks, some sympathetic barb from you enough to make him feel like he was home again.

He hated being away from his family for so long, but growing tensions throughout Illyria required more presence from the Inner Circle to ensure things were running smoothly.

The house was eerily quiet as he crept down the hall, hoping that Nesta and Cassian had tired themselves out for the night. His shadows slithered around him, coiled as if ready to strike. They gave away nothing, merely whispering look, look, look.

He pushed the door open, finding the room in complete disarray. It sent him into high alert. In a flash he unsheathed Truth Teller, sending his shadows throughout the house to find out where you were and if anything else was out of sorts.

His eyes scanned the room - hundreds of hand-written letters covered the floor, their pages folded and refolded from use. The furniture had been flipped every which way - the bed turned over, revealing several boxes that had all been haphazardly siphoned through.

His steps were silent as he moved further into the room, stepping over the creaky floorboard. What had happened in his absence? Where was the rest of his family?

He wandered downstairs after finding no answers in your room, his grip on his knife unrelenting as he took the steps with ease. His shadows told him only one room was occupied - what used to be Rhysand’s study.

“We are declaring war on Autumn.” His High Lord’s words were spat out as Azriel quietly moved into the room, taking the space next to Cassian. “Eris has played us for the fool the last time and it has to end.”

Azriel looked between Rhys, Cassian, and Feyre, noting the absence of Mor and Amren. Everyone was in nightclothes - he was technically the most formally dressed, a sight he would normally find amusing.

“What is going on?” Azriel’s words were met by a shocked look on Cassian’s face, a subtle head shake asking him not to ask.

“This is a wartime council. It is my decision. We will raze all of Autumn for their crimes.”

“Our decision.” Rhys shot a look toward his mate, her own eyes heating in defiance. “That redheaded fool has done something to convince my sister they are mated. I do not have to convince anyone else that that is an action worthy of war.”

The words clanged through the room and Azriel could not keep the shock from showing on his face.

Mates?

He kept quiet, waiting for more information. An impatient shadow whirled around Rhysand, pulling his attention to the confused shadowsinger. He pinched the bridge of his nose, anger and frustration written in the planes of his face.

“I found letters upon letters from him declaring his love in her room, all dating back over a century. It’s preposterous. I have no idea how long he has been working on this.”

“Rhys, what if this is real?”

“You think my sister could deceive me over this?” The accusation made the room cold.

“What if they really are mates?” Rhys only scoffed in reply, throwing his hands up at the notion. He knew the moment he and Feyre were alone it would be a bloodbath.

“Where is she now?” Azriel felt a cold determination to see her. If he could talk to her, surely this was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps she was seeing someone who used a pen name? Rhysand likely blew everything out of proportion. There was no way she could have been-

“Not here.”

Azriel’s mind was hyper focused, running through every scenario possible. He blinked, taken aback by his brother’s words.

“He took her?” Azriel couldn’t help the defensive stance he took, ready to winnow away into Autumn. Rhys’s silence dragged on far too long, but Azriel remained stoic.

“No.” Everyone continued watching Rhys, waiting for his next words.

“Is she somewhere in Velaris hiding?” Rhys ignored Feyre’s question, waving his hand dismissively.

“For all I know she’s in Autumn.”

Shouts erupted from the room, everyone upset with Rhysand for the constant shift in his mood. Azriel crept out of the room, not even closing the door behind him as he moved toward his room. His chest felt heavy, full of regrets for letting this happen. How had he not known? How had he not stopped this?

His family was arguing, trying to create a plan of action, but Azriel was certain this was no deception from the heir to the Autumn throne. They had all been played a fool by her.

He couldn’t stop the utter devastation at that realization.

Azriel felt his jaw tighten, certain no one had ever gone to such lengths to hide the truth from him. He ignored the tiny part of his brain that kept yelling to him, reminding him how far he would go to protect a mate of his own.

His chest felt empty by the time he made it to his room, his mind and body so tired he felt on the brink of falling over. The spymaster opened his door, a small envelope sitting on his bed with his name in familiar handwriting, the sight of it like a burst of energy.

[novaursa]

Legacy (alliances)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Events of the story and timeline don't match canon events.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: by his design

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

A quiet, breathless shudder escapes your lips as you find your release, your fingers gripping Tywin’s shoulders as he reaches his own peak. His gaze never wavers from yours, a rare flicker of satisfaction playing over his features as he watches the pleasure ripple through you. Yet, the look in his eyes is not just one of simple satisfaction or pride—it’s something deeper, something restrained, as though he is pleased with not only the moment but with your very surrender to it.

In the silence that follows, you lie close to him, your breathing steadying as you study his face, the sharp angles softened slightly in the dim candlelight. He still has that calculating look, one he wears as naturally as his armor. His fingers trail idly down your arm, possessive yet thoughtful, a hand resting over yours in a rare moment of calm.

“You know,” you murmur, your voice a low hum in the quiet chamber, “when I was a princess, there was a time I never imagined I’d end up here. Lying beside you, in the Tower of the Hand, talking to you… like this.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “You are still a princess,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. “Your titles did not disappear with your family’s fortunes.”

“True,” you concede, tracing a finger over the silk sheets. “But in King’s Landing, a princess without a court is little more than a name. A reminder of things lost.” Your words carry a hint of wistfulness, though you mask it quickly, refusing to let any sign of vulnerability linger.

Tywin studies you for a moment, his gaze more penetrating than before, as though he’s seeing something hidden beneath your words. “Loss can shape a person more than power ever could,” he says quietly, surprising you with the edge of understanding in his voice. “It gives them resilience, purpose. That is something I’ve seen in you, long before this.”

You turn to him, caught off guard by his words. “Long before?” A slight smile tugs at your lips, and you search his face for any sign of jest. “Tywin Lannister… were you watching me even back then?”

He regards you with a level expression, the faintest hint of a smirk in his eyes. “Once, perhaps. It was at the tourney in Harrenhal. You wore a blood red ribbon in your hair, and I remember thinking that the color suited you—a rare splash of Valyrian fire among the grey stones.”

You blink, surprised by his recollection. The memory is distant, barely a moment in time to you, but to hear Tywin recall it so vividly brings it back with surprising clarity. “I… had no idea you noticed me then,” you reply softly, still processing this revelation. “It was such a small thing—a ribbon, barely more than a whim.”

“Small things often reveal the most,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “That ribbon marked you as a Targaryen among the gathered nobility. You knew you were watched, judged for every step, every turn of your head. And yet… you wore it anyway, with pride.”

A strange warmth stirs in your chest at his words, and you look away for a moment, uncertain of how to respond. The memory of that day returns to you—the weight of expectation, the pressure to embody the Targaryen legacy even as a child. That he remembers such a detail is unexpected, yet somehow feels like a silent acknowledgment of the strength you carried even then.

“I never thought anyone would remember such a detail,” you admit quietly, turning back to him. “Especially not you.”

He tilts his head, his hand still resting against yours, the faintest shadow of a smile crossing his lips. “I remember many things others overlook. Strength often lies in moments that seem insignificant to those who lack vision.”

There’s a certain vulnerability in his words, one you hadn’t anticipated, and it feels almost like peeling away a layer of his armor, revealing something beneath the hardened exterior. The silence between you stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable; rather, it feels like a rare understanding, one built on a foundation of shared experience, of knowing what it is to bear a legacy that others will never fully grasp.

“You’ve always been watching, then,” you say, your tone carrying a note of irony but also gratitude. “Even when I didn’t know.”

“Yes,” he says simply, his voice carrying an unmistakable finality. “And you would do well to remember that.” He leans closer, his lips brushing your forehead in a rare, quiet gesture that feels almost like reverence.

You lie together in silence, the weight of past and present mingling in the quiet chamber. For once, words seem unnecessary, replaced instead by an understanding that binds you in a way deeper than duty, or legacy—an unspoken recognition of the strength that has brought you both to this moment.

Cersei swept into her father’s chambers, her expression tightly controlled but her posture rigid with frustration. She held a letter in her hand, the Tyrell rose seal already broken, but Tywin could see her attention was barely on the parchment. Instead, her gaze flickered between him and the room around them, as though searching for something unsaid.

“Father,” she greeted, her tone polite but strained. She lifted the letter. “We’ve received word from Highgarden. The Tyrells will be arriving in the capital soon. No doubt with their usual parade of feigned grace and ambition.”

Tywin, seated behind his desk, merely nodded. “Good. We have plans to discuss with them, particularly in light of the recent… changes within the court.” He regarded her, his gaze unwavering. “I expect you to welcome them graciously, Cersei. Whatever differences we may have, our unity must appear unbreakable.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, her eyes flashing with resentment. “I hardly think the Tyrells are what you’re most interested in discussing with me.” She took a step closer, her expression sharpening. “One moon, Father. One moon since you married her, and you still haven’t thought to explain yourself to your own children.”

Tywin’s face remained impassive, his gaze calm but cold. “There is nothing to explain, Cersei. I’ve made a decision that benefits our house. This marriage is a part of a plan long in place, one that serves the interests of House Lannister and consolidates our strength. That’s all you need to understand.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, her voice laced with bitterness. “A plan long in place? A decision that’s best for our house?” She let out a hollow laugh. “This was a choice that stripped your own family of dignity. You never once consulted me—or Jaime, for that matter. You took it upon yourself to marry a woman a little older than your own children, and you call it strategy.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Enough, Cersei,” he warned, his tone steely. “I am the head of this family, and my decisions are not up for debate. This marriage was not some impulsive choice. It was carefully considered, and I expect you to respect that.”

But Cersei’s anger only grew, her voice rising as she held her ground. “Respect? Respect is earned, Father, and you’ve given us none.” She took a step forward, her face a mask of barely controlled fury. “Tell me, what is it that you truly intend with this marriage? Do you plan to replace all of us with a new brood of dragonspawn?” Her words dripped with venom, and her fists clenched at her sides.

Tywin’s expression darkened, a rare flash of anger crossing his normally impassive face. He rose slowly from his seat, his gaze fierce as he regarded his daughter. “Mind your words, Cersei,” he said, his voice low and cold. “You are speaking of your family, of a marriage that has brought strength to House Lannister. Any children that may come of it will bear my name, and they will be Lannisters in every way that matters.”

Cersei scoffed, crossing her arms defiantly. “Lannisters?” she echoed, her voice filled with contempt. “They may bear your name, Father, but they will never truly be Lannisters. They will be Targaryens, dragon-blooded children that you think will be your legacy. But what of us? What of your own blood, the children you raised?”

Tywin’s gaze was icy, his voice as unyielding as iron. “This marriage has nothing to do with replacing anyone. It has everything to do with securing the future of our house. You, Jaime, and Tyrion remain my children. But House Lannister must adapt, or it will fall. This union is a part of that adaptation.”

Cersei shook her head, her face a mixture of fury and disbelief. “Adaptation?” she repeated, her voice laced with bitterness. “You think you can replace us with a new line, with heirs who will carry both the lion and the dragon? You’ve sacrificed our family’s dignity, cast us aside like pieces on a game board. You’ve betrayed us, Father.”

Tywin’s face tightened, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger. “Betrayed you?” he hissed, his voice dangerously low. “I have done everything for this family, everything to ensure our survival. This marriage is not a betrayal—it is a means to ensure our future, to strengthen our influence. Your personal grievances mean nothing in the face of that.”

Cersei’s gaze was fierce, defiant, as she met his anger with her own. “You may be able to convince yourself of that, Father, but don’t expect me to accept it so easily.” She turned on her heel, her voice filled with disdain. “But remember this—whatever children come of this marriage, they will always be a reminder of your betrayal. And they will never be true Lannisters.”

With that, she stormed out of the chamber, leaving Tywin standing alone, his expression dark and thunderous. 

The midday sun filtered softly through the latticework above, casting delicate patterns over the table where you and Sansa sat, enjoying an array of treats brought from the kitchens—warm honeycakes, fresh fruits, and spiced wine, filling the air with a comforting sweetness. The courtyard was serene, tucked away from the rest of the Red Keep, making it a perfect spot for an intimate respite from the world of politics and intrigue that surrounded you both.

Sansa was laughing, a light sound you hadn’t heard in far too long, as she recounted memories of her younger siblings at Winterfell, her blue eyes bright with a warmth that softened her usual wariness.

“And Arya,” she chuckled, reaching for a honeycake, “she once hid my favorite dress because she didn’t want me to go to a feast. She thought it would keep me in my room.” She shook her head, a fond smile lingering on her lips. “She always found ways to cause trouble, but I think… I think she just wanted me near her.”

You smiled warmly, indulging in the sweetness of the moment. “It sounds like Arya,” you said softly. “A spirit like hers isn’t easily subdued, even in the darkest times. She is—”

Before you could finish, a familiar, almost ethereal voice cut through the quiet. “Forgive the interruption, my ladies.”

You both looked up to see Varys approaching, his expression as smooth and enigmatic as ever. Draped in his soft robes, he moved with practiced grace, a smile touching his lips as he regarded you and Sansa, his hands folded neatly before him.

“Lord Varys,” you greeted with polite surprise, inclining your head slightly. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Sansa’s smile faded a bit, replaced by her usual guarded expression, but she nodded respectfully. “Lord Varys.”

Varys bowed his head, his eyes glinting with a knowing warmth. “I hope I am not intruding on a much-needed respite. It’s rare to find such a lovely gathering here in the Red Keep,” he remarked, his gaze flitting between the two of you as though he were savoring a rare sight.

“You are welcome to join us,” you offered, gesturing to the treats spread on the table. “We were simply enjoying the sun and a few memories of Winterfell.”

“Ah, Winterfell,” Varys murmured, his tone wistful as he settled into a seat. “A place I have heard much about but never had the privilege of visiting. I imagine it must hold memories worth savoring, especially in times like these.”

Sansa glanced at him warily, but she nodded. “Yes, Lord Varys. Winterfell was… home. More than this place could ever be.” She looked away, her gaze distant for a moment before she focused back on you, seeking reassurance in your presence.

Varys inclined his head, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “It is said that even in the darkest of places, memories can serve as a lantern, a light to guide us forward.” He looked to you, a subtle yet meaningful gaze holding yours for a fraction longer. “And we should always remember where we come from… for it often shapes where we are going.”

You felt the weight of his words, the unspoken support woven delicately within them. “Wise words, Lord Varys,” you replied, matching his tone with a subtle smile. “It’s a reminder worth heeding.”

Varys’s smile softened, and he looked to Sansa with a gentleness that was both unexpected and sincere. “Lady Sansa, you have endured much, but you carry yourself with strength that rivals the greatest of houses. The North must be proud of you.”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond, but she managed a soft, “Thank you, my lord,” her cheeks faintly flushed.

“And you, my lady,” Varys continued, turning his attention back to you. “You have navigated your return to King’s Landing with a grace that even the most seasoned courtiers would struggle to match. It is no easy task, yet you make it appear effortless.”

You held his gaze, sensing the deeper meaning beneath his words. “One does what one must, Lord Varys,” you replied, your voice calm but resolute. “Especially when one’s duty calls for it.”

He nodded slowly, his expression reflective. “Indeed. But strength such as yours often calls for more than mere duty. It demands resilience, an unwavering spirit. Qualities I believe are not so easily subdued.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of his support—a silent promise, hidden beneath his careful phrasing. It was rare for Varys to speak so openly, and even rarer still for him to display such subtle encouragement.

Sansa, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity, glanced between the two of you, her unease momentarily softened by the unspoken alliance she sensed but didn’t fully understand.

Varys rose gracefully, bowing his head. “I will leave you both to your midday respite. But know, my ladies, that even in a place like King’s Landing, there are those who watch over… with genuine intentions.”

He met your gaze one last time, a faint glimmer of something almost reassuring in his eyes, before he took his leave, his robes sweeping softly as he disappeared down the garden path.

As silence settled over the table once more, you looked to Sansa, her expression a mixture of confusion and awe. “Lord Varys…” she whispered, her brows drawn together. “What did he mean by all that?”

You smiled softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “He means that even here, in the heart of intrigue and deceit, there are still people we can trust. Allies can be found in the most unexpected places.”

The throne room was bathed in the stark light of mid-afternoon, as you entered, you could feel the weight of the room’s history settle over you, memories of your family lingering in every corner. The Iron Throne loomed at the far end, a twisted monument of power, and there, at its foot, stood Tywin, flanked by a clearly irritated Joffrey.

Joffrey’s gaze flicked to you the moment you entered, his face twisted with barely concealed annoyance. He looked you up and down, his lips curling slightly, as though he wanted nothing more than to remind you of your “place.” It was clear he saw your presence here as a slight, an opportunity to belittle. But as his mouth opened, Tywin turned, his sharp gaze falling on the young king with a sternness that silenced him immediately.

Joffrey’s mouth snapped shut, his face flushing with anger, though he didn’t dare challenge Tywin. Instead, he let out a frustrated huff, turning abruptly and signaling to his Kingsguard with a flick of his hand. Ser Meryn and Ser Boros followed him, their armor clanking as they fell into step behind him, leaving you and Tywin alone in the vast, echoing hall.

The moment the heavy doors shut behind Joffrey, Tywin’s expression softened, his shoulders easing ever so slightly as he turned to you. His gaze, sharp as ever, softened with a hint of warmth, a rare show of his approval.

"Forgive the interruption," he began, his voice carrying a note of apology rarely heard from him. “The young king is… proving challenging to advise.”

You managed a small smile, stepping closer. “I can imagine, my lord,” you replied, your voice even. “It appears he lacks the patience for wise counsel.”

Tywin allowed himself a rare sigh, a flicker of irritation at his grandson showing as he shook his head. “Indeed. But his temperament is the least of our concerns for now.” He paused, studying you with a thoughtful gaze before continuing. “The Tyrells are arriving soon, as expected. Their influence and loyalty are… essential for the realm’s stability. Their support is crucial to our position here.”

You inclined your head, considering his words carefully. “House Tyrell wields considerable power, especially in the Reach. I imagine they are expecting more than mere titles in exchange for their loyalty.”

Tywin’s mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile. “Precisely. Margaery Tyrell’s engagement to Joffrey has already begun to cement the alliance, but they will want more—a deeper investment in the realm, influence over key decisions.” His gaze turned calculating. “I will be meeting with Mace Tyrell to discuss the terms of their alliance. Their ambition is considerable, but it can be shaped to suit our purposes.”

You met his gaze steadily, appreciating the insight he allowed you to glimpse. It was rare for Tywin to share so openly, even with those closest to him. “And how may I be of assistance in this, my lord?”

Tywin stepped closer, his voice lowering as he addressed you. “Your presence and composure at court have not gone unnoticed. The Tyrells, like many in King’s Landing, are curious about you, about the… union you and I have formed. They’ll watch you closely, especially Margaery, who is known for her charm and astuteness.”

You nodded, understanding his implication. “You want me to present myself as part of this alliance, as a demonstration of House Lannister’s strength and unity.”

Tywin’s gaze held yours, his approval unmistakable. “Exactly. Let them see that the Lannisters are more than just the sum of our titles and wealth. We are a unified force, and every member of this family, including you, represents that power.” He paused, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Your composure will send a message that no words could convey.”

You inclined your head, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Very well, my lord. I shall ensure the Tyrells see only the strength and unity of House Lannister.”

For a moment, Tywin regarded you, a look of quiet admiration softening the edges of his usually impassive expression. “You have adapted well,” he said, his voice laced with a rare note of sincerity. “More than I could have anticipated.”

Your gaze softened, allowing yourself a moment of honesty. “I’ve learned from the best, my lord,” you replied, a glimmer of warmth in your tone.

Tywin’s eyes met yours, and a rare, subtle smile flickered across his face, a gesture that was brief but genuine. “Very good,” he murmured, his voice low, as though speaking only for you. “Then we are well-prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead.”

As you and Tywin exchanged a final look, the heavy wooden doors creaked open, and Tyrion strode in with a briskness that hinted at urgency. He held a stack of parchments in his hand, each one bearing the seal of the crown’s finances, the weight of his responsibility as Master of Coin clearly wearing on him. He cast you both a knowing look, his gaze lingering a moment longer on you, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Father, Lady Y/N,” Tyrion greeted, inclining his head with a formal nod. His voice held its usual sharp edge, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. “I apologize for the intrusion, but it appears our coffers are hemorrhaging gold faster than I can manage. The Tyrells’ arrival is proving to be quite the costly affair.”

Tywin’s expression turned stony, his brows knitting together as he took in Tyrion’s words. “Explain,” he commanded, his voice clipped.

Tyrion lifted a parchment, reading off the details with a feigned theatrical flair. “Lavish feasts, grand accommodations, servants for each member of their esteemed house, silks and brocades for Margaery’s arrival—nothing but the finest, of course. Our dear King Joffrey has insisted that the capital reflects ‘the crown’s generosity.’”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the news. “Generosity,” he repeated, his voice laced with disdain. “More like extravagance. The crown is in debt, and yet Joffrey sees fit to squander what little we have on displays of opulence.”

Tyrion’s smile didn’t fade as he replied, “It appears that ‘generosity’ has become synonymous with ‘indulgence’ in our dear king’s vocabulary. I thought it prudent to inform you before the entirety of the Reach decides to drink and dine us into ruin.”

Tywin’s gaze turned steely, his mind already calculating the implications. “Ensure that the expenditures are curtailed,” he ordered sharply. “House Tyrell is an ally, not a host of kings. They should not expect to be received with such excess.”

Tyrion bowed his head, a mockery of submission in his gesture. “As you command, Father. I shall trim the expenses as best I can and manage their expectations—though I suspect Lady Margaery may find it a… disappointment.”

Tywin merely gave a curt nod, his attention shifting back to you with that familiar calculating gaze. Tyrion, however, seized the moment, turning to you with a more genuine smile.

“And as for you, my lady,” he began, his tone warming with a touch of humor, “it seems we haven’t had the chance to properly toast to this new… union of ours. A remarkable occasion, indeed.” He raised an eyebrow, his expression inviting, though there was something else in his gaze—an unspoken offer of understanding, of camaraderie.

Tywin’s expression turned stern, his gaze shifting sharply between you and Tyrion. “Your… gentlemanly gestures are noted, Tyrion, but I expect you to conduct yourself with respect. Lady Y/N is—”

Tyrion raised a hand, cutting him off with a knowing smile. “Father, please. I shall be the very picture of decorum. A toast in private is all I ask.” He gave you a quick wink, adding, “I wouldn’t dream of keeping her long.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, clearly displeased, but after a moment, he gave a begrudging nod. “Very well. Do not delay her for long.”

Tyrion inclined his head, his expression one of polite triumph. “Of course, Father. I promise to return Lady Y/N to you precisely as she was.”

You met Tywin’s gaze, offering a small nod of assurance before turning to follow Tyrion out of the throne room. As the doors closed behind you, Tyrion’s smile grew, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he guided you down the corridor.

“A private toast,” he murmured, a chuckle in his voice. “I suspect we both have much to say about this rather… unexpected arrangement.” He offered you his arm, his expression light but his eyes sharp. “Shall we?”

Tyrion led you down a quieter corridor, away from the bustling halls and watchful eyes of the court, to a smaller, private room tucked within the Tower of the Hand. The chamber was dimly lit, with shelves of old tomes lining the walls and a small table in the center. Tyrion moved with ease, his familiarity with this space evident as he gestured for you to sit and began pouring a deep red wine into two goblets.

“True to my word, my lady,” Tyrion said with a charming grin, extending a goblet to you. “To toasting a most remarkable alliance.” He raised his glass, meeting your gaze with a glint of mischief.

You took the goblet, mirroring his gesture. “To alliances,” you replied, amusement lacing your tone as you clinked your glass against his.

Tyrion’s eyes sparkled as he took a sip, settling comfortably into his seat across from you. “I must say, I expected many things in my life, but gaining a Targaryen for a stepmother was not one of them,” he chuckled. “Life certainly knows how to keep us on our toes, doesn’t it?”

You couldn’t help but smile, raising an eyebrow. “It seems King’s Landing is never short of surprises. But I must admit, having you as a stepson is a rather unexpected delight, Tyrion.”

His grin widened, appreciating your humor. “A most pleasant turn of events, indeed,” he agreed, his voice warm but thoughtful. “And I find myself more curious than ever about my new family. Particularly the… circumstances surrounding certain recent events.”

You took a sip of the wine, savoring the smoothness, watching him over the rim of your goblet. “Oh?” you replied with a faint smile. “I’m certain there’s little more to know, Tyrion.”

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned back. “You say that, but my brother Jaime mentioned something intriguing. Reports about how you were captured near High Heart before being brought to Harrenhal.” He raised an eyebrow, his voice lowering as if savoring the mystery. “Not the most direct route to the rest of the south, I’d say. An interesting place to be traveling alone, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help the amused smile that touched your lips, recognizing his game. “High Heart is an ancient and mysterious place, as I’m sure you know, Tyrion. It has a certain… reputation. But then, I suppose such things don’t always require explanation.”

Tyrion’s grin deepened, his curiosity growing as he watched you carefully. “Ah, I see. So, our newest Lady Lannister is also one for secrets.” He took another sip of wine, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. “And here I thought we’d entered into this family as open books.”

You chuckled softly, holding his gaze. “Some books are best read between the lines,” you replied, matching his subtlety with your own.

Tyrion let out a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying the dance of words. “Well played, my lady, well played indeed. Jaime has a nose for unusual details, and he wasn’t wrong to be intrigued. High Heart is known for its… unusual visitors and its strange history.”

You merely tilted your head, taking another sip, neither confirming nor denying his observation. “The past often whispers to those willing to listen,” you replied smoothly, meeting his gaze. “Perhaps I was simply drawn by curiosity.”

Tyrion regarded you, his expression a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Curiosity… a dangerous companion in a place like King’s Landing, wouldn’t you agree? But then again,” he added, raising his glass in another toast, “it’s also the mark of a clever mind.”

You inclined your head, meeting his toast, the silence between you charged with an understanding neither of you spoke aloud.

Finally, Tyrion leaned back, studying you with genuine warmth. “Whatever secrets you carry, Lady Y/N, I am glad to have you here. It’s been far too long since anyone in this family possessed both wit and mystery.”

You couldn’t help the genuine smile that spread across your face. “And I’m glad to be here, Tyrion. As unexpected as this arrangement may be, I have found unexpected allies in the most unlikely of places.”

Tyrion’s smile softened, his gaze turning more serious, his tone warmer. “Then, let us be allies. After all, there’s no one I’d rather have beside me in this city of shadows than someone who knows the power of a well-guarded secret.”

As the last of the wine slipped from your goblet, Tyrion set his own down with a soft clink, his expression shifting from playful to serious. The air in the room felt thicker, the camaraderie you had shared now laced with a stiffness that called for honesty. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes intent on you.

“Now, let us speak more personally, Lady Y/N,” he began, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “How are you truly dealing with all of this? With the marriage… with being bound to a man who, for the most part, was responsible for the fall of your family?”

You felt a weight settle in your chest at the mention of Tywin’s role in the tragedy that had befallen the Targaryens. The memories rushed back—flashes of fire, betrayal, and the haunting echoes of laughter that had once filled the halls of the Red Keep, now replaced by whispers of treachery. You took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s… complicated,” you finally replied, your voice steady but soft. “I never expected to be married to Tywin Lannister. When I was sent to Winterfell, I thought I would find safety, not a path that would lead me back into the very heart of the chaos that led to my family’s ruin.”

Tyrion nodded, his expression understanding yet probing. “It’s a heavy burden to bear, being tied to someone who orchestrated so much suffering, and yet saved your life at the same time. How do you reconcile that?”

You considered his question, the flickering candles casting shadows on the walls as you gathered your thoughts. “I try to see it as a means of survival. My marriage to him may have been politically motivated, but I also recognize that it offers me a measure of power and influence that I did not have before. It allows me to navigate this world on my terms, however twisted those terms may be.”

Tyrion regarded you thoughtfully, the corners of his mouth twitching in a wry smile. “A practical perspective. You Targaryens are known for your fire—literal and figurative. But don’t think for a moment that you are simply a pawn in his game. You are more than that, especially in a marriage like this. You have a voice, a power that can reshape the narrative, should you choose to wield it.”

You felt a flicker of hope at his words, but a shadow of doubt crossed your mind. “But at what cost? Being with him means aligning myself with everything he represents—the very things that destroyed my family. Can I ever truly accept that?”

Tyrion leaned back slightly, his gaze softening as he considered your struggle. “No one can ever truly forget their past, Lady Y/N. Nor should they. It’s how we use that past that defines us. Your family’s legacy, while fraught with tragedy, is also rich with strength. You have the opportunity to redefine what it means to be a Targaryen in this new era. Just as Tywin seeks to reshape the Lannisters, you too can carve your own path.”

You took a moment, absorbing his words. “I want to believe that,” you admitted quietly, your heart racing with the possibilities. “But every time I look at him, I see the weight of his choices. I can’t help but wonder if I am merely a means to an end for him—a way to consolidate power.”

Tyrion studied you, his expression serious. “Then make your presence known, my lady. Show him that you are not just a means to an end. Use this opportunity to become an ally, not just to him, but to the realm. Your voice matters. Use it wisely, and you might just find that you can steer this ship in a different direction.”

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth of his encouragement wash over you. “You make it sound so simple, Tyrion,” you replied with a hint of a smile. “But I understand. I need to find a way to reclaim my identity in this role.”

“Exactly,” he said, a note of excitement creeping into his voice. “And when the Tyrells arrive, you’ll have a perfect stage to showcase your strength and your vision. Remember, they come with their own ambitions, and it’s a delicate dance you must navigate.”

You nodded, your resolve hardening as you realized the truth in his words. “Thank you, Tyrion. It means more than you know, having someone in my corner who understands.”

Tyrion raised his goblet in a mock toast, a smirk on his face. “To alliances, then, both new and unexpected. May they serve you well, my lady.”

You raised your own goblet, the warmth of his support wrapping around you like a protective cloak. “To alliances,” you echoed, your heart lifting slightly at the thought of the possibilities that lay ahead.

[itacats]

Operation 141: The Family Business

FT: TF141 x gn!reader - Mafia AU

Warnings: mafia themes, kidnapping/abduction, obsessive behaviors, beat down, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: In the depths of your captivity, the team crept closer to the man who’d taken everything from them. The air crackled with tension; each silent step brought them nearer to a final reckoning. This was more than a rescue—it was payback. And tonight, Ghost would make sure he felt every second of it.

Read Part 1 Read Part 2 Read Part 3 Read Part 4 Read Part 5 Read Part 7

Part 6: Showdown

The night was suffocatingly still, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was about to unfold. The outskirts were desolate, a wasteland of forgotten industrial buildings and crumbling warehouses, cast in the eerie glow of distant streetlights. Ghost led the team through the shadows, every step precise, silent, as they closed in on their target: the man who had taken you.

The warehouse loomed ahead, a massive structure of rusting metal and shattered windows. It was a tomb of memories—abandoned, decayed, yet now the epicenter of a tension so thick it felt like the air itself might shatter. Ghost's voice cut through the silence like a blade, his whisper low and controlled. "Stay sharp. This guy might be desperate enough to do anything. We move in silently."

Soap, Gaz, and Price exchanged tense nods. There was no room for error. Desperation made people dangerous, and this man—Devon—had proven just how far he was willing to go. But Ghost’s focus was unbreakable. This mission wasn’t just tactical; it was personal. He had failed to see the threat before, and now, standing on the precipice of this showdown, he wasn’t about to let you slip away again.

With each step, the tension climbed. The warehouse’s rotting metal door creaked as it swung open, but inside, the silence was almost unbearable. The team moved like shadows, their training kicking in as they fanned out and took their positions. Every corner, every potential line of sight was calculated. Soap crouched low, inching toward the center while Gaz held to the right, eyes scanning for movement. Price hung back, his weapon ready, overseeing the operation with the steady calm that had seen them through a thousand dangerous missions.

In the middle of the room, Devon stood with his back to them, staring at the cracked wall as if it held the answers to the madness that had consumed him. His mind was scattered, and his movements erratic as he paced from the wall to you and back. His body language was rigid, tense, like a spring coiled too tight, ready to snap. He hadn’t heard them yet—hadn’t sensed the wolves closing in on him.

But you had. 

Curled up in the corner of the room, battered by fear and exhaustion, you saw them first—your saving grace. For the briefest moment, a flicker of hope ignited in your chest, but then the terror clawed its way back, fierce and unrelenting. The sight of them was too much, and the cry that erupted from your lips shattered the tense stillness like a gunshot.

"Get away from me!" you screamed, your voice raw, filled with the anguish of days almost weeks spent in captivity, the fear of never being found.

Devon spun around, eyes wild with rage and panic. The mask of control he’d worn for so long crumbled in an instant as he realized what was happening. But it was too late.

Before he could react, Ghost was already in motion. The world around him blurred, reduced to the singular focus of stopping the man who had caused you so much pain. His boots pounded against the concrete floor as he charged forward, eyes blazing with an icy fury. In one swift, brutal motion, Ghost tackled Devon to the ground, their bodies crashing onto the cold, hard floor with a sickening thud.

“You’ve touched them one too many times,” Ghost growled, his voice low and lethal, barely human beneath the mask of rage. His fists were already flying, driven by a cold fury that had been simmering for days. This wasn’t just another mission—it was retribution.

The warehouse exploded into chaos. The sounds of struggle filled the air—grunts, the dull thud of fists connecting with flesh, the scuffle of boots against concrete. Devon fought back with the desperation of a man cornered, but he was no match for Ghost, whose anger was pure, unrelenting. Each punch landed with precision, fueled by the knowledge of what you had endured, by the guilt of not stopping it sooner.

Nearby, Price and Gaz moved quickly, their focus shifting to you. They flanked Soap as he reached your side, blocking out the violence that played out in the background. Soap’s hands were gentle, but his voice was firm, steady—reassuring. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.” He crouched down, pulling you to your feet, his presence a solid anchor against the storm still raging only feet away from you.

Gaz positioned himself between you and the fight, his eyes constantly scanning the room for any further threats. He could hear Ghost’s fists connecting with Devon’s body, and could feel the weight of Ghost’s fury in every blow. But his focus remained on you, shielding you from the brutal reality unfolding behind him.

Price stood nearby, his eyes flicking between the chaos and the door. He knew Ghost needed to finish this. He also knew there was no going back once this line was crossed. But Ghost had earned this—had earned the right to deliver the justice Devon deserved. And Price would make sure nothing stopped him.

Ghost, now fully immersed in his fury, tightened his grip around Devon’s collar, hauling him up from the floor before slamming him back down with a force that echoed through the empty warehouse. Devon’s gasps for breath were ragged, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and confusion. Ghost leaned in close, his breath hot against Devon’s ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You think you can take one of our people and get away with it? Not in this lifetime.”

With one final, savage punch, Ghost knocked Devon out cold, leaving him sprawled on the floor, unconscious and broken. The warehouse fell silent again, the sounds of battle fading into the void.

Ghost stood over Devon’s crumpled form, his chest heaving with adrenaline and rage, but his eyes slowly softened as he looked toward you. His team had you now. You were safe.

Soap helped you steady yourself as you stumbled forward, your body weak from days of fear and captivity. Being subjected to Devon’s madness drained everything in you from the moment he ripped you away from the world. Your eyes met Ghost’s through the haze of tears and exhaustion, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe it was over. 

The nightmare had ended. You had been found.

Read Part 7

The quiet settled like dust in the warehouse, thick and heavy after the storm of violence and fear. Shadows loomed around you, and yet, in their midst, familiar figures emerged, steady and unwavering. Stay tuned for the next part of the series, you won't want to miss it!

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[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello, I've been enjoying your fics, you write so charmingly! A request, if you have the time: reader plays lead guitar in Megadeth - Dave hired her during a post-rehab, clean living phase because she's a kick-ass metal guitarist, but she doesn't drink much, doesn't do drugs, doesn't do hookups. And they tour with Metallica, where hard-drinking, hard-partying, grupies-in-showers James Hetfield falls for her, and of course he has to work to convince her to take him seriously and date him. <3

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like them. I hope you like it❤

Behind the rockstar

Joining Megadeth had always been about the music. I was there to play, not to fall into the notorious lifestyle of rock. I’d seen the wild afterparties, the booze,  the drugs, the endless stream of groupies, and I wanted no part of it. I’d disappear after every show, slipping out as Metallica’s backstage turned into a chaotic free-for-all of laughter, drinks, and fans ready to do anything to be close to their idols. It didn’t faze me — I was there to play, and to avoid the chaos that came with it.

But someone had started to notice my vanishing act: James Hetfield. The first time he stopped me, he leaned against an amp, flashing that arrogant smile, and casually asked, “So, are you ever gonna stick around?”

I could tell by his tone he expected some banter or an easy laugh, but I didn’t give him one. I shrugged, zipping up my guitar case. “Not my thing, Hetfield. Enjoy the party.” 

The polite brush-off was supposed to be enough. But James was persistent, like a moth drawn to a flame, unwilling to give up so easily. The next night, he caught up with me again, this time with a smirk and a drink in hand. “You know, you’re missing out,” he said, holding out the glass. “One drink won’t kill you.”

I gave him a long look, raising an eyebrow. “I think I’ll survive,” I said, walking away without a second glance.

But that didn’t stop him. Instead, it seemed to challenge him, and over the next few nights, his cocky attempts turned into something else. The joking lines softened, the smooth charm replaced by a genuine curiosity. He started sitting out of the parties more often, just to catch me as I packed up. He’d bring coffee, ask me about the night’s show, or share stories about his own journey in music. I tried to keep my guard up, but it was getting harder each time.

Then, one evening, he found me playing alone after a show, experimenting with a tricky solo. He quietly sat down, watching in silence. When I glanced over, he looked different — more thoughtful, less of the rock star I’d first met.

“You really don’t drink, huh?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

I shrugged. “I just want to keep a clear head. This is too important to mess up.”

He nodded, looking down. “Yeah… I know what that’s like.” There was a shadow in his eyes, and I remembered the stories I’d heard about his battles with addiction. It hit me that the man behind the arrogant persona was struggling too, working to keep himself from slipping. 

After that, he changed. Every night, he’d find some reason to join me, away from the wild parties. Sometimes he’d bring new riffs he’d been working on or sit with me in the empty rehearsal room, teaching me solos with an unexpected patience. He’d focus so intently on the music, his usual swagger replaced with an openness that caught me off guard. His arrogance was just armor, I realized, hiding something more complex, someone who’d been through the same struggles and wanted something more.

One night, after a long set, I was surprised to find him still waiting around, his usual crowd nowhere in sight. He handed me a cup of coffee and asked, “Mind if I walk with you?”

It was just a walk back to the hotel, but it turned into a real conversation. We strolled through the quiet streets, and he told me things I hadn’t expected — stories about his family, his childhood, his demons. He spoke of the toll fame had taken, how the partying had turned into a crutch, how he was trying to change. By the time we reached the hotel, I saw him differently. I could see the way he was fighting against the image he’d built, trying to find himself underneath all the fame and excess.

From then on, he kept showing up in small, thoughtful ways. I’d find new guitar strings left on my amp when I ran low, or he’d save a quiet spot for us at a diner after the shows, away from the noise and distractions. He’d even picked up on little things — the kind of coffee I liked, the music I’d listen to as I tuned my guitar. And he gave up the booze and the afterparties, telling me quietly one night, “I want to be around for this. Around for…you.”

But the moment that sealed it was one night when we had a rough show — technical issues, tensions running high. Afterward, I found him alone in the rehearsal room, strumming his guitar softly. He looked up as I entered, his usual confident mask completely gone.

Without a word, he started playing something I’d never heard before. It was a slow, haunting melody, so unlike his usual riffs, layered with the kind of depth and rawness that only came from true vulnerability. I realized he’d written it for me, a piece full of emotion and sincerity that words alone couldn’t capture.

When he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes open, honest. “Y/N, I know I’m not exactly a safe bet. My life’s messy, I’m still figuring things out. But you make me want to try, to be better. I don’t want to let you down.”

I could see the sincerity, feel the weight of his words. I reached out, touching his hand, and he held it like it was something fragile and precious. “James, if we’re doing this, I need to know it’s real. No games, no halfway.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I don’t want games. I just want you.”

From that night on, we were a team. He’d still catch me before I left each night, sometimes just to talk, sometimes to play, and we’d share quiet moments on the road — stolen cups of coffee, hushed conversations in the early mornings, little gestures that spoke louder than words. He became a different person, one who listened, who showed up, who put his all into proving that he could be the man he wanted to be. The man I was beginning to care about.

And so, in the midst of the chaos, we found something real. It wasn’t perfect, and neither of us were, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d found something worth staying for. And with him beside me, I didn’t want to walk away.

[isagrimorie]

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