#and now i must return to the grave

[cerb-daily]

hello i am here to give you this cerb congregation

[Ask image ID: an ultrakill screenshot of six cerberi gathered in a tight circle around a seventh one. End ID]

wow... thank you for this gift....

[vihola]

How do I get over this

[valentina-writes]

Here's an idea for a Azriel x reader fanfic if you're interested! Azriels mate is pregnant and she is a cauldron made high fae. While he's away on a mission. She is taken by his half brothers and put in the cell he spent the early years of his life. Azriel must go rescue her. We love a protective azriel

no grave (can hold my body down)

Azriel x reader

summary: shortly after you find out you're pregnant with Azriel's baby, two illyrians kidnap you on a mission. But it turns out they're not strangers, after all.

warnings: physical violence, predatory behavior, pregnancy, hurt/comfort

genre: angst, (a bit of fluff) | words: 4.3k | masterlist

A/N: Thanks for the idea, anon! Funny enough, I was thinking about opening requests again when this came in (I'll update you on that soon). I really hope you like it ;)

It was a routine mission, nothing more. A quick trip to the illyrian steppes to gather healing herbs, at your own request. To free your head. You had done this countless times, winnow in, pick herbs, winnow out. But not this time.

You were crouched in a meadow, trying to identify the many plants. Every now and then, you pulled out a little booklet with descriptions of the herbs you were looking for, comparing them. But your mind was elsewhere. This morning, Madja had visited you, after weeks of feeling unwell, vomiting and utter exhaustion. Her beaming smile, the wrinkles forming in the corners of her eye, had been a shock, much like her words. You're pregnant, dear.

Pregnant. And instead of being excited, you had felt sick to your stomach and immediately fled from Velaris before Azriel returned from his own mission. And here you were now. It wasn't that you didn't want this baby, or that you were scared Azriel would be anything but elated. But it would change your lives so drastically, so suddenly.

You quietly hummed a sweet melody to yourself. What would he say? What would you do?

Over your song, you didn't hear the birds stop chirping and the wind stilling. Lost in thought, you kept hacking away at the plants before you.

"Who do we have here?". You stilled and then turned, drawing your knife.

It was Azriel standing before you, your beautiful mate. You let your knife sink. His big wings were folded against his back, his soft dark hair blowing in the breeze. You opened your mouth in surprise. He stepped closer. "If that isn't little Y/N".

Why was he here? Why was he talking like this? He was unlike himself, but you couldn't quite make it out. Something about him was different, you mused. Your gaze wandered over him, trying to understand. The wind stilled, and then you saw it. There were no shadows. And the hand, hovering over the knife, that wasn't truth-teller, was unmarked.

You bolted, dropping the pouch you had gathered the herbs in. That had been the first lection Azriel had ever given you. Run. Bring as much distance between you and the opponent as you can and then winnow.

Five steps. That was how far you got, because right before you, another illyrian dropped from the sky. He looked less like Azriel, but the similarity was still startling. So much that you lost a precious second staring at him. A second he used to grab your arms in place and throw away your knife. And he blew something into your face, a kind of powder that left a heavy metallic tang in your nostrils. Faebane. Strong hands gripped you by your neck from behind.

"My favorite sister in law", Azriel's brother before you crooned, "what a shame the invitations for the mating ceremony got lost. I would've loved to see the bastard-union". The faebane burned in your nose and in your mouth. The grip of the male behind you was so strong around your neck that you were fighting for each intake of breath, trying to cough out as much of the poison as possible.

Don't panic, you thought to yourself, fighting to stay composed. You gathered all of your magic, tried to fold the cosmos and step right into the next world. You imagined the old woods and fields of fire-like flowers and gathered all your energy. But the power escaped your grasp. It wasn't enough to winnow. Not to a different world, not to Velaris, not even to the other side of the meadow. The power inside you had dwindled into a small spark.

And the bond. The mating bond inside your chest numbed down, its glow being cast into darkness. You grasped at it, but it escaped your reach. With your last spark of power, you grapped the bond, refused to let go, even when it ran tight and fickle, and tugged. Hard. Harder than ever and only let go when the bond went fully dark.

"You will die". They didn't expect you to fight. The surprise was on your side when you kneed the one in front of you straight in the groin. His eyes widened and the warrior dropped to his knees, but still wouldn't let go. A second kick made him groan, dropping his arms and cursing under his breath. But there was no way you could shrug off the other one, his hands still tight around your neck. Not without the knife. You clawed at his hands, kicked at him, but he was just too big and you were too exhausted. Your cauldron-given powers were stolen from you. Under normal circumstances they would've been dead the second they laid hands on you. Not today.

He was hard against you now. Bile rose up in your throat at the feeling of him rubbing against you. "What a feisty little bitch you are", he whispered into your ear. And then he squeezed your neck hard and the world turned dark.

It was dark around you. A blackness so infinite you couldn't make out your own hand engulfed you. You had no recollection how you got here. The stone floor you lay on was nastily cold and wet, draining any warmth from your body. Any energy from you and the baby. The baby. Your hand shot to your stomach and chains rattled on the floor at the movement. They had shackled you. The cuffs were ice-cold around your wrists and so tight it hurt. A whimper escaped your lips. With soft strokes, you caressed your stomach. How unfair it was for this little baby. In a few weeks, you would start to show, you realized. You forbid yourself imagining what Azriel's brothers would do to your unborn child if they found out.

You sat upright. The chains that bound you to the wall allowed you to move through the cell. You explored every inch of it. There was nothing but cold stone and a bucket to relieve yourself. No door. Not even a window. This was the place Azriel had spent his childhood in, you were sure of it. He seldom talked about this time period. But from what you knew, from what he screamed during his nightmares and afterwards whispered to you, gasping for breath, this was it. Now, often you woke up screaming, too, haunted by dreams of a little winged boy sharing your cell. But you didn't allow yourself to cry. Not once.

Had he even felt the last tug you had given the bond? Azriel was on the continent, as far as you knew. Maybe your magic had been too weak, the distance too far. There was no way of knowing whether he was aware that you were gone. But then again, you tried to console yourself, Rhys knew exactly where you had last been. They will rescue me, you repeated again and again. They will find me.

You couldn't tell how much time had passed already. In the beginning, you screamed and shouted and tugged on the shackles, so hard the skin rubbed away and left a bloody mess. Every now and then, you tried reaching for the bond, for your mate. But it was gone, just like your powers.

The only thing that disturbed the emptiness of the cell was stale bread and water. Sometimes it seemed like not even an hour had passed between meals, sometimes it felt like days. The food was poisoned, you were sure. But, after a few days, hunger won over all else, and you ate the faebane. Everytime you ate, you prayed to the Mother. Not the baby. Let it survive. Don't let the poison affect it.

There was no way to tell the time, not even a sound from outside the cell reached you, but more than a week must have passed before they came to see you. Light broke the dark void. Violent beams of it hit your eyes, blinding you almost entirely after - what? - days? weeks? in the darkness. You had no clue how long you had been here already.

"How is little Y/N?", a deep voice sounded. His face was unrecognizable, so blinded were you, but it was the one you had kicked in the balls, you were fairly certain. His tone was pure mockery. "Tired of this yet?"

You wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing your distress. "What do you want?"

"See how my little bastard sister in law is doing, of course".

"If you're so concerned for my wellbeing, maybe you shouldn't have put me in a cell"

"No, I think you're exactly where you belong. Where he also belongs". Your heart twisted. Azriel had spent years in this cell. Images of his child-self forced its way into your mind. His hands, freshly burned and torturingly painful. His wings, useless and limp because they had never taught him to use them. You slowly breathed in. Now you needed to be strong for all three of you. Not despair.

"Let me go. I haven't done anything to you. I don't even know you. Let me out"

"You're right. But word says not only the Archeron sisters came out of the Cauldron and took something from it. That when you were made you bargained with the Mother herself and she loved you so much she gave you a power like no other". Your blood ran cold. Thoughts of the day you came out of the Cauldron swirled through your head. Azriel's face as he watched in horror, half-dead. The bond snapping immediately. The Mother. The gift.

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to offer a bargain myself". You didn't answer. It was clear what he wanted.

He tried once again. "What is it that the cauldron gifted you? That has the high lord make the mountains shake in rage at your disappearance?". Finally, you could make out his face. You studied him quietly. His face was twisted into a sneer, eyes dead. There was no empathy in his gaze, no sign of remorse. And it didn't seem to occur to him that Rhys would always go to the end of the world to rescue his brother's mate, no matter their power.

You stilled, thinking. He didn't even know what powers you possessed exactly. Was it all an act of speculation?

He grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip was so strong it brought tears to your eyes. "Answer me, bitch"

"Maybe you should've investigated on my powers before throwing me in your little dungeon", you hissed. He dropped your head immediately. His big hand met your face with a thundering bang, so hard the back of your head met the stone wall with a sickening thud. A pained gasp left your lips. Your cheek burned where he had striked and your skull. Your skull was ringing, throbbing so hard you saw stars and a wet patch formed at the back of it. Hot, blazing pain killed every thought in your head but one. Not the baby.

"All talk, no bite", he chuckled and kneeled down before you. "Let me get this straight. You service me and my brother with your power and in exchange you get to leave the cell". It was such a shitty bargain, under normal circumstances you would've laughed. But all you could do was sob at the pain blooming in your skull, the sounds of it ricocheting off the walls.

Another voice, right at the trap door. The other brother. "Try not to kill her"

The male before you retreated.

"Leave her. She will come to her senses soon".

They left you there, bleeding on the floor. No healer came. The wound stopped bleeding after a while, but the throbbing pain remained. You drifted in and out of sleep, only awake long enough to retch up the little food you got. You would never return home. Azriel would never get to meet his child, not even know he was a father.

He came back regularly. Each time, he offered the same bargain. Each time, you refused a little less violently.

"Tell me about your powers", he would demand again and again. And you would shake your head until he hit and kicked you, until you were a sobbing mess on floor of the cell. But you didn't tell him.

Until, one day, the other one came. The one with the predatory glint in his eye, the one who had gotten hard at your tries to get away from him. He was so tall he had to crouch before you. And when he threatened to touch you, when he whispered into the darkness how he would use you, you had broken down. The words had spilled out of you like your tears and for a moment you were scared he would touch you anyways. I can winnow between worlds. But he only grinned and left. He had what he wanted. The next time he'd ask, he knew you'd accept whatever bargain he would offer.

That night, the darkness around you felt different. It wasn't empty. Something was watching you. You tried to ignore it, to simply fall asleep, but its presence made it impossible. So, you searched every inch of the cell. On hands and knees you crept through the small room, trying to find whatever it was. You found nothing but cold hard stone. But it was there. Everywhere. And when you finally closed your eyes again and laid your head against the cold stone, the darkness became a thing. And you could have sworn it sung a lullaby to you, in the language of the wind.

The trap door swung open once again. Blazing Light blinded you and you could barely make out a tall illyrian landing before you. He was too big for this cell. His wings scraped against the walls on both sides, and his head was ducked low as to not bump into the ceiling.

You scurried away from him, using your hands on the wall to guide you into the farthest corner. Inside you, your heart hammered against your ribs. This was it. He'd force you into the bargain.

The male extended a hand to you. You couldn't see more than his outlines, so blinding was the light. "Y/N, it's me".

You bared your teeth at the male and hissed. "I'll do what you want but if you touch me one more time, I'll fucking kill you".

A sharp intake of breath. "I'll get you out of here, Y/N. Please. It's me, Azriel". His tone was pleading, his voice oh so familiar. But it couldn't be him. Just another one of their tricks to get you to comply.

You dropped your head against the cold stone. "At least make it quick this time", you mumbled.

The male crouched down before you. Slowly, your eyes adapted to the light and you could make out his features. He looked like your mate. The golden specks in his hazel eyes, the dark locks of hair. But then again, his brothers looked so similar. It must have been wishful thinking. A trick of the light.

"I'm here to bring you home", he whispered, his voice breaking. Soft tendrils of air swirled over your shackled wrists, tugging at the cuffs. Dark and silky, kissing your raw skin where you had rubbed it open trying to free yourself. The male's hands met your face, stroking your cheeks. Scarred hands, wiping away tears that were running from your eyes.

Your head snapped up. "Azriel". It was more an outcry than anything, strangled and barely understandable. You flung yourself at him, as far as the confines allowed.

"Shhh, I'm here, I'm here. We're going home. Everything will be okay". Another figure appeared behind him and the shackles dissolved into thin air. Azriel was all over you in an instant. His strong hands roamed your body, pressed you tightly against him as if to never let you go again. You sobbed into his shoulder. He had come for you. He had saved you. "It's over. It's over. You have been so strong", Azriel whispered to you. He pressed a kiss to your temple and threaded his hand into your hair, where he met-

"Ow", you sobbed harder as he touched the wound. Azriel's hands immediately let go and curled aaround your shoulders instead.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry they did this to you".

"Get her out, Cass and I will handle the rest", the other person said. You had almost forgotten about him. Rhysand, you registered. Azriel picked you up, your limbs curling around his strong body. Your face buried into the crook of his neck, still whimpering against his shoulder. But it were tears of joy. His wings closed in around you immediately.

"No. I want to see the light leave their eyes for what they have done to my mate". His tone was cold, unyielding. So unlike the soft hand stroking your back, the nose buried in your hair, breathing in your scent deeply.

"Then I will keep them alive. But first, you leave. Now".

He stepped through the wind with you in his arms. You didn't feel it in his tight embrace, but he must have winnowed because moments later he sat down on your bed with you on his lap. His wings folded around you half-way, so that light could still come through. The familiarity of the sight took your breath away. You'd thought you would never be with him like this again.

"You're at home", Azriel whispered to you. "It's okay, we're at home". Strangled sounds filled the room, sobs and whines and only when his rough hands stroked your back and he told you to breathe, you realized you were crying and you were making the sounds.

"My love, I've got you. You're safe here". You forced yourself to breathe and dropped your head to his chest.

"Shh, I'm here. They can't hurt you anymore". Azriel kissed your head. You counted his breaths, trying to mimic them, In – out – in – out, and took in his scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

You didn't know how long you stayed this way until you could breathe again and stopped sobbing. Only then did you realize what had happened.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you forced out. Tears were welling up in your eyes again, but you willed them away.

For a while, you only stared at him, marveling his beauty. The way the sun illuminated the gold and emerald streaks in his eyes. His hair that was already a bit too long for his liking and fell into his forehead. The gloriously full lips you loved so much. How could you have ever mistaken your captors for your mate?

"How did you find me?", you finally asked with a hoarse voice.

"I felt the bond". Azriel nearly choked on his words. "That last tug – and then it went dark and I thought I had lost you". A tear rolled down his cheek and you tightened your grasp around his waist. "We searched the steppes for you, but there was nothing. And then, last night... my shadows called out to me. Across the entire court". The darkness singing a song to you, the thing in the night. You hadn't made it up.

You stared at him in awe. "How?". They never strayed far from him.

"I send them into every corner of Prythian and... it had been so long and I didn't think they'd find you. But then they were called to where they came from". He dropped his face onto the crown of your head and pressed a kiss to it.

"It was so dark in there". Your breath hitched at the thought of the cell. Lightly, you rubbed over the scabs at your wrists behind his back. "And I was so alone. Until I wasn't"

"What do you mean?"

"Something was there - it... it watched me. And then it turned into something else. And sang me to sleep." Realization hit you. "I think that were your shadows".

"Was that... was that what it was like for you as well? When you were in that cell? I thought about you every second, how you spent your childhood in there and..." He frowned.

His gaze was very far away, centuries ago. "It was the same. Only that nobody came for me". HIs eyes met yours and turned soft at the pain that was painted on your face. "I'll tell you all about it. In a while, when you feel better".

You laid your head onto his shoulders again and held onto him. You weren't quite sure who was comforting who now. Maybe you found solace in each other, through the hardhips you had shared.

But there was something else you shared. Someone.

You drew back slightly and locked eyes with him again. "I was so scared, Az. I thought I'd never see you again". You grasped his hand and laid it on your stomach. The anxiety you had felt the morning you had found out about the pregnancy was all gone. "I thought I'd die and you'd never even know that you are a dad".

His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"That day, Madja came to see me and told me. That's why I went to the steppes, to free my head and think before telling you". Tears ran down your cheeks again now. "I wish I had just stayed home and wited for you to return", you weeped.

"You're pregnant?" There were tears pooling in his eyes as well. "My Y/N. My mate. Thinking I had lost you was the worst I've ever felt. But to think I could've lost both of you, without even knowing...". Azriel broke off and pulled you into a tight hug, his hands shaking.

He took your face in his hands and kissed away the tears.

"Are you happy, Az?". Your voice was barely a whisper.

"I couldn't be happier now that I have you back. And I couldn't be happier about our baby". Azriel's lips met yours in a soft caress. He tasted like home.

You didn't leave the bed all day. You stayed with him, curled underneath the covers. Azriel kissed away the pain and held your hand when Madja came to check on the baby and your head. You both were healthy, thank the Mother. And when Madja was gone, Azriel wrapped you in his arms and wings and never let go. He didn't urge you to talk any more about what had happened. Maybe the frail wisps of midnight air that circled around you now had told him everything already.

"I will kill them for what they did to you", Azriel whispered after he had made love to you slowly. Your naked limbs were still tangled with his, his entire body splayed over you, as if shielding you from the outside world.

Your breath hitched in your chest and Azriel planted a soft kiss on your jaw.

"No". His entire body turned rigid and he rolled off you without letting go.

"Why no? Y/N, I can't let them live after what they did", he murmured, kissing up your cheek, "I wasn't there to protect you. This is the only way I can make up for what happened".

Your hug around him grew tighter. "It's not your fault. I reacted too late. There is no debt to pay me, Az. And even if there was, you would've paid it back the moment you brought me home". Your hands threaded into his hair.

Azriel buried his face in your neck and his shadows stroked your cheek. "Please. I will never forgive myself for leaving you both unprotected. Please let me make it up to you. To the baby. If you were any other male's mate, if you were Cassian's mate or Rhys's they wouldn't have done this to you. It's because of me".

He meant it. Your heart dropped at the realization. He thought he was responsible.

"It's not your fault, none of this"

He wanted to interrupt you, but you didn't let him. "Not for this and not for what they did to you as a child. I don't want you to kill them for me. At least not only for me. I want you to kill them for what they did to you as well"

He stilled for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I can live with that".

"Good". You closed your eyes and soaked up his warmth. There was no other way you wanted to spend your future with him. You'd die a happy death in a thousand years if all you did until then was lay in bed next to your mate.

A wisp of air circled around your wrist, darted over chest and pooled over your stomach where it stayed, humming.

"It's yours now", Azriel murmured into your hair, "that's the one that found you. It told me it won't leave your side again".

Your fingers threaded through the shadowy tendrils and you could've sworn they purred at your touch.

"And I will also never leave your side", he whispered before his lips met yours.

[anantaru]

— flavored chapstick challenge

synopsis. you put on different chapsticks and make your boyfriend guess the flavor <3

including. alhaitham, venti, scaramouche

genre. making out & slightly suggestive, fluff, gn! reader

— alhaitham

as was expected from somebody like the scribe himself, the moment you have challenged your boyfriend alhaitham to such witty game, he, in return, will take it serious, extremely grave to the point where the more actual reason as to why you wanted to play this game in the first place, went straight down the drain.

notwithstanding the fact that such was the case now, the man will always kiss you slowly and passionately, each time, introducing you to how it felt when time froze, whenever he pressed his lips on you.

naturally, to savor the artificial taste on his mouth, he tenderly swipes the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip and hums, then breaths in as glitter and a faint rosy tone was sticking all over his mouth.

alhaitham opens his eyes and watches you struggling weakly at him.

you're holding yourself close to your boyfriend now, both hands around his neck, watching him with flustered cheeks and stars hidden behind your eyes, greeting him with your precious gaze.

alhaitham blinks and found himself holding the eye contact longer, his lips pressing together to voice a deep, low, pleading tone;

"sunsettia, i assume?" he whispers, almost cruelly, staring at your wet lips and like he didn't just tease the living hell out of you.

yet not so fast, since truth must be served in alhaitham's eyes— following his answer he assured you that in order for him to be truly certain, one hundred percent, he needed to repeat that kiss once again, that exact one, maybe use his tongue a little more while he was at it.

— venti

venti simply takes every opportunity to just kiss you while ignoring the entire purpose of the game, even once asking you about the rules again— this isn't him feigning innocence, or is it now?

ah well, you know your boyfriend pretty well, correct? it's not like he doesn't understand what the chapstick challenge was, in fact, when you proposed the idea to him, the anemo archon was utterly delighted, all impulses of soul and senses numbed when he started to become excited about it.

in a tizzy as he was, one of his most beloved hobbies was the secret art in teasing you, not to forget edging you on and playing sweet, miniature tricks on you while adoring the annoyed tone on your pretty expression.

venti gently props up your face with his hand before leaning in, his gentle dreams long subdued when he faces reality. you let yourself slit into his embrace when he begins to kiss your bottom lip, nibbling on the wet skin before tilting his head to let his tongue inside.

you felt malleable, as if all your troubles and worries simply had melted like snow in the sun, trickling away into pure nothingness— and ugh, he did it once again, making you forget about the game as well.

instead of saying something, you resort to letting yourself drift into his warmth, stroking one hand into his tousled hair before tenderly clashing your tongue against his own— yet before you knew it, venti was senseless once again, abruptly pulling away red-cheeked, "hehe, it's valberry, isn't it?"

— scaramouche

sometimes you wonder if scaramouche genuinely believes that you cannot pick up on what his secret plans are, especially when it came to a game you, in fact, controlled.

you were aware of your boyfriend and on how smart he was, not to mention knowledgable— so why, out of the blue, he pretends to not get the flavor right, even worse, not a single one was guessed correctly the entire day.

come on now, he clearly knows the answer, look at his handsome face blushed with love and that awfully sweet smirk plastered all over his lips, attached with residue of your chapsticks showing a little glitter on his face.

scaramouche was getting more clumsy the more chapsticks you tried out, even swallowing down the first two letters of the real answer before messily uttering the complete opposite.

perhaps, he believes you kiss all the grief and longing away from his flesh, and so this is why he wants to kiss you more, or make you kiss him instead— see it this way, he doesn't need to say it out loud and embarrass himself, despite his progress in trusting the people around him, scaramouche found himself struggling regardless.

even so, all his thoughts, all his passions, all his delights, whatever you stirred enclosed by his immortal frame, he refers to it as a bubble of love, and your touch alone calms his fiery flame within a dark spot in his body.

with gentleness crossing paths in your view, you admire kuni and purse your lips, remaining silent as his mind was long since lulled into soft calmness.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[badjokesbyjeff]

A young man comes to the confessional: "Forgive me father, I have sinned. I was with a woman of dubious morals." 

The pastor asks, "Is that you, Jimmy?" "Yes, it is I, father." "And who was this woman you talk about?" "I can't tell you that, father. I wouldn't want to sully her name." "I'll find out sooner or later, so it doesn't matter if you tell me now. Was it that girl Kathy Miller?" "I mustn't say." "It was Mary Smith, wasn't it?" "I am not telling." "Sally Rogers?" "I will be silent as a grave." "How about Betty Teller, then?" "Father, do not ask, I won't betray her." "Then it must have been Peggy Jones?" "Please, father, I vowed to remain silent." The priest sighs reluctantly. "You truly are determined, Jimmy. I almost have to admire you. But you have sinned and you have to do penance for it. You are not allowed to show your face in this church for three weeks! Now go in peace." Jimmy returns to his bench where his best friend greets him. "Well, how was it?" "Great!" "What did you get?" "Three weeks of vacation and five good tips."

[nereidprinc3ss]

belladonna

in which you have to get your tetanus shot, and spencer is there to hold your hand. and… tease you. just a little bit. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: needles/r has needle phobia, flirty!reader, idiots in love, teasing, not established relationship yet, anxiety, Spencer makes a joke abt his addiction, did I mention IDIOTS IN LOVE a/n: works as a standalone, as do all the bandages fics I believe. anyway hope u like! <3

“Spencer, I don’t think I can do this.”

He sets down his shoddy hospital coffee and grabs your knee to stop your leg from its rapid bouncing, exerting a gentle pressure when you don’t immediately comply.

“Yes, you can. Just breathe, okay? Try to relax. It’s much harder for your brain to remain in fight-or-flight if your body is relaxed.”

“No, it’s—I feel like I can’t breathe right now,” you say, chest constricted in a vice of panic. “I think my heart is beating too fast, I—”

Footsteps approach from the hallway and your head snaps up, cold dread filling every vein in your body—but they continue past your door.

“Oh my god, I’m losing it. I’m going to die here,” you rave, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. The gauze wrapped around your hand presses against your brow and beneath it a cut throbs dully—a cruel reminder of what it is that you’re doing here in the first place.

Spencer gives up on trying to make you stop bouncing your leg, and instead the hand travels to your jaw to find your pulse. His fingers feel cool against your warmed skin, accentuating the constant thrum of your heart. You watch his face anxiously as fifteen seconds go by. 

“Your pulse is pretty high,” he admits gravely, returning his hands to his pockets. Your brow knits at his sudden solemnity as you look up at him. “I’m not a medical doctor, but… we might have to take you to the hospital.”

Any trace of worry withers from your face. “Truly hilarious.”

The corner of his mouth turns up a little.

“See? You’re calm enough to make a sarcastic joke at my expense. If you were actually going to die I doubt you would be able to do that.”

“Wanna make a bet?” you snap.

“Definitely not,” he smiles, warm eyes alight and not at all fazed by your attitude. “You’re the last person I’d bet against.”

“Ha,” you say bitterly, eyes darting to the door again. “In that case I might just take my chances with tetanus.”

“I just watched you slice your hand open on a rusty fence, take down a man twice your size, and get ten stitches without flinching. Needles should be afraid of you.”

At least now your face is warming from the compliment and not the anxiety. 

“It’s... different. Like, stitches and shots. Shots really fucking freak me out. I don’t know if you could tell. I’m sure I seem really chill about it.”

He nods sagely. “Trypanophobia. It’s among the most common phobias in the world, next to Arachniphobia, Ophidiophobia, Acrophobia, Aerophobia. You have Astraphobia, too, don’t you? Fear of storms?”

“Spencer.”

“I also used to struggle with needles, actually.”

You look back at him, suddenly curious.

“Used to?”

“Yeah, but I pretty much got over it when I got all the vaccines for my clearance at the Academy. Becoming addicted to intravenous drugs helped, too, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” he muses, examining the art on the wall behind you and taking a sip of his coffee.

At that exact moment, the door opens and a very professional, very exhausted-looking nurse hurries in. You hardly even register her because you’re staring at Spencer, trying to figure out if you just heard him right. He’s looking right back at you over the rim of his cup, eyes dancing with what looks like suppressed mirth.

The nurse says something, and you bless her with an ‘uh-huh’, unable to take your eyes off of Spencer.

“I must be hallucinating,” you say.

“What? You’re the only one allowed to make off-color jokes at inappropriate times?”

“I didn’t even know you could make a regular joke, honestly.”

“You ready, dear?” says the nurse, swabbing your upper arm with an alcohol wipe.

“Ah! Spencer!” You yelp, thrusting out your hand for him to take. He quickly sets the cup  back down on the window sill and takes your outstretched hand, stepping closer.

“Relax,” he laughs upon seeing how your shoulders have risen to meet your ears. “Don’t look over there. Look at me.” Gently he brushes a loose strand of your hair behind your shoulder, redirecting your focus toward him. At this point you’ve gone catatonic anyway, so you don’t resist, although it doesn’t seem to matter much because you’re basically blacking out. “Literally relax your arm. I'm serious. It will hurt less.”

“Small pinch, darlin’,” the nurse says, and you clench your jaw so hard you’re afraid you might break a tooth, and maybe some tetanus-induced lockjaw wouldn’t actually be so bad, and she’s touching your arm now, and who made that extremely undignified squeaking noise, and— “And you’re done.”

You frown.

“I’m done?”

“You’re done,” the nurse repeats. Logically she has no reason to lie to you about this, but you look over to check anyway because there’s simply no way you’re done just like that. Sure enough, she’s smoothing a band-aid over your shoulder and pulling your sleeve back into place.

You look back at Spencer as if searching for a second opinion, utterly baffled. He carefully frees his poor hand of your bone crushing grip and grabs your discarded FBI jacket from the chair, handing it to you.

“That’s it?” you say, taking the jacket and absent-mindedly folding it on your lap.

“That’s it. You did it.”

“Really? That’s all? I feel like it can’t be that easy. I don’t even think I felt anything,” you ramble, rolling your shoulder around, and finding just a bit of soreness.

“You were so brave,” he nods, stepping closer to wipe something warm and wet away from under your eyes. “Americans can rest easy knowing they’ve got someone like you in the FBI.”

“Shut up. Am I crying?”

He laughs, and the twinkly sound fills you with even more joy than normal. Everything seems a little brighter, a little warmer—probably another adrenaline rush or a result of your brain releasing a trace amount of opioids in response to the pain.

“Just a little bit.”

“You two are FBI?” The nurse says, like she can’t quite believe it.

Before you can tell her that you don’t very much like her tone, Spencer nods.

“Behavioral analysis unit.”

“Oh! You guys catch all those serial killers?”

He nods politely, giving her a flat smile. “That’s the goal, yes.”

“Wow. There’s a meet-cute to tell your children.”

You snort and immediately clap your good hand to your mouth, looking up at Spencer to see how he’ll react. Of course he’s already red and stammering.

“Oh, no—I—maybe I misled you, we’re not, uh… we’re not together. Not like that. We are partners in the, in the sense of our job, not—we’re not romantically involved. Just—co-workers. Friends. We’re, I’d say we’re good friends. I mean, she’s great. She’s very nice, and, well—maybe nice isn’t exactly the right word, but she’s, you know—”

“Spencer,” you interrupt.

“You ready to go?” he says immediately, looking very grateful that someone finally cut him off. Works like a charm, every time. 

You stand, and to your surprise, wobble a bit on your feet. Spencer steadies you with a hand to your waist. “Woah,” you mutter, trying not to look too disoriented.

“You need to eat,” he says. “With how anxious you’ve been you probably completely burned through whatever calories were in your system. It’s a parasympathetic nervous system response to adrenaline.”

“I know what it is.” You grab his hand and turn to the nurse, who is looking at the two of you with a bemused, slightly clinical interest. “Um... thanks? Right?”

“Okay,” Spencer says. “We’re leaving now. Come on. Go.”

As he’s herding you out the door, you keep trying to look at him over your shoulder. “Is it weird that I kind of liked it? Does that, like… point to something?”

“Never repeat that,” Spencer says, shaking his head, but you can hear the strain of a hidden smile in his voice. 

You smile up at him as the two of you walk down the empty hallway, swinging his hand in yours.

“She thought we were together,” you say, and it’s almost a gloat, though Spencer can’t quite wrap his mind around what that might mean. Instead, he relishes the weight of your hand in his. He doesn’t exactly remember when that became commonplace, but he never takes it for granted. He can’t help the smirk across his face which always lets you know he’s going to say something snarky. 

“She just doesn’t understand that you need constant attention or you’ll die.”

Luckily, you’re used to each other. Quips are just one prevalent dialect in your vast love language. 

“Yup. I’m a delicate, rare flower.”

Spencer scoffs lightly.

“Yeah. Like deadly nightshade. Or water hemlock.”

“Those ones are pretty, right?”

He squeezes your hand. Imagines telling you that he’s in love with you and has been for a very long time. 

Instead, he thinks about dinner. 

“Gorgeous. Where do you want to eat, Belladonna?”

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hello! <3

Please can I request male harbingers with a reader who overworks themselves to an unhealthy extent.

✦ How they take care of you when you overworked yourself 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

To be human is to drift between solace and work. It is natural that on some days, the burdens of your day take a toll on your shoulders and mind. As a result, your smile wanes and your body feels more cumbersome than usual. Yet as you try to mask your fatigue, your beloved’s keen eye catches on.

✧ Pierro knows your body language by a single glance at your silent reclusion. Whenever you shut off, back hunched over a desk in the latest hours of the night, he sees fatigue clouding your gaze. His gloved hands quietly land on your shoulders, as his figure looms from behind

“You are tired, my divine. Do not hide it.” - he carefully squeezes your shoulders, his head coming to land a tender kiss on the crown of your hair. The room is quiet for a moment. “I would've draped a comforter over you while you're sitting here, but I cannot close an eye when you are so worn out.

You'd murmur an absent-minded apology, but The Jester's tug is lulling you out of your desk, coaxing you to agree it's time to end the day. Thus, without a word, Pierro knew what he had to do. 

A delicate embrace, rocking you back and forth, would say more than he could ever muster. He'd tuck you to bed, ensuring you are comfortable and warm. Pierro won't waste your time with worry-filled questions. Instead, he would quietly dim the lights, feed wood to the fireplace, and return to your shared bedroom with a tray of preferred beverages. Chances are, you won't sip all of it or speak much with him on such nights. But Pierro demands no gratitude from you, he is only relieved to see you succumb to sleep and let your body rest by the plush pillows. 

Hence, in the dim, warm bedroom, Pierro would sit next to you as you sleep. With one book in his hands, while the other wrapped around you, he would guard your dreams as you slumber beside him. 

✧ Il Capitano's weapon is clutched and secured in his armored hands, invariably steady as he trains with precision and ideal. However, your weapon was the opposite. Uncooperative, you surged with frustration today. You have been practicing for hours, training dummies left shattered in your wake in an uncharacteristic mess. But you felt inadequate, forcing yourself forward until your muscles cried in pain. 

“You have exceeded your energy for today. Drop your weapon.” – His voice was firm, but your attacks were firmer. 

Naturally, the more petulant and forceful your movements were, the more worn out you become. Capitano of all first spots your careless cuts and bruises, beads of sweat glistening off your chin. As the two of you are training, he knows what he must do, even if he will gravely regret it: 

“I shall not repeat myself twice. Put your weapon down.” 

“Ugh, I can still move! Don't command me now,” – Whether your assertive voice was to convince him or yourself, it clearly didn't work. Just a quick glimpse at your labored breathing and quivering grip told Capitano everything he needed to know. Therefore, with a calculated precision, he disarms you, forcing you to stumble back, your concentration abruptly shattered.

A deafening silence bestowed between you after your weapon fell to the ground with echoing clinks. Luckily, before you could stumble, the Captain's armored hand shot out, quickly catching you with his arm, your form secured in a tender touch. You froze, but slowly opened your eyes, guilt and exhaustion catching up to you. 

“Even the strongest soldiers need to rest. You've pushed yourself enough, my cherished.” 

That’s how Capitano has to force his hand to stop you before your inevitable collapse. He despised raising his voice like that, let alone clashing with you. But witnessing your tired limbs straggling as you try to move, or your skin covered in bruises when it should be his reverend kisses - it drove him to only one solution.

You felt ashamed, and with apologetic whispers, Capitano carried you in his arms. He ensures you take a proper shower, your cuts are cleaned, and sore muscles are tended to. You’d find yourself nursed to health and changed into clean clothes, any attempts to walk away from his arms would be effortlessly thwarted as he casually scooped you back into his arms, settling you back in bed.

Alas, not even puppy eyes would work on him in such situations. 

“I'm sorry, Capi. I overdid it… again.”

He’d sigh, sitting beside you as he gently massaged your legs with therapeutic precision, his words free of any reproach or disappointment – “Do not let your desire for strength burden your spirit or numb your stride. You are already strong, far more than you realize, my sweet. But you must comprehend the limits of your body… Patience and time create precious diamonds, not just pressure.” 

✧ Il Dottore arrived at the grand entrance of the Zapolyarny Palace’s library, arms crossed and expression far from elated. At an ungodly hour of the night, even the hallways were deserted, devoid of any soul or light. Innately, only night wardens were left, but even the single guard stationed by the door was almost falling asleep standing. 

“Where are they?” 

Dottore's question was tense but quick, causing the poor Fatui soldier to almost stumble on his feet and wake up with a jolt. Trying to keep a face, he politely pointed to the far end of the library, not daring to peek at the Harbinger’s stern countenance any longer. 

As The Doctor strode further in, he spotted what he had been seeking in the middle of the night – You. 

Specifically, you who's practically dozing off amidst clutters of books and papers. With a barrage of empty mugs and glasses left beside you on the table, archons know how much caffeine you drown yourself in for another all-nighter. You were desperate to finish some research and assignment, and although Dottore warned you to not disappear for a whole day mulling over academic tomes, it seemed you wrongfully dismissed his warnings. 

The soldier guarding the door wasn't surprised when he saw The Harbinger walking away with you in his arms; your sleepy mumbles were ineffective as you lay your head on Dottore's shoulder. You were practically asleep by the time you two left the library.

The next day, you woke up in bed. With no concept of time or how you found yourself back in your favorite pillows, you groggily remained in bed, until you spotted Dottore. He sat beside you, arms crossed like a stern parent, and remained silent as you came to your senses.

“What did I tell you, hm? What did I tell you will happen if you force yourself to work on multiple assignments at once till the break of dawn?”

“Uh…” 

“That I will come and take you home forcefully. And what did I tell you about your health?” 

“That it's… um,”

“That your health is of paramount concern; it's non-negotiable. I will be stern with you if I deem it necessary.”

“... Sorry.” - you managed to mumble, still lying in bed, even though it’s past noon, no thanks to your broken sleep schedule. 

Dottore sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose underneath the mask. He leaned closer, his hand brushing over your forehead to check your temperature, both for his sake and yours. Though the notion of his thumb gently caressing your skin didn’t go unnoticed, the Doctor shifted to speak more tenderly. 

“You realize that your body will be the first to give up on you if you don’t heed my advice, right, dear? You will remain here, in bed. I will make you a proper breakfast and something warm to drink. I won’t let you bury your head in another book, or else I will be checking in on your eyesight as well.” 

Despite his reprimanding words, he himself didn’t wish to leave your side so quickly. Caressing your forehead, brushing your hair back, or reaching to kiss your wrist where he can feel your pulse. Mulling over research till midnight was usually his job, but seeing you drag yourself into this habit suddenly made him realize why you were often troubled whenever he stayed in his lab for days. 

But now he comprehends the weight of being concerned for another. Oh well, it seems today calls for a leisurely breakfast in bed beside you. 

✧ For the first time in years, you managed to evoke a surprised scowl on Scaramouche’s face. The usually unbothered Harbinger now stood speechless as he saw you looking disheveled, hair a mess, while you panted as if you ran a marathon. A couple of leaves clung between your hairlocks – “What in the seven nations happened to you?” 

“I-...” You gasped for air before proceeding “I just completed the mission I was given.” 

“Mission? Your task was to deliver a simple report as a message to the Fatui camp stationed nearby.” 

You sighed, finally catching your breath. Even with your inelegant deposition, you didn’t falter in revealing the truth. “Well, yes. But my path was blocked by a group of rogue Kairagi, and they thought I was a wandering pilgrim. So, I fought them off until they all escaped. Unfortunately… that also meant my message was damaged during the fight. Luckily, I had memorized its contents and still reported it to the Fatui station I was heading to. Thus, I ran back here.” 

Your prideful but weary smile did not match Scaramouche's horrified grimace. The mere implication of you being in danger on your way caused him to grip his fists in anger. And if a puppet had veins, he'd almost pop one in silent fury. 

“You’ve been scurrying about all day like some errand boy. Outrageous; you know your status shouldn’t stoop to such mundane tasks!”

“true… but I just thought it’d be quicker-” 

“Just come here,” - he tugged you by the arm, dragging you back inside with an exasperated huff. Despite his impatience, he ensured his hand was not gripping in case you were bruised after today’s fighting. “You’ll get cleaned and have a proper rest. Any assignments or obligations you have are dismissed. I will order my subordinates to take care of them. You’re not hurt, are you…?” 

Your protest was met with a quick and stern dismissal. The audacity to even let you suffer with such mundane jobs as running back and forth delivering reports, not to mention stumbling into rogue thieves and potential peril. That’s why Scaramouche hired several subordinates to take care of your matters. For now, he settled close beside you, personally inspecting any wounds or bruises on you that were taken care of, his fingers carefully gliding over your arm or back.

You’d tease him that he worries too much, but he’d retort that you always hurry into things without regarding yourself. As a consequence, you are now stuck with the Balladeer following you constantly, huffing and scoffing while secretly dotting on you if you so much as lift a finger. 

✧ Pantalone is the one usually greeted back home with tender hugs and warm kisses when he comes back from work. His favorite part of the day is closing the entrance door of the manor, the cold still clinging to him as he is presented with the warmth of the house, and your radiant smile as you run up to him. All his frustration and worry left behind like mist in the air.  

But when Pantalone was the one greeting you back home, only to witness a tired face and a sorrowful gaze – his charming smile faltered. 

“Oh, my sweetie,” He came to greet you, gently taking your oversized winter coat off your shoulders “A rough day? Is everything alright?” 

“Just… a bad day.” 

These words alone were enough to confirm The Regrator’s doubts. With a gentle nod, he knows what must be done. He helped you out of your outdoor clothes, snow sticking to your shoes and scarf. It doesn’t help that Snezhnaya’s weather was unforgiving at this time of the year. With a hand wrapped around your shoulder, he guided you inside. 

“How about this, dear. I shall draw you a nice hot bath with clean towels… I can wash your hair, if you so desire and then we will have supper. Hm, what do you say?” 

Pantalone sensed your timidness, not wishing to outright ask him such favors. But your exhaustion spoke volumes. With a hesitant nod, you allowed him to do so, not having much energy to rebuttal when your body was tired and cold. And thus he did, patiently helping you undress and tend to you as your body soaked in a steaming bathtub.

You sunk low to the water, concealing yourself in the soothing bath. Pantalone only smiled; though his gaze lingered on the beauty of your form, it was not a gaze of lust or need. It was as a gaze that yearned to help you and remedy your pains. With raised sleeves, his hands carefully massaged your soapy scalp, using your favorite shampoos as he washed your hair slowly.

“Is this alright, my honey? Just relax and rest… you’re home now, love.” 

You hummed, letting your head lean back to Pantalone’s touch as he started rinsing it. The bathroom was quite save for the gentle splashing sound of water. Once all was done, The Harbinger stood up allowing you a moment of privacy to keep washing or drying yourself. In the meantime, he excused himself to the kitchen to warm up today’s supper. 

Even if you were silent the whole night, and exchanged few words with your beloved, it was the quiet moments of respite like these that told you you were safe; you were home. And Pantalone would silently remind you in his loving embrace as you fall asleep in his arms. 

✧ When Tartaglia bore witness to your dull disposition, he knew that you simply required a moment of peace and quiet. Respecting your wishes with worrying glances, he let you sleep peacefully in the bedroom, granting you a sweet kiss on the forehead before closing the door behind him. 

That, of course, was not where his concern for your health ceased. You have been working so hard back at home. Working, coming back home with groceries, cooking, cleaning. It all seems like monotonous everyday tasks, but considering how Childe was often away on his Fatui missions, he often wished to be beside you to alleviate your chores. Therefore, an idea sprung to him. 

While you were resting in the bedroom, The Harbinger took the chance to help around. He brushed his ginger hair back, put on some rubber cleaning gloves, and started working. The dishes were getting washed, the floors were cleaned, the furniture was being dusted, and even the bathroom was thoroughly cleaned util it all shone with a reflective sheen. 

It took a while, and Childe tried to be as hushed as possible, but it was done. When you reemerged from the bedroom, hair messy and face sleepy, you had to blink in confusion to assure yourself you were not dreaming. The house was pristine and tidy, while your beloved Ajax stood with a prideful smile. 

“I must be still dreaming… is this my house? Maybe I should go back to sleep.” - you mumbled, turning away.

“Wha- hey, hey wait! Not even a thank you smooch for all the hard work?!” 

Of course, Tartaglia was jesting. He didn’t need gratitude for basic domestic tasks. His priority was helping you. And although he wished to cuddle you in bed all day long, some tasks kept calling, and he knew the quicker he finished them the more time the two of you would have in bed without the nagging thought of homechores.

A small note from me, I had several anons ask me the same prompt - so I’m sorry I cannot tag the rest of the lovelies who sent me these requests. Additionally, I thank everyone for the kind words who enjoy my fluff, I was afraid it would be boring but seeing such encouragement makes my day <3 enjoy

[livinghalfway]

Bury Him with the Roses Pt. 1

Masterlist

Summary: Damian learns that his twin is alive only to learn that he was dead and buried a few hours before his impromptu arrival to the Fenton household. When he goes to visit Danyal's final resting place he finds two individuals digging up his brother's grave.  Word Count: 1302

Damian will say time and time again that school is a waste of his time. Which is why he'll never admit that he enjoys projects that allow him to truly deep dive on subjects he wouldn't normally have any reason to. 

This specific school project has him doing research about animals that were once thought to be doomed for extinction only for their numbers to rise once more. Which is how Damian found himself looking at the face of a familiar looking boy that disappeared so many years ago; his twin. 

Apparently, his brother saved the purple-back gorillas from going extinct a year after his disappearance from the League. Instead of reading further into the article, and wondering how so many professionals were able to miss something so critical to an animal's survival, he's stuck on the photo of Danyal smiling at the camera. 

It feels as if he was staring at that face for hours when a knock on his bedroom door breaks his concentration. 

"Master Damian, dinner will be served in a few moments if you wish to join us downstairs." Alfred calls out from behind the door. 

"Thank you Pennyworth, I'll be down soon." He replies as calmly as he can, and it isn't until he hears footsteps heading away from his door does he feel like he can breathe again. 

Before this Damian was fine with keeping the secret of Danyal close to his chest. He knows how this family deals with death, and he didn't want to put them through any more grief for a child they would never meet. 

So how is he meant to reveal something so frightening. How are they going to react to this kind of betrayal; keeping a brother and son from them all because he didn't think they could handle it.   

These thoughts are like a whirlwind as Damian slowly makes his way to the dining room. Upon entering he finds that everyone else is already seated. Which is when he remembers that this is one of those rare dinners where even Jason has agreed to attend. 

Silently, he takes a seat with Bruce on his right, and Dick on his left. Damian would have been glad to just sail through the meal without saying anything, but of course Dick had to notice his voice missing from the choir. 

"Baby bat, is everything all good? I don't think I've heard a single quip out of you tonight." Damian can tell he's trying to be casual with his question, but his concern is not hard to miss.  

This was his moment to just confess everything wasn't it? He takes a calming breath and clears his throat before speaking. "Actually Richard, there is an announcement I must make. Something that I have kept to myself for far too long." 

It's clear that everyone heard him as the table goes quiet, and all eyes look toward him.  "I have a- a twin brother." 

There. There it is. Finally out in the open. 

That doesn't calm his heart thundering in his chest though as voices explode all around him with questions and demands. His father's though is the one that he pays any attention to. 

"What is his name?" With the look on Bruce's face Damian wonders if stabbing him would have been kinder than doing this. 

"His name is Danyal al Ghul, though I've recently discovered that he goes by the name Daniel Fenton now." 

With the mention of a name Damian sees both Tim and Babs pulling out their phones to seemingly try, and find any information that can on his brother. 

"Wait! A twin? Why didn't he come to Gotham with you then?" Duke, who is sitting across from him, questions. 

"As of an hour or so ago I believed him to be dead." He feels Dick put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "He- he went on a mission with Mother, and never returned. I was told to forget all about him; that he was nothing but a weakness that would hold me back." 

"Dami, I'm-" Dink starts to say something, but is interrupted by Bruce speaking up. 

"You said you found out he was alive today, how? Are you sure it is him." Damian recognizes that tone, it's not his Father speaking anymore, it's Batman. 

"Bruce." Dink's voice has a warning tone to it as he clearly doesn't like the way he's speaking to him. If anything though Damian prefers it right now. It allows him to think of this conversation more as a mission report than a personal one.

"I was doing research for school, and I came across an article about purple-back gorillas. It featured his name as well as a photo of Danyal due to his impact on the species." 

"And you're positive it is not someone who just looks like him?" 

"I gave Danyal a scar on his jaw before he left with Mother. The same scar can be seen in the photo." 

"Found it." Tim announces, "And a scar is on the kid's jaw." 

Jason, who is now leaning halfway out of his seat to look at Tim's phone, gives a whistle as he gets a look at the photo. "Yup, that is definitely your kid B. Looks just like the demon brat too minus the eyes of course.” 

Without a word Bruce holds out a hand for the phone, and silently Tim passes it down to him. Everyone can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions to himself, but when he takes a look at the photo it’s clear something inside him is breaking. Knowing that he didn’t just miss the youth of not just one son, but two. 

Slowly he slides the phone back to Tim before focusing on Babs, "Have you found any other information about him?"

"I'll have to do a more in depth search once I get my hands on an actual computer. The article is so far the only thing I've been able to find so far." Her face in a frown as she continues to search for more. 

"Could the kid just not have any socials, and that's why nothing is popping up?" Stephanie questions. 

"I would normally assume so if it weren't for the fact that I can barely find anything about his hometown that was listed in the article." 

"Hm." Bruce's face is set in a deep frown as he stands up, "Let's continue this in the cave. I want a full report on every single thing found about Danyal, and who he's currently living with." 

Practically everyone at those words rushed down to the cave, Damian on the other hand stayed seated. His eyes closed, and head slightly bowed. He couldn't help but wonder if he had done the right thing revealing Danyal's existence to everyone. 

His twin must know that he is in Gotham after all. Why hasn't he reached out?

Despite the table now being empty Damian knows that he is not alone; behind him is a looming presence. 

“Damian, sweetheart.” Bruce lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, his mask now completely gone as every emotion runs through his voice. “I wish you would have told me about your brother sooner. I’m sure you have your reasons though, and will want to hear them later. For now though I’m just going to ask if you’re alright.” 

He didn’t know how to answer that question so instead he just stands up, and says, “I’ll be better once I see Danyal again. I assume you’ll be going to him once we have his location.” 

“... Yes, I will be.” 

“Then I will be joining you, and you can not stop me from doing so.” With that said Damian turns and strides towards the cave. A new goal now set in his mind. 

Bring Danyal home. 

[kaijutegu]

I'm trying to come up with something clever to say here but I feel like I've been hit by a truck. In a good way. I never thought anything like this would pass in the Midwest, not even in a blue state like IL, because it's simply not the kind of thing anybody campaigns on or even talks about at the gubernatorial level.

This is honestly the perfect legal addendum to NAGPRA, and I'm thrilled it's at the state level. This type of legislation would be way too complex at the federal level, but the individual state responsibilities are manageable, and more importantly, doable.

Here's some of the highlights of what the law does:

It is now the state's responsibility to help return ancestral remains, funerary objects and other important cultural items to tribal nations

The state must follow the lead of tribal nations throughout the repatriation process.

Money must be allocated as part of the state Repatriation and Reinterment Fund to help with the costs of reburial, tribal consultation and the repair of any damage to burial sites, remains or sacred items.

Criminal penalties for the looting and desecration of gravesites are increased, and the law adds a ban on profiteering from human remains and funerary objects through their sale, purchase or exhibition.

Tribal nations must be consulted as soon as possible when Indigenous gravesites are unintentionally disturbed or unearthed — such as during construction projects. (We already had kind of a version of this, but it wasn't strong enough.)

IDNR must set aside and maintain land solely for the reburial of repatriated Native American ancestors and their belongings, as tribal nations have pointed to the lack of protected places for reburial in Illinois as among the highest barriers to repatriation.

Institutions that display human remains that are Native American and any items that were originally buried with those individuals (funerary items) cannot charge admission. You want to display looted grave goods? No money for you. (This is specifically targeting the Dickinson Mounds Museum, which is... well, it started as a guy's private display of Native American skeletons he personally looted. The state took it over in the 90s, but they didn't rebury any of the 230~ human skeletons.)

My favorite comment is this: When asked about what he would say to museums that may push back against the law, Illinois State Rep. Mark L. Walker said: “Too bad.”

[nebulaafterdark]

A Marriage For Love

Summary: When Y/N and Aegon receive news that they cannot wed, they flee King’s Landing for a simple life in Bravvos. Upon returning to visit their families, they find themselves face to face with the consequences of their actions. Cheesy, targcest, idiots in love. Based off this request.

“We mustn’t allow them to carry on like this!”Alicent shouts.

“I agree,” Rhaenyra says, heartily. “Keep your son away from my daughter.”

“Keep your daughter away from my son!” Alicent bites out. “She should begin preparing for her marriage to the Lord of the Riverlands as Aegon should be spending more time with Helaena.”

“Mayhaps there is a simpler solution.” The King sighs, with a hand to his head.

“What is it you suggest, father?” Rhaenyra wonders.

“We might betroth Y/N and Aegon.” He smiles, looking between his daughter and wife.

“You may betroth my firstborn son to her…plain featured daughter when I am cold and in my grave.”

“Alicent!” Viserys roars.

Aegon wastes no more time listening to them quarrel, setting off in search of Y/N. He finds her in the library, as she often is. “Y/N,” he kneels before her chair. Closing the book and using his finger against the binding to hold her place.

Y/N looks up at him. “What is it?”

“There is something I must tell you.” From the time they were small, Y/N has been the one to hold his secrets.

“Speak it,” she squeezes his wrist.

“Only moments ago my father offered to betroth us, our mothers rejected the proposal. They want your hand for some River Lord and mine for Helaena.”

“No.”

Aegon cups her face in his hand. “Come away with me. We can build a new life, together. It may not be as lush, but it will be ours. You will still have your cakes as they please you, I swear it.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I would do more for you and worse.” Aegon smirks.

“Well…what shall I bring?” Y/N asks, ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest.

“Pack sparingly, a change of clothes or two. We’ll need gold and jewelry to trade; enough to get us started.”

“Where will we go?”

“One of the free cities,” he decides, “no one will be looking for us there. And it does not have to be forever, long enough for us to get married. If we’ve a child, they’ll have no choice but to honor our union.”

“Alright,” Y/N swallows.

“Go now,” he presses his lips to her forehead. “Meet me at the dragon pit in one hour’s time.”

The princess nods, nuzzling against him for just a moment before they break apart.

By the time anyone comes looking for them, Y/N and Aegon are long gone. Leaving behind only a note.

‘If you will not allow us to marry for love, we will do so elsewhere.’

King Viserys is so distraught at the news, he passes with the shock of it.

Rhaenyra takes her place as Queen, refusing to rename her heir.

————————————————————————

Life is different in Braavos, no maids, dragon keepers nor castle. Aegon cuts his hair up to his chin on the day of their wedding, freeing himself from the memories it holds.

There are rumors of course, about the town baker and his wife, the tailor, who may or may not be the long lost prince and princess. Their dragons do nothing to disprove these whispers, however they do stop them from reaching the Red Keep.

Years pass, news breaks that Y/N is with child, growing rounder by the day.

After a long day’s work, Aegon is exhausted, shucking off his boots near the door of their humble abode and bringing his wife an offering of sweets.

Y/N smells Aegon before she sees him, calling out from the kitchen, “what have you brought me today, husband?”

“What if it were for me, spoiled thing?” Aegon chuckles, lying his offering on the counter to wrap his arms around her. Their babe kicking at his palms.

Y/N reaches back, cupping his cheek. “Best turn about and fetch mine then.”

He smiles, pressing kisses to her shoulder. “How is our little dragon treating you?”

“Well enough,” Y/N sighs, stirring the broth. “I have not wretched this day.”

“That is good.” He pats her belly. “I brought you cake.”

“What kind?”

“Dinner first, my heart.” Aegon insists.

“Or I could have cake for dinner.”

Aegon sighs, as she leans into him.

“Please?”

“Very well.”

Y/N turns to face him, abandoning her cooking in favor of his kiss. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

Bringing their love into the world is a long and grueling task, Aegon keeps her spirits up as best he can. Unfortunately there is only so much a man can do for a laboring wife.

Y/N is exhausted by the time she delivers the afterbirth, fighting sleep as she nurses their newborn daughters. A task she deems horribly painful in itself.

Aegon strokes her hair, whispering words of love and encouragement until the babes are satisfied. “You rest now, I will bathe them.”

His wife does not protest, allowing her heavy eyes to close.

Neither of the twins cry, until gods forbid he sets them down. “Shh,” Aegon hushes them, taking one in each arm. “Papa put you down for only a moment, surely you cannot be held at all times.”

The babe on the left yawns, stretching out her little arms. The babe on the right merely blinks at him.

Until they learn to crawl, Dahlia and Visera are indeed held at all times.

————————————————————————

By the time their sons are born, Y/N often tells stories of her family back in King’s Landing. Her mother especially, who she wishes to meet them.

Aegon returns from the dragon’s nest with two new eggs, one for each of their boys. “Stormborn and Sunfyre are thoughtful, they deliver us clutches in pairs.”

Y/N smiles, from their dragons came an egg for each of their children. “Let’s see.” She waves her husband over.

Their eldest son, Laenor, toddles toward him, pointing to the bright golden egg, “mine.”

“Ah, ah, hold on just a moment now.” Aegon says.

“Please?” The two year old pouts.

“Yes, alright.” Aegon sets the dark blue egg down beside his wife and youngest son. “We must be careful with it now, sit in Papa’s lap. We’ll hold it together, hmm?”

Laenor claps his little hands together, reaching up for his father.

Aegon backs up to the arm chair, holding the egg above his head, “climb up.”

Laenor furrows his brow, crawling into his father’s lap.

“There we are, my boy.” Aegon holds the egg infront of him, allowing Laenor to touch the egg’s scales.

“Look, Papa.” He points.

“I see, my love. Soon it will be a little dragon, just for you.”

Laenor squeals in delight, “Mama, look.”

“I see it, sweet boy. That is a lovely egg.” Y/N grins.

Dahlia and Visera play happily on the floor with their own dragons, still small enough to tote about.

At all of six months old, Aegon the fourth has no understanding of the word gentle, he slaps at the egg like a drum.

“Aegon!” Y/N can’t help but laugh, moving him away. “You must be kind to your dragon.”

“Him fly!” Laenor tells his brother, who merely stares back at him with a toothy grin.

“Yes, he will fly.” Aegon smooths down the curls at the back of his son’s head.

“When your uncle Joffrey, was born Ser Harwin took Jace, Luce and I down to the dragon pit to find the perfect egg.” Y/N recounts, with a far off look in her eyes. “He must be a man grown now.”

Aegon clears his throat, praying he does not live to regret what he murmurs next. “What if we went to visit your mother?”

“Well…” Y/N sighs, patting her son’s legs as he climbs over her. “We couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Aegon challenges, “it’s a short trip on dragon back.”

Y/N stares down at her hands, “my mother must be very angry at me.”

“My mother was never anything but angry with me.” Aegon chortles, “Rhaenyra will get over it.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N frowns, “I know how you detest court.”

Aegon nods, “for you, the world.”

————————————————————————

Word spreads through the streets of King’s Landing like wildfire. Princess Y/N and Prince Aegon have returned to them.

Daemon is the first of their family members to cross their path, all but dragging Y/N to his wife in the throne room.

“You wait here,” he barks at Aegon. Leaving him outside with the children. “Princess Y/N Velaryon,” Daemon calls upon their entrance.

Rhaenyra moves to stand.

The king consort leaves them to it.

“Your grace, I would first like to apologize for my long absence.” Y/N says, as her mother stalks toward her; expression unreadable.

Rhaenyra pulls her daughter into her arms, cradling the back of her head. “You must never do that to me again.”

“Mother,” Y/N cries, clinging to her like a child. “I am so terribly sorry.”

“Shhh,” Rhaenyra sways her. “We can still make this right.”

“I should like that very much.”

“You need only say the word and I will have your marriage annulled.”

“What?” Y/N withdraws, “no. You cannot annul our marriage, it’s been consummated…several times over. We’ve children.”

“Children?” Rhaenyra sucks in a breath.

“Two daughters and two sons.”

“Might I see my grandchildren?”

“Of course,” Y/N holds up a finger, dashing over to the throne room doors and inviting her family inside.

The children scamper in as Rhaenyra’s eyes well with tears.

Dahlia stares at her grandmother in wonder, while Visera clings to Aegon’s leg.

“This is my mummy,” Y/N tells her children, “remember how I told you?”

Laenor moves toward her first, waving his hands.

“Well hello, my prince,” Rhaenyra bends down to greet him. “Who might you be?”

He smiles, “up.”

Rhaenyra huffs a laugh, taking him into her arms. “That’s quite a name, Prince Up.”

“It’s Laenor,” Y/N says, bringing Dahlia closer, with their hands clasped together. “This is Dahlia.”

“Good morrow,” Dahlia smiles.

“Good morrow, Dahlia. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Rhaenyra beams, “if you could put in a good word for me with your sister, it would be much appreciated.”

“Visera is shy.” Dahlia whispers, “but she will come round.”

Aegon the fourth kicks his chubby legs, squirming about in his father’s arms as they approach the Queen.

“My goodness.” Rhaenyra turns to him, “what a warm welcome.”

The little boy squeals, as Y/N takes him from Aegon, freeing his arms for Visera, who hides her face in his shoulder.

“And this is Aegon, the fourth.” Y/N smiles, presenting him to her mother.

Rhaenyra grins, “hello, sweet boy.”

He covers both eyes, with his little hands, babbling loudly.

“You are a delight.” Rhaenyra reaches a hand out, tickling his belly. “I should like you all to join us in the grand hall for supper tonight. We will feast, in your honor.”

“Mother, we did not prepare clothes for a feast.” Y/N tells her. “But if you’ve material, I will make do. In these past years, I have learned to stitch quite well.”

“And I could assist in the kitchens.” Aegon offers.

Y/N’s eyes light up, “you must taste his baking, mother. It is divine.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head. Not sparing a glance at her half brother, “you are my guests. I will have gowns and robes sent to your rooms. You will find everything as you left it.”

Y/N smiles, “we’ll see you for dinner then.”

The Queen nods, excusing them.

Y/N and Aegon lead the children away from the throne room, up the stairs toward Y/N’s old apartments. Meeting her younger brother and his heavily pregnant wife on the stairs.

“Sister?” Jacaerys blinks at her.

“Jace!”

“My love, might you find Luce and Joffrey?” Jacaerys asks of his wife. “Tell them our sister is here.”

“Of course, husband.” Baela leans in as his lips brush her cheek.

“You’re going to be a father?” Y/N grabs for his arm.

“I am a father.” Jace grins, “this will be our third.”

“Has it been that long?”

“Some seven years, sister.” Jacaerys looks to the children behind her. “And you,” he laughs, “have more to show for it than I do.”

Again Aegon is left standing off to the side as Y/N’s family fuss over her and their children. He is glad for it, surely. This is her dream, not his.

“Aegon?” Alicent gasps at the sight of him.

He turns to her slowly, “Mother?”

The Dowager Queen grimaces, “a word?”

“But of course.” Aegon steals one last glance at his wife and children before following his mother down the corridor. For a moment he thinks she might embrace him, until she grabs his face harshly between her fingers.

“What were you thinking?” Alicent seethes, “taking off like that? Putting your father in such a state of distress; his illness took him not even a day after receiving word that you stole his only granddaughter and heir to the throne.”

“Stole her?” Aegon huffs a laugh, “I did not steal her.”

“Did you not think for one second of the shame it would bring on your siblings, or me?”

“As you thought of my wants when you promised me to Helaena?” Aegon spits back.

“It was expected of you,” Alicent seethes.

“Only my supposed wrongdoings are ever clear to you.” Aegon scoffs, “so strike me for it, as you always do and let us be done with it. How dare I desire to marry the one person in the world who loved me?”

Alicent recoils as though he’s slapped her.

“Aegon?” Y/N calls for him, “where’ve you run off to?”

“I’m just here, darling girl.” Aegon replies, striding away from his mother.

“Is everything alright?” Y/N asks, holding a hand out to him.

“All is well, my dearest love.”

————————————————————————

Dinners at the Red Keep have not been this tense in years. Namely because the Blacks and Greens rarely break bread together.

Jacaerys’ and Baela’s children dance with their cousins as the quartet plays merrily, the six of them becoming fast friends.

Y/N laughs, pointing toward their eldest son. “Look, my love.”

Aegon leans his head closer to hers peering around his brother. Laenor spins round in circles until he is dizzy enough to fall over. When he is able to stand, he goes straight back to it. Aegon chuckles, “we’ll need to keep an eye on that one.”

“Without doubt.” Y/N remarks, bouncing Aegon the fourth in her lap. He grabs a fistful of her mashed potatoes.

“Oh my,” Aegon grabs his hand, wiping it clean with his napkin.

“You’d like dinner too, wouldn’t you?” Y/N says, turning the boy toward her.

Little Aegon coos at her.

Aegon presses a kiss to his son’s cheek.

“Won’t you excuse me for a moment,” Y/N addresses the table, “I need to feed him.”

“We’ve nurses,” Daemon offers. “You’re welcome to finish your meal.”

“That’s quite alright,” Y/N says, pushing away from the table. “We’ve survived without nurses thus far.”

Aegon catches her hand, “will you return or shall I bring the children up when they are through?”

“I will return, shortly.” Y/N squeezes his fingers before moving down the row of chairs into the hall.

Aegon clears his throat, as other occupants of the table eye him, warily. “Lovely meal.”

“Indeed,” Otto agrees.

————————————————————————-

Y/N wakes the next morn to rays of sun shining through the large window of her childhood bedchamber.

Aegon feels her begin to stir, tightening his hold around her waist.

“What did your mother say to you yesterday?”

“It is far too early to raise this matter, my heart.” He grumbles.

Y/N huffs, toying with his fingers. “She was awful to you, wasn’t she?”

Aegon presses his lips to her shoulder, “it matters not.”

“It matters to me.”

Days pass, Y/N does not press the subject. Though she does exercise every opportunity to glare at her mother by law.

They spend afternoons in the courtyard garden, with their children. Picking flowers to make crowns, finding shapes in the clouds.

“Just there I see a rabbit.” Visera tells her mother and father.

“Where?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

“There’s the ears and there’s its tail.”

“Oh, I see.” Aegon spots it, “that’s quite a coat of fur on him, hmm?”

Aegon the fourth plucks petals from the wildflowers Dahlia weaves together, sighing as she does.

“What troubles you, my love?” Y/N asks, passing a hand over her silver waves.

“Everyone has been so kind and happy to receive us…though no one seems happy to receive father.” Dahlia says, taking one of the flowers and tucking it behind her Papa’s ear.

“That is the way of things, my darling.” Aegon smiles, sadly.

“We are happy to receive him.” Y/N insists. “Give father a big hug.”

Laenor sees the pile of bodies, throwing himself on top of his elder sisters.

“Squeeze him as tightly as you can and say ‘I love you, father.’”

“I love you, father!” Even Aegon the fourth chimes in, with a loud approving babble.

“I love you too.” Aegon tells his children, wrapping his arms around them.

“I think if no one is kind to you, we ought to go back home.” Visera whispers to him. “It needn’t be the way of things.”

“Too right you are, my darling.” Y/N breathes.

“Y/N, might I have a word with you?” Rhaenyra calls out to the courtyard.

“Of course, your grace,” she smiles, looking to her children. “Keep father company for me. I’ll return shortly.”

Rhaenyra leads her farther into the gardens. “When you were a girl, your grandsire and I would bring you here to watch the changing of the leaves.”

“I remember.” Y/N says, wistfully.

“I owe you an apology,” Rhaenyra takes her hands. “For many years, I thought Aegon stole you away from me. I blamed him, for the death of our father.”

“It was not his fault, mother.” Y/N insists, “I wanted a marriage for love.”

“I see that now.” Rhaenyra assures her. “He is a fine husband to you and a good father to your children. I should not have pushed so relentlessly to end your union.”

Y/N shakes her head, “all is forgiven.”

“Even in our years apart, you have remained my heir. As I believe you would be a great ruling Queen, if that is what you desire. I will provide your children places of high status in court. For Aegon, a seat at the small council.” Rhaenyra offers, “and of course, my sincere apology for the way I have acted.”

“You wish for us to stay?”

Rhaenyra cups her cheek, “very much so.”

Y/N looks down at her wedding ring. “I know Alicent has been unkind to him. I will not stay in a place where he’s treated poorly.”

“I will speak with her.”

“And…I fear Aegon holds little interest in the small council.” Y/N admits, “I hope that too is negotiable.”

“All things are,” Rhaenyra assures her.

Taglist: @donalesaa @spacexdrago @shadowrose13-blog1 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia @oh-you-mean-me @lycaonpictusphotography

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts from the film the hobbit : the desolation of smaug . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

this is no chance meeting , is it , [ name ] ?

take back your homeland .

what if i were to help you reclaim it ?

that's not the worst of it .

we have another problem .

what did i tell you ? quiet as a mouse .

will you just listen ? i'm trying to tell you there's something else out there .

the bear is unpredictable , the man can be reasoned with .

come away from there , it's not natural . none of it .

it's obvious , he's under some dark spell .

you'll be safe here tonight ... i hope .

we grow in number , we grow in strength .

death will come to all .

there are others like you ?

you're running out of time .

a darkness lies upon that forest .

i would not venture there except in great need .

go now while you have the light .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

something moves in the shadows unseen , hidden from our sight .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

i would not do this unless i had to .

you've changed , [ name ] .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

we're going around in circles , we are lost .

the sun . we have to find the sun .

we're being watched .

they're growing bolder .

not just a thief , but a liar as well .

i myself suspect a more prosaic motive .

i have seen how you treat your friends .

you turned away from the suffering of my people .

a hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf . i'm patient . i can wait .

did he offer you a deal ?

shh ! there are guards nearby .

you were supposed to be leading us out , not further back in !

are you mad ? they'll find us .

please . please , you must trust me .

this is not a nice place to meet .

why now , [ name ] ? i don't understand .

a human sorcerer could not summon such evil .

in our blindness , the enemy has returned .

the enemy is preparing for war .

i started this . i cannot forsake them , they are in grave danger .

you want me to cast my friends aside ?

i think we've outrun the orcs .

we've no weapons to defend ourselves .

do it again , and you're dead .

what makes you think i would help you ?

no doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed .

oh , come on - enough of the niceties .

i would like to know who you are . and what you're doing in these lands .

we need food , supplies ... weapons . can you help us ?

i'd wager there are ways to enter that town unseen .

for that , you'd need a smuggler .

there was more he could have told us .

i don't care what he calls himself , i don't like him .

we don't have to like him , we just have to pay him .

i've been bled dry by this adventure ! and what have i seen for my investment ?

if you value your freedom , you'll do as i say .

folk in this town are suffering .

you'd do well to remember ; we know where you live .

it's a small town , [ name ] , everyone knows where everyone lives .

who would have the nerve to question my authority ?

you promised us weapons .

death ! that is what you'll bring upon us .

have you forgotten what happened to [ name / location ] ?

let us not be so quick to lay blame .

join us when you're healed .

[ name ] , you belong with the company .

i belong with my brother .

we have no time to wait , we're on our own .

the evil that is hidden here ... i command it reveal itself .

you have keen eyes , [ name ] .

let all those who doubted us rue this day !

i know these walls ... these halls , this stone .

i do not know what you'll find down there .

it never ceases to amaze me . the courage of hobbits .

if there is in fact a live dragon down there , don't waken it .

come , now ... don't be shy . step into the light .

there is something about you , something you carry .

there you are , thief in the shadows .

i did not come to steal from you .

do you think flattery will keep you alive ?

what else do you claim to be ?

truly , you are mistaken .

you have nice manners , for a thief and a liar .

i know the smell and taste of dwarf .

they are drawn to treasure like flies to dead flesh .

did you think i did not know this day would come ?

you should leave us .

and go where ? there is nowhere to go .

the dragon , it's going to kill us .

i kill where i wish , when i wish .

my armor is iron , no blade can pierce me .

i need you to distract the guards .

time to do what , to get killed ?

yes , i'm afraid . i'm afraid for you .

you're not yourself .

the darkness is coming ... it will spread to every corner of the land .

you were only ever a means to an end .

i will not part with a single coin . not one piece of it .

your reputation precedes you .

you have no equal on this earth .

i think our little game ends here .

so tell me , thief ... how do you choose to die ?

we've given him the slip .

there may be a way out .

it's our only chance , we have to try .

i've heard tales of the wonders of elvish medicine .

that was a privilege to witness .

i will not die like this . cowering . gasping for breath .

if this is to end in fire , then we will all burn together .

perhaps it is time i paid them a visit .

this isn't their fault !

you care about them , do you ? good . then you can watch them die .

i am taking back what you stole .

you will take nothing from me .

i laid low your warriors of old . i instilled terror in the hearts of men .

this is not your kingdom . these are dwarf lands .

revenge ? revenge ?! i will show you revenge !

i am fire . i am death .

what have we done ?

[phannetasm]

The rarest of flowers// Alucard x fem!reader

𓆩𓁺𓆪𝒄𝒘: vampire stuff (biting, blood drinking), soft, protective Alucard, minimal religious symbolism, a bit suggestive towards the end. i had such a nice time writing this for Alucard oh my shayla. wc: 2.2k // read part 1

Weeks passed since the fight against Erzsebet ended and peace was restored in Paris. With danger out of the way, Annette and Richter gone and Maria finally settled down at her own place, it was safe for Alucard to return by your side.

He hoped the letter he sent a few days prior reached you– hoped you were waiting for him by the gates of the abbey, ready to depart as he instructed but much to his surprise, when he finally climbed the pathway up the last hill before the monastery and the entrance came into view you weren't there. Alucard's steps quickened instinctively, his fangs baring almost imperceptibly as he inhaled through his mouth, bracing himself for the metallic taste and smell of blood but the air was fresh, clean, bathed in moonlight. So you weren't hurt. No ill fortune had befallen the abbey while he wasn't there to protect you.

The dhampir only picked up a trace of your smell when he was well past the gates of your sanctuary – that faint, now slightly different scent that was still undoubtedly yours. After breathing it from your skin those fleeting nights he could recognize it anywhere. Following your scent, Alucard stepped around the rudimentary graves marked with wooden crosses in the yard, careful as if not to awaken the dead, and made his way behind the church. When his eyes landed on your figure, kneeled under a blooming apple tree his breath hitched, his muscles tensing. He didn't even bother to keep silent as he ran towards you, his boots crunching against the dirt. By the time you noticed him and got up to your feet he was by your side, pulling you in a gentle embrace.

"My sweet, how I have missed you." he whispered against your neck, a content sigh escaping his lips when you returned the embrace. You were real, warm against his cold touch and the frankincense in your hair made him shudder; you smelled so holy, so sacred. He only released you when you called out his name, tilting his head down to meet your gaze and oh you looked at him so beautifully, as if stars had fallen from the sky into your eyes. "It has been so long. I feared you would not make it here." you said softly, threading your fingers through his hair.

"I swore I would come for you and I did. I sincerely apologize it took so long, but there were some things I still needed to set in order." he explained, taking your hand from his hair to press a kiss to your knuckles. "I am pleased to find you well."

Your gaze softened at his gesture, fingers slipping between his pale ones to hold his hand. "Yes, one could say I am well."

"I hope the nuns did not cause you any trouble." he jested, attempting to lighten the mood and you cracked a small smile. Hoisting up your white dress, you took a seat on the ground, patting the spot next to you. "They have been quite gentle, though judging by how eager they were to help me pack for the trip they must be delighted to see me gone."

Alucard sat beside you, brushing the white petals that had fallen onto your hair. The silence of the night was only disrupted by the soft rustle of your dress when you moved to lay your head on his lap. With his back propped against the tree trunk, the dhampir extended one leg out long so your could find a more comfortable position, toying with the strands sprawled across his lap. You could feel his gaze on the back of your head, urging you to turn face him but you kept your back to him, looking towards the church– it's walls almost silver in the moonlight. The cross atop the steeple has long lost its shine, now only casting a long shadow across the grass in the yard. Sighing softly, you folded an arm under your head, burying your face in the crook of your elbow.

The dhampir's hand moved to your scalp, gently caressing the side of your head. He could tell by how tense you were that something was weighing on your mind. Was it his return? Or perhaps you were displeased he had let you wait so long before he came back? His nose scrunched at the thought and he shook his head as if to dismiss his worries. "You seem nostalgic. Is something bothering you, my sweet?"

You shrugged absentmindedly and Alucard couldn't help but huff lightly. You could be so stubborn sometimes...

"If there is nothing upsetting you, dear lady, you'd do well to face me. Two months apart and you greet me with a cold shoulder... It is quite cruel." he chided and you finally complied, turning on your back and gazing up at him. Alucard didn't miss the shadow clouding your eyes, his thumb tracing the shape of your brow, moving down to your cheek. "What is it?"

Toying with the wet blades of grass at his feet, you looked up to meet his gaze again. "What will you do when I grow old?" Alucard's lips parted but before he could answer you continued. "Or if some misfortune befalls me? I am but a mortal, I am bound to perish eventually–"

"Sweet thing, you must not concern yourself with such grim thoughts" he began but you quickly cut him off again, lifting your head off his thigh. "How could I not think about it when in a few decades I will wither and you will be alone again? You cannot imagine how much this thought pains me–"

"The grief will be mine to deal with." he said sharply, obviously distraught by your words. Lifting yourself to your knees, you shimmied closer to him, hands gently tugging at the material of his coat, drawing him closer. "But it does not have to be like this. You could turn me."

The words knocked the breath out of him, brows shooting up in surprise; but only a split second later a dark shadow was cast over his face. How could he even suggest that he would take away your essence, your light and condemn you to a life in the shadows? "Absolutely not." he said stiffly, his composure wavering.

"Listen to me" you argued "We could be together forever, we could travel the world without worrying about me dying or anything else. Do you not want that?"

The dhampir shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut. He needed a moment to recollect himself; your sudden request rendered him speechless. The mere thought of turning you into one of his kind, to drain the life from you– that life that made you so radiant, so beautiful and so you seemed sacrilegious. Nevetheless he could find reason in your logic and perhaps a shred hope too. He had loved and lost so many over centuries, not even once offering to turn any of his lovers. He has been selfless, reminding himself that those people he so treasured deserved to rest in peace, to know the eternal sleep and the Garden of Eden, not roam the earth as devils. Yet, your pleas were weakening his resolve. A more selfish and indulgent part of him reasoned it wouldn't be that terrible if he made you a vampire– his bride in life and death until the end of time.

"You would be hunted down by humans, cursed wherever you go. You will never have a home nor will you feel the warmth of the sun upon your skin again. You will live in the shadows and feed on the blood of innocents. Is that the fate you wish to damn yourself to?" he spoke with feigned composure, cradling your face in his hands. His palms felt cold against your cheeks, your eyes glistening as you nodded your head. "I do not care for other humans, nor for the sun. I only wish to be by your side."

Your selflessness, willingness to give up on life to join him in death was disarming. It warmed his heart in a revolting way, but despite his hesitation, he was but a creature of impulse; turning humans was his legacy, a craving running deep in his blood. With steady hands he pulled you up in his lap, your legs resting on each side of his hips, his hair draping over your frame when he leaned over you. "Do you fully understand what you wish for? What you would give up on?"

The dhampir noticed the shadow of doubt on your face, his head tilting to the side as he waited for your answer. You could sense the change of heart in your loved, the whites of his eye flickering red. Were you certain? Perhaps not fully, but it wouldn't be the first time you did something utterly foolish for love. A sharp hiss left his lips when you nodded, his gaze drifting to the now healed marks on the column of your throat. With a shaky hand he moved your hair over your shoulder and you craned your head to the side, offering him get a better look at your neck. Alucard could see the pulse thrumming under your skin, the vein swelling with each beat of your heart and suddenly you were both aware of the silence surrounding you, as if time itself had frozen. The only sound was Alucard's breath, cold on your skin when he leaned closer, his eyes piercing through yours. "It will hurt, you know?" he hummed, his voice gruff.

"But you will be gentle, right?"

With a last nod, the dhampir swiped his tongue over his lips, dipping his head to your throat. It began with a sting, his fangs piercing your skin, drawing a thin stream of blood but soon enough a scorching pain spread through your body. Choking out gasps, your body shuddered and his hold tightened. His senses were sharper, the sound of your heartbeat rumbling through him, your blood hot and tangy in his mouth. He had fed on enough beings before to know the exact moment when their lives began to fade– a sudden jerk of the limbs, a skip of heartbeat before their body grew limp. Lifting his head from your neck, he dragged his teeth along his wrist, the blood on his lips mixing with his as it dribbled out onto your dress, staining it crimson.

Through your blurry vision you could make out his hazy frame, white hair haloing around his head. Your mouth felt dry, chest tight. It hurt to breathe, hurt to blink, hurt when Alucard's cold blood dripped down your cracked lips onto your tongue and you choked.

"No, no, you must drink." pressed the dhampir, his voice dissonant as if he was underwater. He moved his wrist to your mouth again, jamming it between your lips and pushing your head back so you could swallow more easily. With his free hand he cradled your head, shushing you. He knew how excruciating the pain was, how straining the metamorphosis could be. Your skin grew colder, paler, eyes darker, nails sharper– tearing apart the material of his cape where you clutched onto him. And despite the pained screams and writhes he held you close, pressing bloody kisses to your face. His stomach churned, brows pinching when he felt your fangs growing, dipping into his wrist as you drank greedily. When a soft gust of wind swept through the crown of the tree, white petals clung onto your dark hair like little stars on the night sky. Terrifyingly beautiful, even like this you were enchanting, your lips glistening red when you finally pulled away, breathing heavily.

The wild look in your eyes mellowed when your gaze met his, your grip loosening. Alucard tilted his head to the side, a relieved smile etching itself on his lips. "Just breathe, easy, sweetling. You handled it so well." he whispered, breathing in the blood on your breath.

And then you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him on top of you. A hand braced itself next to your head, his mouth meeting yours halfway. You could taste each other on your tongues, teeth clashing, his hands gripping at your dress, your your back, your hips. With a sharp exhale, you slipped your hands along his jacket, tugging him closer. Your dress, now soiled with dirt and blood was crumpled at your hips, the shadow of the cross on the steeple now right over your bodies.

Pulling away for a moment, the dhampir sighed shakily, his eyes drooping as he gazed down at you– so wild, so deadly, so beautiful, still so you. "We must go soon if we want to make it back to the city before dawn." he hummed and you nodded. "We have all the time we need now, don't we?" you whispered back, like a hushed secret, closing your eyes and dipping your head back, open, wanting. Like a flame, you drew him in and he let himself fall into you and all it took was a breathy I love you spilled from his lips to know that he was truly yours. Indeed, you were right- you had all the time you needed, now and forever, finally as one.

tags: @virtuapicklequirkreader @pinkberryfox @nwjsns @mxyarylla @jjjjaneee333

[romerona]

The Swan Princess; Westeros Version.

The Targaryen Princess is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it). However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, a classic love-hate relationship.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: lost in woods, dragon fire. You are a bit bratty in this one.

Next part

The chill in the air was a far cry from the warmth of Kingslanding, but you hardly minded. The North had its own beauty—the towering pines, the crisp scent of the wind, the distant howl of wolves echoing across the hills. If only the company were as pleasant.

The festivities stretched before you in a blur of movement and laughter, the crackling of firewood and the clinking of tankards creating a raucous melody that grated upon your nerves. You sat at the farthest edge of the gathering, wrapped in a thick cloak lined with white fur, though no amount of warmth could temper the chill in your mood. Your hands remained tightly clasped in your lap, knuckles whitening as you scowled at the merriment before you. It had been your father’s insistence that forced you here—his decree that you must attend, that you must partake in the evening’s revelry.

Worse still, the most grave offence of all, he had instructed you to keep company with Cregan Stark.

Even now, years removed from the infamous cake incident at Aemond’s name day, your sentiments toward the northern boy had remained unchanged. He was still insufferable, still brooding, still insistent upon his wolfish ways as though they were some grand virtue to be admired. And yet, despite all of this, it was not his pride, nor his demeanor, nor even the air of quiet confidence he carried that vexed you most.

No, what was truly infuriating—what you found to be utterly offensive—was the fact that he had the audacity to ignore you.

You had been placed at his side, compelled to endure his presence, forced into this wretched arrangement for the sake of courtesy, and yet, rather than offer you the same indignity in return, he had simply dismissed you. The moment his friends arrived, he had risen without so much as a word, without even the pretence of obligation, and left you to fester in solitude.

He stood now near the firepit, surrounded by a group of northern boys, all older, taller—men who had long since begun their training. Their laughter came in low, rumbling tones, mingling with the scent of burning wood and roasted meat, and though you could not make out his words, Cregan spoke amongst them with ease, his presence welcomed.

You had not seen him in years, and yet you could not deny that he had grown, shoulders broader than before, height now eclipsing most boys of his age. Even his curls, dark and unruly as they had always been, seemed somehow thicker, falling slightly over his brow as he laughed—laughed, as though there was nothing amiss, as though your presence here was of no consequence to him.

Your jaw tightened as you tore your gaze away, huffing in frustration. You would not look at him any longer. You would not care. You were now ignoring him. And yet, your glare turns back at him each time you hear his laugh.

Aegon’s voice cut through your silent brooding, the young prince’s ever-curious eyes fixed upon you with unabashed intrigue. “Why do you glare so?”

You barely turned your head, already knowing who it was. Your younger brother was only a few years your junior, yet he clung to your side like a shadow, a lost pup who had long since decided you were the only one worthy of following.

“I do not glare,” you muttered, though the way your lips curled and your brows furrowed likely told a different story.

Aegon tilted his head, considering you with the sharp, unfiltered perception of youth. “You do. You look as though you wish to set Lord Stark aflame, dear sister.”

You huffed, arms crossing over your chest as you tore your gaze away from Cregan.

"He was commanded to keep me company," you grumbled, voice laced with frustration. "Yet he acts as though I am naught but air. A mere ghost to be disregarded at his leisure."

Aegon made a small sound of contemplation, his expression screwing up as he pondered your words. “Why would you wish for that brute’s company when you have mine?”

His words, meant in earnest, only deepened your scowl. You did not wish for Cregan’s company—not truly. You did not long for his attention, nor did you crave his words. And yet, it was the principle of the matter. You had been made to sit with him, and now he had left you, wholly unbothered, wholly unconcerned by your absence.

Aegon followed your gaze toward the firepit, where Cregan remained engrossed in his conversation, unaware—or perhaps entirely indifferent—to your displeasure. The young prince pursed his lips, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he surveyed the tall boy by the fire. Then, with a small shrug, he turned back to you, his expression equal parts mischievous and concerned. “Truly, sister, if it vexes you so, why pay him any heed at all?”

Your fingers curled into the plush fabric of your cloak, your jaw tightening. Because it was he who had been told to keep you company. Because it was he who should have felt the burden of obligation. And yet, here you sat, the only one who seemed to care at all.

If Cregan Stark would not give you his attention willingly, then you would seize it for yourself.

With a suddenness that startled even Aegon, you rose from your seat, gathering your cloak about you with deliberate precision. The prince started to trail after you both, but you shot him a glare.

“Stay.”

Your steps were swift and sure as you strode toward the firepit, your chin lifted in quiet defiance. The group of northern boys remained deep in conversation, their voices low and unhurried, wholly unaware of the storm descending upon them.

As you came to stand beside him, the lords and boys surrounding Cregan quickly straightened, some bowing their heads in deference to your presence. You, however, afforded them no such courtesy, your lilac eyes fixed solely on the one who had so rudely dismissed you.

Cregan barely spared you a glance. “Princess.”

The half-hearted greeting made your blood simmer. You bristled, tilting your chin higher. “Lord Stark.”

And then—nothing. No further acknowledgement. No shift in posture or interest. Cregan merely turned back to his friends, as if you were no more than a passing breeze.

Your fingers curled at your sides. How dare he?

You cleared your throat, tilting your head with measured patience. “You were tasked with keeping me company, were you not?”

Cregan exhaled through his nose, the sound heavy with exasperation, before finally turning his full attention to you. “Aye.”

“Yet here you are, neglecting your duty,” you remarked, eyes narrowing.

A sharp snicker rang out from one of the northern boys, earning him a withering look from Cregan before the lord’s gaze returned to you. “I did not think you cared for my company.”

“I do not,” you answered swiftly, folding your arms across your chest. “But if I must endure yours, then it is only fair you endure mine.”

Another laugh, low and knowing, rippled through the group. One of the taller boys clapped Cregan on the shoulder, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’ve been summoned, Lord Stark.”

Cregan groaned, dragging a hand down his face as though praying for patience. Then, with great reluctance, he turned fully to you, his stance shifting from stubborn resistance to resigned duty. “And what is it you wish to do, Princess?”

You smirked, pleased to have drawn him from his indifference. “Something more interesting than standing around talking about whatever it is northerner boys talk about.”

Cregan studied you for a long, silent moment, as though weighing the depth of your mischief. Then, with a slow exhale, he gave a small shake of his head. “Fine.”

Turning to his friends, he gave a nod toward the woods. “I’ll be back.”

One of the older boys scoffed, his lips curling around the rim of his cup as he slurred, “Truly? You’d leave us for the spoilt princess?”

A silence fell over the group. A heavy, expectant silence.

The moment the words left his wine-soaked lips, the others stiffened, some even taking a wary step back. The drunken fool clearly did not yet realize his mistake, but they did.

You were no mere noblewoman to be dismissed with a careless insult.

The beloved pearl of the Seven Kingdoms, cherished not only by your father, the King but by all who saw you as the living embodiment of Targaryen's grace and beauty. A girl born of fire and blood, as regal as she was untouchable.

And yet, this boy—this fool—had dared speak of you so carelessly.

“A spoilt princess, am I?” you mused, your tone dangerously even.

Your lilac eyes narrowed, the firelight casting an eerie glow across your sharp features. Though you were years younger, though you stood two heads shorter, you advanced without hesitation, your steps measured, deliberate, until you were close enough to look up at the fool who had so carelessly spoken.

The silence was suffocating.

The boy, for all his bravado, swayed slightly, the haze of wine doing little to shield him from the weight of your gaze. The others watched, rigid as stone, none daring to intervene.

Then, after a long pause, you smiled. It was not kind.

It was the smile of a dragon before it struck. The smile of a queen before she passed judgment. The kind of smile that sent men to their knees in fear rather than admiration.

The boy swallowed thickly, his drunken haze evaporating beneath the weight of your presence.

“Well?” you asked, your voice quiet but carrying effortlessly over the crackling flames. “Do speak plainly, my lord. I would so love to hear what else you think of me.”

The drunken fool licked his lips, throat bobbing as he tried to summon some semblance of wit. “I meant no—”

“You meant,” you interrupted smoothly, taking another deliberate step forward, “to insult me.”

He flinched.

“Or was it my father you sought to offend?” Your voice remained sweet, but the question was anything but. “Perhaps my mother’s memory? My House?”

The boy visibly shrank beneath your gaze, as though the very air had grown heavier. He looked to Cregan, then to his companions, seeking an escape, but none would meet his eye. Smart of them.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to stammer some pathetic attempt at an apology, but before he could, Cregan finally moved.

A heavy hand clamped down on the fool’s shoulder, forcing him to bow slightly under its weight. The pressure was not enough to harm, but it was a warning—a silent command that made the onlookers still, their laughter long since faded into tense silence.

“I believe you’ve had too much wine, Beron,” Cregan said evenly, though there was no mistaking the quiet steel in his voice. “Best you retire before you make an even greater fool of yourself.”

Beron, now pale as freshly fallen snow, swallowed hard. His bravado, so apparent mere moments ago, had fled entirely. With a stiff nod, he stepped back, avoiding your gaze as though even looking at you would seal his doom.

You watched him go, the smirk that ghosted across your lips a silent testament to your satisfaction. Yet when you turned back to Cregan, whatever fleeting amusement you held vanished in an instant, replaced once more by the simmering irritation that had plagued you all evening.

Your lilac eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him as though his very presence was an affront, as though you were still deciding whether he was just as insufferable as the fool you had just put in his place. Then, with your chin lifted in a haughty display of royal indignation, you turned sharply on your heel, your cloak billowing behind you as you huffed and stalked away.

Cregan exhaled, long and weary, dragging a rough hand down his face before shaking his head.

“Seven hells,” he muttered under his breath, before striding after you. It seemed, despite his better judgment, that the wolf had no choice but to follow where the dragon led.

Cregan Stark prided himself on his patience.

It was expected of him as his father’s heir, a virtue drilled into him through endless lessons of duty and restraint. The North was not a place for rash tempers or childish squabbles. A Stark must be measured, composed, and above all, steady as the winter itself—the blood of the First Men ran through his veins, and wolves did not rise to petty bait.

And yet—yet—every time he was forced into your company, that patience unravelled thread by thread.

"Is that how you always spend your time?" you asked, voice laced with disdain as you pulled your cloak tighter around you. The cold bit at your skin, but your words were sharper still. "Standing about like a pack of hounds, waiting for scraps?"

Cregan inhaled sharply, his broad shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured restraint. Do not rise to it, he told himself. He had learned your ways over the years, how you delighted in needling him, in picking at his patience like a raven pecking at carrion.

He exhaled through his nose, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. "We speak of things that matter, Princess. Not childish games."

You tilted your head, the firelight catching in the silver strands of your braided hair. A picture of innocence—if one ignored the glint in your lilac eyes, the one that spoke of mischief, of provocation.

"Oh, I see," you murmured, voice rich with mock understanding. "Of course. You and your very important northern discussions."

Your lips curled, and then you added, as light as silk, "Please, you are raised in ice, you drink only ale, and you spend your days rolling about in the mud like dogs. No wonder you all behave like them."

Cregan’s jaw tightened.

He had sworn to himself—no, he swore to his father—that he would not let you get a rise out of him tonight. That he would be the proper lord, ever respectful, ever unshaken. That he would not let himself be drawn into yet another one of your endless games.

Still, his jaw tensed as he shot you a look. “You claim we are dogs, Princess, yet you stand before our fire, eating from our table, taking from our land. Tell me, which of us is truly the hound?”

Your lilac eyes flashed—not anger, but amusement. And that infuriated him more than anything.

You stepped closer, your perfume—something warm and spiced—reaching his nose. “Clever, almost.”

Cregan hated the way his pulse quickened, just slightly. He hated the way you spoke to him, like he was still a child playing at being a man. He hated the way you always—always—knew exactly how to get under his skin.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to remain composed. But that wasn’t enough. He needed to wipe that insufferable smirk from your face.

And then an idea struck him.

So, he did the only thing he could. He smirked. “Perhaps, Princess, you would rather see something truly northern? Something worthy of your oh-so-refined tastes?”

Your brow lifted, intrigue flashing across your face. “And what could a northern brute possibly have that would interest me?”

Cregan let his smirk widen, taking a step back. “Have you ever seen a direwolf?”

Your interest was immediate. “A direwolf?”

“Aye. There are dire wolves in these woods," he said smoothly, watching you carefully. "I know where a litter has been whelped, I can take you if you wish.”

Your posture stiffened, your lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line. Then— “Truly?”

He shrugged, his voice even. “Do you doubt my word?”

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. "I have heard the North’s wolves are fearsome things, the size of horses.”

“They are,” he agreed smoothly, “but I thought a daughter of the dragon would not be afraid of such creatures.”

Your lilac eyes burned with indignation. “I am not afraid.”

Cregan tilted his head. “Then let us see, shall we?”

He should have felt guilty.

Should have.

But as he returned to his friends, leaving you in the depths of the woods, he found himself feeling nothing but satisfaction.

You had followed him eagerly, your irritation at the feast long forgotten in your excitement to see a direwolf. He had led you deep into the forest, far from the warmth of the fire, far enough that the trees blocked out most of the moonlight.

And then, at the perfect moment, he had stepped behind a tree—and vanished.

You had called his name at first, your voice carrying through the trees with only the rustling of the leaves to answer you. Then came the frustration.

“Cregan Stark, if this is some jape, I swear to all gods!”

There was a pause. Then the crunch of leaves as you turned in place, the sharp inhale of breath when you realized you were alone.

“Cregan, this is not amusing,” you called, irritation creeping into your voice.

Oh, but it was amusing.

Cregan remained just out of sight, arms crossed over his chest, watching. He would let you sit with your own pride for a little while. Let you feel what it was like to be dismissed, to be toyed with. It was not cruel, not truly—he knew exactly where you were. You would be fine. And if this humbled you even a little, then perhaps it would be worth the scolding he would inevitably receive.

So he left. He had walked back leisurely, even laughing under his breath as he rejoined the gathering, pleased with himself in a way he hadn’t been in years.

It would serve you right, little dragon.

You would stomp your feet and pout, calling him every manner of insult, but he would return before long, retrieve you from whatever spot you were sulking in, and that would be the end of it.

At least, that was what should have happened.

But when people began to ask where the lovely princess had gone—when Lord Rickon turned his sharp gaze on Cregan and asked if he had seen you last—something unpleasant curled in his stomach.

His smirk faded.

Cregan made his way back to where he had left you, his steps quickening when he realized the spot was empty. No footprints in the dirt. No sign of where you had gone.

Panic seized his chest as he turned in a slow circle. “Princess?”

Nothing. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as he called your name again.

This was not how this was meant to go. You were supposed to be sitting on a fallen log, arms crossed, scowling at him when he returned. Not gone.

Cregan Stark, heir to Winterfell, had lost a Targaryen princess in the woods. And if he did not find you soon, he was as good as dead.

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. You couldn’t have gone far. You were here somewhere. And the thought that you weren’t—that something had happened to you—made his stomach twist in a way he did not care to name.

You were going to kill him.

Not in the quiet, polite way of the court, with veiled insults and sharp words—no, you were going to strangle Cregan Stark with your bare hands the moment you found him... If you found him.

The forest was darker now, the thick canopy overhead blotting out the last slivers of evening light. You had walked for what felt like hours, your frustration growing with each passing moment. At first, you had been determined—This is fine. I do not need him. I’ll find my way back.

That had been before your gown had snagged on every possible branch, before you had tripped over a root and scraped your palms raw against the cold earth, before your boots had sunk into thick patches of mud that tried to swallow your steps.

Now, your breaths came sharp and quick, little clouds of mist curling before you. You swallowed against the sting behind your eyes.

Cregan Stark, you absolute vile, unwashed, brute— Had he truly left you? Had he meant for you to never return?

The realization struck like a blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. For all your confidence, for all your stubbornness, you were alone in the middle of a vast northern forest, with no sense of direction and no one to call for help.

Your throat tightened.

No. You would not cry. You would not let the woods of the north to best you.

But as you took another step forward, your foot caught on a tangle of roots, and you pitched forward, crashing onto the damp earth. This time, you did not rise.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your fingers curling into the dirt. You would die here. Your body would be found frozen in the snow, your sister would weep, your father would curse the North, and Cregan Stark—Cregan Stark—would suffer the wrath of the crown.

And yet, none of that mattered if you died here tonight.

Tears burned hot as they slipped down your cheeks, your frustration giving way to something raw—fear. You had never been alone like this before. Never without guards, without your ladies and your maids, without your father or Rhaenyra, that nuisance of your younger brother. You had always been surrounded, shielded, protected but now? Only the cold and the distant rustling of unseen creatures.

You shuddered and forced yourself to sit up, hugging your arms to your chest. The cold was beginning to seep into your bones, its sharp bite burrowing beneath your skin, turning your fingers stiff and clumsy. You clenched them into fists, willing warmth back into them, but it was no use.

If the cold did not claim you, the wolves would.

The thought sent another shiver down your spine.

You turned your head sharply, scanning the darkness between the trees, expecting to see a pair of gleaming eyes watching, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. The woods belonged to creatures far older than men—things that did not fear steel or fire.

A shiver ran down your spine, but you gritted your teeth against it, scanning the trees, your ears straining for the snap of a branch, the rustle of unseen movement.

Fear clawed its way up your throat. Was this how it ended? A Targaryen princess lost to the dark? Devoured in the woods like a nameless peasant?

Your fingers curled into fists in the tattered fabric of your dress. No.

A sudden anger filled you, pushing away the creeping terror. No. You would not sit here and weep like some helpless thing. You would not be claimed by the cold or torn apart by beasts.

You were a dragon and you refused to be brought low by wolves.

A sharp gust of wind howled through the trees, but you rose to your feet, unsteady but determined. You would find shelter. You would make it through the night, and you would see Cregan Stark’s face when you returned, standing tall, unbroken, and victorious.

With that thought burning in your chest, you pressed forward, forcing one foot in front of the other. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing on your limbs, but you did not stop. The forest stretched endlessly before you, the trees twisting and gnarled, their skeletal branches reaching toward the sky.

Then—movement. Your breath caught as you spun, your heart hammering against your ribs. Nothing, but something or someone is watching you. You could feel it.

A slow, uneasy dread settled over you, but you swallowed it down, gripping the tattered edges of your dress as you continued forward.

And then, in the distance, beneath the tangled roots, you saw it- a shadow. A large, gaping darkness ahead, half-hidden beneath the twisting roots of an ancient tree. A cave.

Relief surged through you as you stumbled toward it, slipping beneath the jagged opening. The air inside was cool but dry, the ground packed firm beneath your feet. You exhaled shakily, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The cave was deeper than you expected, the air damp, warmer than the biting cold outside, and heavy with something thick and unplaceable. Each breath you took felt weighted, as though the very air pressed against your ribs.

Something about the scent in the air struck you as familiar.

Sulfur. Ash.

It reminded you of the Dragonpit in King’s Landing, of the deep chambers where the great beasts slumbered, their breath thick with smoke and embers.

But that was absurd, there were no dragons this far to the north. You were exhausted, chilled to the bone, your mind playing tricks on you after hours spent stumbling through the wretched woods. That was all.

You took another cautious step forward, a sharp crunch echoed beneath your foot making you still.

The sound sent a shudder down your spine. It had not been the crisp snap of twigs, nor the shifting of loose stone. It had been brittle, fragile—something breaking.

Your pulse quickened, but you forced yourself to move, to push forward despite the growing weight in your chest. Then your foot struck against something hard. A rock? No...

You bent down slowly, your fingers trembling as you reached into the darkness. The surface beneath your hand was smooth, cold—curved in a way that made your breath hitch. You traced its edge, confusion swirling in your chest.

And then, as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you saw it. Not a rock, surely not a branch, it was... a scale. A large, dark, scale gleaming faintly in the cave’s dimness.

A low rumble filled the space, vibrating through the very stone beneath you. Your blood turned cold. A slow, rolling shift of movement echoed through the cavern. Then—two massive, golden eyes blinked open.

Your breath caught in your throat as the darkness moved, no— it was not darkness.

It was something massive, curled within the cavern, its long, jagged horns scraping against the stone as it lifted its head. A deep, guttural growl reverberated through the air, rolling over you like thunder, the kind of sound that rattled deep in your bones.

Your body is locked in place.

It’s a dragon. A wild dragon.

You had never felt fear like this before.

It was not the simple fear of falling from a tree, nor the quick, fleeting terror of nearly slipping off a ledge as you climbed the castle walls. This was something deeper, something that wrapped around your chest and squeezed until your breath came in short, panicked gasps.

The dragon was massive.

Larger than any you had ever seen up close, which is a big feat since you have seen Vermithor, its coiled body filling the dark cavern like a living mountain of scale and muscle. Even in the dim light, you could see the dark ridges of its back, the curve of its wings pressed against the walls of the cave. Its tail twitched, stirring the dust at your feet, and then—

It growled.

A low, rumbling sound, deep as thunder rolling through the belly of the earth. The sound made your knees weak, made you feel small, insignificant beneath its burning golden gaze.

You stumbled back, your hands bracing against the cold stone behind you. Your breath came in ragged bursts, your mind screaming at you to run, run, run, but your legs would not move. You had nowhere to go.

The growling deepened, reverberating in your very bones. You had to do something, anything. And so, in the midst of your spiralling panic, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You talked. In frantic, desperate, trembling High Valyrian, you talked to the beast. "Ñuhon, ñuhon, ñuhon..."

"Nyke Targārien iksan," you stammered, your voice shaking so badly that the words almost slurred together. "Aōha rūvēn iksan, līragon nyke, kostilus." I am a Targaryen. I am your friend, please, do not harm me.

The dragon’s growl did not cease, but something in the way it held itself shifted. Its great head tilted ever so slightly, those massive golden eyes fixed on you, unblinking. Its nostrils flared, taking in your scent, the thick breath of the beast sending a hot gust of air against your face.

"Nyke... nyke jorrāelagon sȳz rūvēn," you continued, your voice no less panicked, but steadier now, clinging to the one thing that had ever given you comfort—words. "Ñuha āeksia, ñuha lenton, ñuha ābrar issi... kostilus, do not hurt me."

The dragon let out a short, huffing sound—not quite a snarl, not quite a sigh. Its wings shifted slightly against the stone, and for one terrible, agonizing moment, you thought it might lunge, might strike.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your heart hammering against your ribs. But no attack came.

Instead, there was another sound—low, almost like a grumble, but different. Less threatening.

You opened your eyes slowly.

The dragon was still watching you, but the growl had lessened into something more like a deep, guttural rumble, a sound you could not quite name. It had listened.

You let out a shuddering breath, your hands still trembling.

"Issa sȳz," you whispered, barely audible.

The dragon huffed again, shifting slightly, its great claws scraping against the cavern floor. It did not bow, did not lower its head in submission—but it did not turn you to ash, either.

You had been heard.

You took a shuddering breath, pressing a hand to your chest in a futile attempt to calm your hammering heart.

"I—I should not be here, you see," you continued, voice wavering but relentless. "I was tricked, abandoned, left to die in this gods-forsaken forest by this imbecile, and I thought this cave would provide me shelter, but instead I find you. And I must say, I do not think this is fair. My father is the King. My sister is Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, and I should not be grovelling before a dragon in the middle of a cursed forest, covered in dirt... fucking stark.

The dragon watched you, unblinking, unmoving, its massive body still half-coiled within the shadows. Its breaths came slow and steady, but the growl had lessened, replaced by something else.

Something like curiosity, so you kept talking.

You told the beast of the cold, how you dislike the chill of the North, how the winds bit at your skin and made your fingers numb. You spoke of your frustrations, of how your father had sent you here, how you had been made to suffer the company of Cregan Stark.

Your voice cracked as you spoke his name, and for some reason, that was when the first tear fell.

You wiped at it furiously, cursing yourself, cursing him, cursing this wretched night. You had been abandoned. Left like a fool to wander the forest, to freeze, to be forgotten. You let out a shaky breath, staring at the dragon before you.

“You would not have abandoned me,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Would you?”

The dragon let out a low, rumbling sound—not quite a growl, but not quite a purr either. Its eyes gleamed like molten gold, sharp and knowing.

And then, to your shock, it moved again.

A slow, deliberate shift of its massive body. Clawed feet scraped against the cavern floor as it unfurled its wings slightly, shaking dust from its scales. Its long neck arched, its nostrils flaring once more.

Then, It lowered its head. Not by much, but enough.

You inhaled sharply, heart hammering, and slowly, hesitantly, you raised a trembling hand. The dragon did not move, it did not growl, did not flinch.

Your fingers brushed against its warm scales. Heat radiated beneath your palm, and for the first time since stepping foot in the woods, you felt safe. Your breath was shallow as you dared to lift your gaze.

Its golden eyes bore into yours, deep and endless, gleaming like molten metal in the dim light of the cavern. And though the beast said nothing—though it made no sound, no movement beyond its slow, steady breathing—you felt it.

Targaryens were of the blood of the dragon. But what was this? It was as though the dragon had recognized you. Not just as a Targaryen. Not just as some lost child who had wandered into its den.

But as its own.

Then, shattering the stillness of the cave, your name rang through the forest, sharp and desperate.

Your fingers curled against the dragon’s warm scales as the peacefulness—the strange, overwhelming sense of belonging—was yanked from you, ripped away by a voice you knew.

Him. Cregan fucking Stark.

You growled, the sound low and guttural in your throat, before turning away from the dragon. The air felt colder now, the cavern’s warmth a distant memory as you marched toward the entrance, your body rigid with fury.

How dare he?

How dare he call for you with such desperation, as though he had not been the one to leave you behind in the first place? As though he was not the reason your hands were scraped raw, your dress torn, your limbs frozen?

The moment you stepped out of the cave, the cold northern air bit at your skin, but you did not falter. Your anger burned hotter than any fire. Cregan’s voice came again, closer this time as he yet again called your name.

And then, you saw him.

A flickering torch in hand, his grey eyes scanning the dark, his normally composed features twisted with something that looked far too close to panic. His tunic was wrinkled, his hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it and his chest was rising and falling heavily, his mouth slightly parted as though he had been running.

Good. Let him suffer.

His head snapped toward you the moment you stepped into the moonlight. The relief that crossed his face was instant, crashing over him like a wave.

“There you are,” he breathed, already moving toward you. “Gods, I—”

But before he could say anything else, before he could speak a single word of apology— You struck him. Not a slap, not a soft shove, but a full-force push against his chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

“You bastard,” you snarled, your voice shaking with unspent rage. “You left me.”

Cregan caught himself, blinking rapidly, as if stunned. “I—Seven Hells, I thought—”

“You thought what?” you bit out, stepping forward, your torn gown dragging over the forest floor. “That I would wait like a dog for you to come and fetch me?”

His jaw clenched, grey eyes dark with something unreadable as he took another step toward you. “I knew where you were. I never—”

“No, you didn’t,” you spat, the fury burning in your chest like Dragonfire. “Because when you finally came back, I was gone.”

Cregan ran a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply, his frustration plain. “You were supposed to stay there—why in the name of the Old Gods would you leave? In woods, you know nought of?”

“Why did I leave?” you echoed, your voice shaking with fury. “Because I was alone, Stark! Because I was freezing, because the wolves howled closer with every hour because I had no reason to believe you were ever coming back for me.”

Cregan’s expression flickered for a moment, something shifting behind his gaze—guilt. But you didn’t care for it.

His mouth opened as if he meant to speak as if there were words he could summon to undo what he had done. But no words came. Instead, from behind you, a deep, rumbling growl filled the air, low and unrelenting, the sound vibrating through your very bones and the ground shifting beneath you.

Your dragon.

A smirk curled at your lips as you turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse the massive, hulking form that emerged from the cave’s mouth. The beast’s golden eyes were fixed on Cregan, unblinking, knowing. Steam curled from its nostrils as it stepped forward, claws sinking into the damp earth.

Cregan did not move, did not reach for the sword at his hip. He only watched, his grey eyes locked onto the creature behind you, his breath unsteady.

A slow smirk curled at your lips.

Cregan saw the shift in your face, and before he could react, you turned and took a few deliberate steps toward the beast, your gown dragging over the forest floor, torn and dusted with dirt.

"Wait, princess..." That was when Cregan moved. His hand shot out, gripping your arm, a firm pull—as if he had any right to stop you.

"Don't you dare--" You yanked yourself free, stepping back just in time.

And that was when your dragon struck, a sharp inhale, the air around you shifting—then flames. It wasn’t a full blast, just a warning—a thin stream of fire erupted from the beast’s maw, aimed straight for Cregan. You barely had time to gasp.

Cregan was fast. Faster than you had expected. He spun away just in time, throwing up his arms to shield himself as the flames roared past, illuminating the trees in a flickering orange glow.

Then, silence, making your smirk disappear.

“Cregan?” Your heart lurched as you watched the fire dissipate, smoke curling into the cold northern air.

For a terrifying second, he didn’t move. But then he straightened, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling sharply. He was alive. But when he turned back to you, you had to slap a hand over your mouth to smother the laugh that threatened to escape.

His normally dark curls were dusted in ash, the very tips of them still smouldering. His face was streaked with soot, and most hilariously of all— One of his eyebrows was completely gone.

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Your mouth fell open.

Cregan blinked, then let out a slow, rattled breath, his expression unreadable.

And then, you laughed.

You tried to hold it back, you really did, but it was impossible. The sight of him, wide-eyed, covered in soot with only one eyebrow left, his expression caught between horror and sheer disbelief—it was too much. A burst of laughter slipped through your lips, bubbling uncontrollably as you pressed a hand to your mouth.

Cregan just stared at you, completely dumbfounded.

Then he scowled. “You laugh? After your beast nearly burned my face off?”

You nod, laughing harder, hands clutching your sides, feeling your knees about to give. You wiped a tear from your eye, finally catching your breath. "That is what you get, for leaving me."

He exhaled sharply, still fuming. “You let your dragon burn me.”

“I did not!” you said defensively, though your voice still shook with laughter. “He did it on his own, and he merely singed you. It was a warning.”

You gestured at the dragon, whose golden eyes remained locked on Cregan as if daring him to try anything else. Cregan glared, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his missing eyebrow.

You tilted your head, examining him. “It is an… interesting look.”

He exhaled heavily, looking toward the sky like he was praying for patience. Then, after a beat, he muttered, “I should have left you in the woods.”

You grinned, stepping back toward your dragon, placing a firm hand against its scales. “And yet, here you stand. With only one eyebrow to show for it.”

Cregan shot you a heated glare, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if he were biting back a particularly colourful string of curses you were certain he was about to unleash—until the sound of approaching hooves shattered the moment.

The rhythmic thud of horses against the earth. The muffled crunch of boots stepping through fallen leaves. Then, the glow of torches flickered through the darkness, growing brighter, closer.

Your father had sent people to find you.

You should have felt relieved. Instead, all you could think about was what he would say—what he would do—when he realized what had happened. You were about to be scolded within an inch of your life.

Cregan must have had the same thought, because his shoulders squared, his expression hardening as he turned toward the oncoming riders.

Your dragon let out a low growl, its tail shifting against the forest floor, and you placed a calming hand on its scales.

You cast Cregan one last smirk. “Shall we tell them exactly what happened? Or shall we let them wonder why the heir to Winterfell is missing an eyebrow?”

His glare deepened, but before he could answer, the first of the riders broke through the trees, their torches illuminating the scene before them.

And just like that, the game was over... For now.

A/N

Hiii, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I wanted to stay true to the Y/N vibe and give her a wild dragon, tho, it's not Cannibal. Figure might as well give you something from the north other than Cregan lol. Tell me what you think was it too corny? Also, I don't know if you noticed but I made a jab to Bran, Three-Eyed Raven, just for funsies.

Thank you sooooo much for the support, the likes, comments and reblogs, you all really make me stay motivated.

<3 Thank you so muchhhh.

Tags:

r-3dlips

houseofyork2

itsaslaminak

a-song-of-fire-and-rain

jellyblogfish

aurora-starwars

edenexisting

squidscottjeans

princesssunderworld

xxxkat3xxx

horrorlover304

isansstuff

spicy30

roseloves2read

silverlightsaber

Tell me if you want to be tagged.

[gabichanwrites]

I think that way too many people gloss over the reason why exactly those 6 men were such a big deal and a last straw for the crew and Eurylychous. Up to this point Odysseus made mistakes, yes, and people died because of them but never before has Odysseus made such a deliberate sacrifice.

Before this, he was still their Capitan - a bit arrogant, too prone to playing into Gods' Games and with a damnation right on his heels - but still on their side. Not to mention that this saga happens SO soon after Circe Saga, where he CAME BACK for them, put himself in grave danger and risked his return home to save THEM. Since the wind bag fuck up, this crew must have regained so much trust in him, Eurylychous must have felt so indebted and plagued by his own guilt because of his actions in Ocean Saga and Circe Saga. Because despite their doubts and question of How Much Longer Till His Luck Runs Out, their Capitan still came and saved them.

And then the Different Beast happens and it's ruthless and cruel but it's against their enemies, it feels like protection, no doubt. It's their Capitan making sure that they can make it home, that no other monster will follow them and make it impossible.

But then the Scylla happens and it never has been more clearer than there. Eurylychous would not be that furious if he didn't realize and he IS a second-in-command, he is not stupid. Six men who held the torches died and it was by Odysseus' order. This is no longer slaying every foe on the way home, this is Odysseus willing to sacrifice even them. Is it the same capitan who came back for them on Circe's island, is the same who always did everything he could to make sure they all made it back? How Are They Supposed To Trust Him Now?

This situation is so fucked and both sides have their point, I'm so sick of seeing posts putting the full blame on either side. They are all human and stressed and they don't know what to trust, what to do to come back home - and the worst part of it all, they probably never stood a chance.

After all, Zeus has already said they The Blood On Your Hands Is Something You Can't Lose, All You Can Choose Is Whose.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[yorsgirl]

Yan!Heian!Sukuna and with Y/N?

Lately, whenever Darling got pregnant she ended up having countless miscarriages, the longest lasting at least 3 months, Sukuna began to suspect these countless coincidences.

He doesn't care about these losses since he didn't want to share Y/N with some brat, but he found it very strange that every time she got pregnant resulted in a miscarriage, so he started investigating and finally found out why this was happening.

He discovered that Y/N was causing her own miscarriages, as she knew that the last thing the world needed was Sukuna's descendants, so he finally confronts her but with that damn psychological terror that he loves to do to her.

Oh my, I love love love this idea!!

I kinda went out on this one, but I hope I did justice to what you were aiming at. Hope you like it :) Also I am sorry for being so late

Playing God

Yandere!Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It was a gamble, he was willing to make. To keep you with him, forever, as he wanted. Needed. You had to realize that no other heaven except his arms would be comforting. Even if that meant, breaking your very soul.

Tropes: Dark Romance, horror, angst

Warnings: Implied nsfw(forced), mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, abduction, cannibalism and isolation. Trauma, mild stockholm syndrome, yandere themes, minor character death(s), gore, gaslighting, manipulation, misogyny, blood, degradation(non-kinky), patriarchal society, unhealthy relationship, implied child birth.

General warnings: Yandere!True form!Husband!Sukuna, Wife!Reader, Heian Era, both Sukuna and reader are a red flag on their own, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word Count: 9.7k

You were digging your own grave.

So you shouldn't have been surprised that your wish would be granted. Yet, if you could have one wish then you'd wish for freedom but no- freedom was a forfeited dream, far beyond your reach. Consideration of that one would never be fruitful. You are trapped even in your dreams.

Playing with fire only gets you burnt.

For long, you played this game and this- this was your compensation. For everything you had done until now, all you are returned with was abandonment. Not that supposedly, betrayal, yes. More appropriate.

Flames surrounded you, crawling up your skin, the screams piercing your ears, your chest heaved up and down. Gaze, once settled on your hearth, now all you saw was the burning hut, the crackling of embers reached your ears. Attire and hands stained with blood of the insolent. The warning shouldn't have been taken lightly. Should have known, the extent of his power.

Eyes held terror, fright, regret- whatever you could name. The multitude of names you received seemed no more than a distant dream, nowhere to be found. All were running away - expectable.

You expected calamity, but you were calm.

Everything went down in flames. Save for you, you weren't burning. Not an spark touched your skin. Was it the distance or the control? Who knows. But one confirmation which you held was that tonight you won't die. Not so soon either.

Careful, not all Gods are worshipped.

The words rang in your ears and as if on cue, you found him again.

In this reverie of madness, he held your sight when you attempted to turn - the eyes tinted with crimson.

.

"I am sorry for your loss, m'lady."

You had seen it all.

You had your fair share of encounters, received news and such. Women losing their mind and sanity after delivered with a news this devastating. Notably, no woman would feel any bliss after knowing that they had lost their child. Lost the chance of motherhood before experiencing it. Violent outbursts was the most probable outcome.

"This is a hard time," The midwife spoke softly. "Yet, you shouldn't neglect your health."

You perceived the softness to be fear. She must have had dealt with situations like these, most of them traumatizing as you assumed. Perhaps, she expected the same from you too.

You tore your gaze off her, leaning back on your bedframe, "I'd like to be left alone."

Your declaration was answered with compliance. Offering a humble bow, she bid you farewell, walking out of your chambers. Once her footsteps seized, you finally let your guard down. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you laid back down on your bed.

"Good riddance," You muttered to yourself. Moments of such vulnerability wasn't rare, considering you were served with loneliness, lately. Save for the times you spent in the presence of Sukuna. His decree, one might say. Your attention shouldn't be wasted on anyone but him. You scoffed recalling his words. Involuntarily, you stroked your belly, the corner of your lip curled up.

Once a house to life, given by your husband; now lay vacant from your doing.

A twisted sense of pride swelled up in your chest, a wide grin stretching on your face. You were successful in your quest, again. Mercilessly, you uprooted the seed of your husband's lineage.

Perhaps, you've truly gone sick.

Yet, this revolt of feelings were miles lesser than the repugnant you encountered when you realized your first pregnancy. You were on the brink of clawing out the creature growing in your womb. You'd have torn it apart with while revelling in the joy of watching its blood drip down on the face of Earth. If not for Sukuna's presence in the room, you might've gone through it.

You lost a fragment of yourself, that day.

Throwing up countless times, dizziness, nausea, even losing your consciousness while walking down. No, they weren't pregnancy side effects. More so, the outcome of the stress accumulating in you.

Sickening. His kin you'd have cradled in your body. To be born and grow up into a revolting, merciless creature like his father. To take up place in your womb, your flesh and blood and combining with his – a living proof of your plight. Disgusting.

Never. You'd never let that happen.

You'd never succumb to such monstrosity.

You had already given up your freedom, your dignity, your alight life to Sukuna in exchange of the lives you held dear. The lives back in your ancestral village, home to your kin.

You were affirmed. An heir of Ryomen Sukuna would never be birthed from you.

Speak of the devil, he appears.

An overwhelming familiar aura surrounded your very being, the doors to your chamber slid open, your captor, your husband strolled inside. Even his mere presence held the malevolence in him. You attempted to rise from your position at his arrival.

"Sit." He commanded.

You silently obeyed his order, keeping your gaze settled on your lap, the energy had your stomach churning with trepidation; at times when you didn't do anything either. And this time, you were guilty. Two moments passed in silence until he spoke.

"I heard from the midwife."

You took in a sharp breath, swallowing a lump in your throat. It was the same ordeal, like the first two times. Yet, you were a tad bit calm since the previous encounters. Probably, due to the fact you were getting used to this role. In this past moons, you had developed into the wife, he was carving you out to be. Giving him just the reactions he wanted, for that saved you a lot of anguish and pain. Even if it came at the price of your self-respect. This was the only way.

With your head hung low, you spoke, "Forgive me, my lord. I am incapable of bearing you an heir. I-It must have been my fau-"

"Not another word."

You instantly stiffened up, his deep voice causing chills to run down your spine. Did you make an error? Was he aware of your tumultuous acts? Was the play not convincing enough?

He held your chin, forcing you to look up at him. All of his four, red eyes bore into you. You bit on your inner cheek, blood coursing in your veins - steadfast.

They say, your fear start to vanish once you've remained in the source of their vicinity too long. That statement is false. For even after staying with your captor for almost two years, you still held your fear.

"The one at fault bore consequences."

That's when you were hit with the faint stench of blood from him. Another one perished. You took the wild guess of it being the midwife. However, instead of amplifying fright, it was lessened. You wouldn't be on the receiving end of his wrath.

"You aren't at fault, wife."

Oh, but you were.

Sukuna held your gaze, cupping your cheek; the rough pad of his thumb trailed a line on your skin. His tone and grip were surprisingly gentle. "There's no need to apologize."

The corners of your eyes crinkled down, you lean into his touch. You assume, it's a good move as you noted the flicker of emotion in his eyes. "It's the third time, my lord. Perhaps, I bear some shortcomings."

"What nonsense," He rolled his eyes. "There's none, not in my eyes. Don't fill your head with such fickle thoughts." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Is that understood?"

He wasn't one for affirmations but maybe- just maybe it was his attempt at comfort, you supposed. The previous losses must had him learning, the threads of condolence. Still, for you, they'd never mean anything less than empty words. The last thing you wanted was to be comforted by your tormentor. You'd rather step into hell willingly.

But you were living under his wing. You have to play according to his whims. You nodded. "Yes, my lord."

His hand left your face, dropping to his thigh. He looked at you, as if sizing you up. You had to keep yourself from making any unnecessary movements. Sukuna wanted you composed, whatever the situation. (Except the times when he bedded you, you were allowed to scream, cry and thrash around then. Cause you were trapped under his immense strength, struggles were futile).

After a while, he asked, "Any wishes?"

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyes flickering down then back to him. You let out a breath, before continuing. "May I visit the shrine... this evening?"

Silence.

You were contemplating whether you had offended him, somehow. Previously, he did allow for your little trips, you wondered if his patience was running thin cause of your repeated incapability of bearing him an heir. Maybe, you ran out of luck.

You were about to mutter an apology but then a smug grin spread across his lips, "Why so?" He asked.

"To-" You swallowed a lump, preparing to answer the practiced dialogue. "To offer prayers for–"

"Why grieve for someone who didn't even take form?" He cut you up, raising an eyebrow. For a tad moment, he sounded curious. It broke into a cruel chuckle, "You humans would make a funeral out of anything, yes?"

If you held an ounce of sympathy then you wouldn't question.

You wanted to say but you knew better. Besides, you still have to keep up the act of being his loyal wife. Heaving a out a deep breath, you replied, "I suppose." You paused, running the tip of your tongue over your lip.

"I'd pray that I can bear you an heir the next time, my lord."

Nay, more so: I'd pray that you receive your end soon, my lord.

Sukuna watched you. No, not look. He watched, like a predator. Then, his lips cracked into a sinister grin. "You've a way with your words, wife."

It caught you off guard. You raised an eyebrow, attempting to voice out your confusion. "What do-"

"I will accompany you."

.

"Sukuna sama, the herbalist you asked for, has arrived."

Sukuna spared a glance at Uraume, who knelt by his feet.

"Bring him."

As on cue, they rose up from their stance, pivoting around towards the door. It parted, two curses had a man in their grasp as he struggled to break free. His eyes widening with terror when it fell on the King, sitting atop his throne.

The man was pushed down to his knees, face meeting the floor in a loud slam. His scuffles were in vain against such power, he knew that. Still, in a situation of life and death, rationality takes it's leave.

Sukuna clicked his tongue in annoyance. All he wanted was some herbalist to answer the flurry of questions in his which had him restless for the past few days. Did this scum think he'd be killed? Maybe he would be, if he deems it necessary or he proves to be useless.

What had him restless was your miscarriages. Counting the most recent would make it a fourth. Where did he go wrong? You were kept in utmost luxury, no toils whatsoever. Still, what was wrong?

—》《—

"Perhaps, there's some faults in her highness."

"Keep your voice down, Mira. Someone may hear you."

"I am a lot quite... but tell me, don't you find it strange? How come she has lost all of her children?"

"I- I suppose. Perhaps, motherhood is not written in her fate."

"Or so, she's simply incapable."

—》《—

Safe to say, those were the last words they uttered before they were turned into a mash of flesh and blood.

Sliced into pieces that even trying to make a proper corpse out of the remnants weren't possible.

At times, Sukuna wished he held the power to bring back someone to life. Then maybe, he'd have given those servants a death, more worthy. Maybe, ripping out their limbs, piece by piece. First the bones would break, ripped from the ligaments, then it'd be the muscles; that was easy to just tear out. And after that happened, he could have just sewn up the blobs of flesh again and repeat the process until they learn their lesson or the life leaves them again.

He deduced the latter would be more probable. Still, it would be fine. They deserved that.

Speaking ill of you in his palace, in his vicinity, in his world was prohibited. A sin, in the words of humans. And a sin never goes unpunished.

You - his consort, his queen, you were heavenly. There isn't a fault in you, it's some external factor, must be. But he can't let go of his growing suspicion either.

Sukuna detested children, it was a known fact. Always ending their lives first, whenever he set foot in a village. They were of no use to him, unless they were served to him on his platter. He couldn't deny, their flesh was flavourful.

Even though, he held great disdain for them, he couldn't help but desire a kinship with you. With the price of letting go of your undivided attention? Hmm, doesn't sound too great. He assumed, he can hire a wet nurse just in case. Still, he desired to see you round with his child, feet swollen as you struggled to walk around. You do not have to worry, he, your husband would joyfully oblige in carrying you in his arms. You were more than perfect, he couldn't even imagine just how beautiful you'll look, during and after carrying your child.

It was destined. You'd extend his lineage or no one else.

You were flawless then why were you causing such errors? Contradicting. It was his question until he started to take a note in your behaviour, and he found–

Sukuna stood up from his throne, walking down the steps of bones, presumably of the ones he killed. They act as a pretty show piece, according to him.

The court resonated with his footsteps, each one carrying a promise of death. The man's struggles seized once he was harshly pulled up by his hair, his eyes met with Sukuna's.

"Yo-your high–ness," The man fumbled with his words, a spine chilling sensation going down his frame.

"Time's wasting," Sukuna said, his glare pointed. The fury evident, though his exterior was calm. "Comply if you don't wish death."

The man nodded frequently, his fingertips trembled with anticipation and horror. "Ye-yes, your highness. It's an honour to s-serve you." The man fell to his feet as he was dropped. Sukuna dismissed the extra company with a wave of his hand.

"Rise," He declared.

The man still on his knees, raises his head. "What can I- I do for you, your highness?"

—》《—

"May I make a request, my lord?"

Sukuna's eyes flickered to you, yours not meeting his. Knelt before him, you gracefully poured the sake in his ochoko.

"Speak."

He marked the squinting in your irises, fingertips trembled when you put the vessel down. Your shoulders rose and fell before you gazed at him, reluctantly. He couldn't help but find your antics inhumanely amusing. 

"Would you be kind enough... to bring me this-" You paused for a fleeting moment. "This herb called... aloe vera?"

—》《—

"Aloe vera," Sukuna tilted his head aside, the upper pair of arms crossed over his chest. "What use does it have?"

"We-well, my lord it's used for heal-healing purposes, burns, cuts, rashes... it heals injuries, yes." He answered, taking a gulp. There was other uses too yet his head was alike a blank canvas, before such a formidable strength. He wasn't even aware if it was satisfactory or why the King of Curses needed to know about such a measly plant. But if it meant he could see the sun for another day then he'll just give whatever he could offer. "I-It can also be used to– to make me-medicated food. N-not a delicacy... I might add."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, "That's it?"

"N-no, my lord. There- it can cure diges-"

"In pregnancy."

The man stiffened, his mouth parting a tad bit. A whisper leaving his lips, "Yo-your highness...?"

Pregnancy, menstruation, considered taboo. A matter regarding women, spoken in the inner chambers, the men should remain ignorant. A topic whispered in ears not spoken aloud in any hall, let alone the royal court. Certainly, Sukuna was aware of this societal construct, yet he didn't care. The society and its idiotic rules could go to hell. He just needed answers.

"Speak," Sukuna's voice was louder, deeper when the man before him fidgeted in his spot due to discomfort - on speaking such a topic.

"It-Its a... your highness, I d-don't think you-"

"Insolent bastard," His fumbling was interrupted by Sukuna. The warning evident in his profanity. His face grew darker, the four irises glowing with impending danger akin Satan himself. "If you so much as want to live, fucking speak."

The man's blood ran cold as on cue, face turning a shade paler as if winter had started to pool in. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes, "Forgive me, your highness! I will speak, I will- yes- aloe vera its-" He heaved out a deep breath, an attempt to slow down his beating heart. "Any fo-form of it is ill-suited during pregnancy... it can cause... cause pe-pelvic haemorrhage leading to... to  misc-"

"Miscarriage?"

"Yes, miscarriage... can lead to miscarriage, your highness."

A profound silence prevailed. Not a soul spoke neither was a footstep heard. Not a leaf rustled or the howling winds tapped on the window pane - assumed, mother nature had halted its elements from making any noise.

The stakes were high yet an flicker of courage alighted in the man as he raised his head up to glance at Sukuna, "My lor-"

The man's head tumbled down before he could even complete.

He couldn't scream, he couldn't beg, he couldn't apologize, he couldn't even blink. All he could do was watch. Watch as his beheaded body fell limp before his eyes. Watch as the blood poured out like waterfalls staining the carpet with its hues. The red marred bones protruded out amidst the flesh, globs of blood was gushing out of his severed voice box. His body jerked, the remnants of conscious nerves trying to survive.

It was a neat cut. A heavenly sight.

The world started to blur in. And before he knew it, the light was gone from his eyes.

Sukuna didn't even spare a glance as he marched out of his court.

Uraume approached the body, a few maids accompanying them. They casted a disapproving glare at the corpse.

"Not edible, dispose of it."

.

You didn't see or hear from Sukuna for a week.

He didn't visit your chambers at night neither was he present when you sat down for your meals. Even his energy was alike a hushed whisper which would remind you of his presence in the residence, but not reveal himself to you. For some reason, it had you in an unease.

No, you certainly did not miss his presence. But his absence just made the surroundings almost suffocating. There was the looming threat that something had happened or something were to happen. One worse than the other.

Silence was never uneventful.

Insinuating the courage, you had once inquired Uraume about his absence. Presenting a polite bow, they answered, "Sukuna sama doesn't want to be disturbed."

Disturbed... as if he wasn't the cause of all disturbances. A natural disaster in himself. You resisted the urge to scoff and uttered a meek line of gratitude before going about your day. (That extended with you strolling down the halls or garden or just be in your chambers and read the few books Sukuna had bought you).

On the very same day the dark commenced. While you were mesmerized by the fall of twilight over the garden, you heard his voice.

"Don't you love playing with poison, wife?"

The sudden question made you halt your steps, you weren't even aware that he was present–shielded his aura, presumably. You turned around, raising an eyebrow with bewilderment.

"Pardon, my lord?"

Sukuna snorted, walking up to you, a smirk played on his lips. You had to make the effort of tilting your head to gaze up at him. His towering figure loomed over you, his lower left hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"You love poisons, don't you? Or in your words herbs."

Your shoulders grew rigid, eyes widening with realization, a sharp breath hitting your throat. Your fingertips trembled with anticipation. You were sure to be discreet in your affairs, using the isolation he subjected you to at its best. Yet he knew. It was bad. Very much so. And what were to happen now? What would he do to you?

Another night of horror where your screams would be unheard, your resistance proved to be futile, where you'd be left to suffer alone, where another shard of your remaining soul would be plunged by him. Another night where you'd again play into his whims... Or something more vile, leaving you physically disabled? Perhaps, even death...

The foremost was the most heinous one. You silently prayed that he wouldn't resort to that. If you were to be subjected to his torment then you wished he'd just kill you, liberating you for once and for all. Even so, survival is what the mind wants. Piecing through any tactic just to live another day. The play for now should be denial.

Sukuna's affections for you worked as a double edged sword. You aimed to take advantage of it, in every way possible. You instilled a bit of courage, standing your ground, you spoke "I don't understand what you're trying to instigate, my lord."

He looked down on you, a coy smile uplifting his lips. He threaded his fingers through the knot of your kimono, leaning down next to your ear, he inhaled your scent. His lips brushing over your neck.

"I do not believe so, wife." He murmured, his warm breath hitting your skin, a range of goosebumps rising over your arm. "In fact, I think you clearly know, what I speak about."

Before you could let a word out, he straightened up, turning around, he pushed you to walk with him. His large hand still covering your back.

"Come, let me entertain you."

.

You were walking to the gallows.

Not literally, but you were sure your end was near.

The wooden floors creaked with footfalls. Each step heavier than the previous. You hesitantly glimpsed at Sukuna, his gaze was far ahead. Not a word left his mouth in this while. Only his hold remained firm. He pushed you forward every moment your step faltered.

Your breath hitched when you turned a corner - the right wing. A rule, you could say. Sukuna made it clear since the day he held you captive brought you home – never step a foot in the right wing. Despair drowned your curiosity that time, you didn't question, least bothered to. Even later, you didn't dare to defy him; courtesy to the pain you were subjected to once.

Still, you could make the wild guess of what happened in there. The muffled screams kept you awake at midnight, it was easy to put the puzzle pieces together. There he revelled with the sick pleasure of tormenting your kind.

He stopped before a pair of oak doors. That's when he glanced at you, for the first time in a long while. For a moment, he stared at you with an emotion you couldn't decipher. The next moment, he pulled out the Kanzashi from your hair, letting your strands tousle down.

You flinched, pushing away the curls which clouded your vision. Sukuna held the pin in his hand, holding your gaze. He was unmoving.

What happened to him?

"My lord," You called. "What are you-"

"Stay quiet," He handed you the kanzashi back, adjusting your hand to hold it as if it were a dagger. Turning to the door, he spared you a glance. "Don't speak a word." With that, the doors opened.

Dark.

It was dark save for the light of the lantern which illuminated the room. He shoved you forward, the door locking behind as he stood aside you.

"One bite."

Huh? Bite? What did he mean? You slightly turned your head towards him but you were stopped in your tracks. It wasn't only you and Sukuna in this room, seems you had a guest. More appropriate word? A Captive.

Your eyes were wide open. On the corner of the room, sat a young boy, not more than a adolescent - blindfolded. Restrained by chains, his wrists and ankles were cuffed with metal. A small whimper left his lips as he registered the presence of both of you.

You were about to speak but then his words rang in your mind.

Don't speak a word.

Sukuna gripped your wrist, leading you to the boy, "One bite, in the arm."

He wasn't talking to you. To the boy, he kept his eyes. You marked how the boy flinched. The metals clanking on contact.

He turned to you then, motioning to the pin in your hand then the boy's arm. Realization hit you. You tried to shake your head, refuse; but one glare of his and you were compelled. Reluctantly, you turned around, trudging to the boy.

Something was wrong.

You could feel it. Why... why would he want you to stab this poor boy? A picture of misery, he was. You noted he didn't have any sign of bruises in his body - peculiar. Yet, his fragile state was enough to give you a hint that he had been here for days. Perhaps, starved too. The tension was high and all you wanted was to leave this room, in an instant.

Fine, if Sukuna wanted you to just stab the boy. You'd do it. Missing the vital points which could end his life. One, he said. You'll miss the point and done. Its not upon you that you'd pierce the wrong place. His instructions weren't specific—that'd be your excuse.

He won't die. Not from your hands.

You gently held the boy's arm, angling the pointers on the muscles. You drove it in.

Miscalculation.

The boy's body instantly stiffened, a gut wrenching scream erupted from his mouth. He thrashed around, swinging his legs and arms, his body twitching violently.

You recoiled back soon, yanking out the pin, stepping away on instinct. You watched with terror.

Foam rose up the boy's mouth, his shrieks pierced your eardrums. The fluid dripped down his jaw, marring his clothes. He clutched the area where you stabbed him. Scratching at it with all his might. The sound of flesh ripping filled your ears as the boy ruthlessly, tore the muscles.

You were stunted. You couldn't speak or move. You weren't chained but you felt as if a thousand shackles bore you down.

The next seconds were a blur. The screams started to die down, his body losing it's color. Sooner than you could grasp, did the room turn silent again.

The boy was dead.

.

"Enjoyed the show, wife?"

You slapped your hand over your mouth, stumbling a few steps back. You couldn't tear your eyes off the young boy, bile rose up your throat as the room started to spin.

"Wh-what did you-"

No- you couldn't throw up, whatever second thought it was, it refrained you from crumbling to your knees and make a mess. Shivers went down your spine, you struggled to stand straight. The stench of the corpse and the expunging liquids started to fill your nostrils. You were almost on the verge to lose consciousness.

"What... did you do?"

Your eyes flickered to Sukuna. He stood tall, not a sign of emotion on his mien. You regret ever considering mirth to the worst feature on him, cause none was more terrifying.

And he was watching you.

It reminded you of the time, you first saw him -  covered with blood of the lives he had taken, down the river bank. Victim of naivety and ignorance, you didn't know any better than to not let him see you. Wandering towards the peculiar beast, even when a gut wrenching terror asked you to run; you were stubborn. You had asked - are you alright?

"What did you do?" You repeated again.

Tilting his head, he kept his unwavering gaze fixed on you. "As a matter of fact, I didn't do anything, wife." He paused, letting the horror shadow your features, "It was all you."

You needed to run.

The kanzashi– which was till then clasped in your hand firmly– fell down. A clank, you heard.

One step.

One step towards the door. He is standing afore you, the fingers of his upper right arm ran through your open hair, tangling in the roots, he yanked your head back.

"I don't remember, giving you the permission to leave."

Tears prickled your eyes as you tried to break free. Sukuna was having none of it. He dragged you by your hair towards the corpse of the boy. Your nails jabbed into his wrist while whimpers of anguish left your mouth.

Sukuna shoved you down to your knees, tugging your hair back - you were sure, they will be ripped off if he yanked with any more pressure - he made you glance at its face. He crouched beside you. With a flick of his finger, he ripped the blindfold out of the boy.

"Dare to shut your eyes."

Compliance had become second nature.

The body was rigid, skin turning blue. The veins on his arms were bulged out, his mouth wide open, filled with foam, trickling down his cheek, drying on it.

The sight caused you to gag.

Horrifying. His bloodshot eyes were wide open, protruding out of the sockets. Irises dilated in shape, which you considered humanly impossible. But what had your heart hammering in your chest wasn't the vivid details you saw on the corpse. It was the fact, that you recognized the boy. Son of that distant elder cousin, you'd seen once or twice in a year.

"Look at that, love." Sukuna cooed in your ear, forcing you to face the corpse.

You shook your head violently, nails dug into his wrist - desperate to escape. Your heart thumped inside your ribcage, you could hear it in your ears, your guts twisted in numerous ways as sweatbeads trailed down your forehead.

"You did that."

No. No, you didn't. You didn't do it. It wasn't you.

"You killed him."

No, you didn't... he didn't die because of you.

"Take a good look. See what you've done."

You vigorously shook your head. Denying all of his claims cause... cause they were... false, yes, false. They were false.

"No," You stated once you found your voice. "N-no, no... I- no."

Sukuna hummed, twisting a knot in your hair, "Yes, you. You did it."

No. You were innocent. You weren't to be blamed. It wasn't you.

It was... him.

"No, no, I didn't," You refused again, standing your ground. Moving your eyes towards him, you gritted your teeth. "No, I didn't do it. I didn't do anything. It was you."

"Really? How so?"

Fire burnt in your eyes. It was enough. He couldn't make you believe which you didn't commit - you didn't kill him.

"Poison," You said with conviction lacing your tone. "He was poisoned, a stab wouldn't procure such a reaction."

"Observant as ever," He mused, quirking up an eyebrow. A faint smile curled up on his lips. "Still, it doesn't gratify the fact that you were the one to end his life."

Blood boiled inside you, surging through your veins like lava. He had no right to accuse you of something. You didn't kill him, he couldn't make you believe it, whatsoever may happen.

"I may have stabbed him with the kanzashi, but that didn't have any trace of poison in it. I am-"

"Sure of it?"

You could only glare at him. He was toying with you. Tugging the strings of your conscience but you won't have any of it. "I am," You confirmed, staring at him without any falters. "I held it... you held it. If it was really drenched with toxicant as lethal as that, we- we both would be dead."

His grip loosened from your hair, hand falling down. The corners of his eyes crinkled, the smile turning into a smirk.

"It was you," You continued. "You did something to him at first and-"

Sukuna broke into a chortle of laughter. Far from jovial, more so sinister, filled with sheer malevolence. He gripped your jaw, pulling you closer to himself. His sharp canines glinted in the dim light.

"You just keep on fascinating me, wife."

Each second with him was revolting. Just his touch alone had your skin crawling. Yet, you couldn't let him know he has the upper hand.

"We had a pact," You stated firmly. His game was disgusting. What was he trying to do? What was his goal? "If I stay with you, you wouldn't lay a finger on my family, then- h-how could-"

"I would still stand on the ground, that I didn't do anything." He replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "It was all you, wife. I can assure you that I didn't go back in my words." His canines glinted while he smiled. "Not a flick of pain. Save for..." He paused, his eyes widening, the carmine irises glowed in the dark. "Save for telling him, he'd be killed by a snake bite."

"There was no venom on my pin."

"Know so," He confirmed, a playful smirk on his visage. You wished you could read minds, if possible only of him, that'd been enough. Then where did poison come from? You wanted to question but he beat you to it.

"His fear turned into poison."

You blinked. Once. Twice. You knew he had an urge to play mind games but this was ridiculous. You questioned, shell-shocked, "What?"

"He let his fear get the better of him, assuming your pin to be a snake. He believed it." He explained while you listened without so much as a word. "His conscience caused his body to give out the exact reactions, he imagined. A shock, you might say. That caused his death."

His game was disgusting. If he thought, he could just give you any excuse as this and let you believe his accusations then he was mad wrong. You gritted your teeth, yanking your face away from his grip. For a second, you saw all of his eyes opening wide with surprise. But that didn't extinguish the fire burning in you.

He reached out, dragging you towards him via the arm. A glare resting on his face. "What did I tell about refusi-"

"I don't believe you," You cut him off, hands clenched into fists. It was the first time in a long time, you lost your composure in front of him. No, you wouldn't play as his doll anymore. He broke his promise, its only fair that you do so. "I don't believe a single word you say. You- you did something, you must have. Fear, belief, whatever the fuck, something as trivial as that-"

"So you think fear is trivial, wife?" He sighed, his clutch in your arm remained firm. The rough callouses of his palm, rubbed over your skin. "And here I thought, you might be different than the rest. But you managed to drop below my expectations."

"Maybe that's what I love about you, darling." He continued.

Disgust arose in you yet again. Love. As if he had any of that. He wasn't capable of love. Not in this lifetime. Never. 

He spoke again, "Times you are the smartest I have seen, then you speak such blasphemy which would even embarrass the Gods you worship. Your silence was awarded by him leaning near your ear. He twisted a curl of your hair between his fingers. "Fear, wife..." He whispered to you. "Fear is a mind killer. It makes you believe anything. The small drop of poison which contaminates all the water."

"In the end, belief and fear are sides of the same coin," His top two eyes, flickered to the corpse of the boy. "I made him consume the poison of fear and you-" He turned to you again. "You made him believe it... so, in a way, yes. Yes, I did do something. Save for the part of ending his life. Though I didn't break my part of our pact." A smirk tugged on his lips. "You were the one who killed him. Isn't that great?"

Your breath hitched, throat gone dry. You gazed at him, eyes wide open. Your mind was a blank canvas.

Fear, poison, belief, killing...

He made you kill someone. An innocent boy who didn't even do anything.

Why won't he much rather just end your life?

Sukuna pulled away from you, standing up, he walked over to the lantern placed in the room. The stench of the rotting corpse had long ago started to pool in.

"You made me kill him." You whispered, still knelt, staring at the floor. When greeted with silence, you questioned again, a tone higher, "You made me kill him."

"And?"

His nonchalance had always been infuriating to you.

You could feel him standing a few steps behind you. "If you really wanted to kill my kin, you should've just told me. Getting your herbs was a tiring chore." You didn't miss the emphasis he put on, herbs. The roll of his eyes while speaking floated before your eyes even though you couldn't see him; the expression must had turned to a smirk later. "However, the taste of taking a life– isn't it delicious, wife?"

Guilt gnawed at you, tearing you internally. Your shoulders trembled as you let out ragged breaths, eyes fixed on the bloodied arm of the boy. The same arm where the kanzashi pierced, the muscles torn apart, blood drying on it due to the boy's onslaught. Nausea overrode your senses, bile rose up your throat and the next moment you were throwing up. The wastes ran down your mouth, your nails dug into the wooded boards – bruising your fingertips and chipping the nails. You didn't realize Sukuna stepping up to your side, pulling your hair back while you were caught into the ordeal.

A disapproving grunt left his mouth after you were finished, yanking you up with your wrist. He pulled you towards the door. "Com-"

"No." Your heels remained firm on the ground. You refused him before you could even think. He turned towards you slightly, a scowl resting on his features before he pivoted around. He cast a glare upon you but before he could speak, your mouth opened again.

"You're even lower than scum." Your jaw ticked, hands clenching into fists. "You made me kill an innocent boy. Someone who might have done nothing to you, You– You disgust me, Sukuna."

Done you were with the respect, he demanded. If that angered him, made him want to rip out your heart and watch the life drain from your eyes. He was most welcome.

But it looks like, he wasn't resorting to any of that.

"You made me a murderer." You urged, staying strong in your stance. "You turned me into you."

His eyebrow twitched, a wave of mirth washed over him. "You were always like me, wife."

"I am nothing-"

"You are. You are like me. You are no saint, as you think so of yourself. " He said, leaving no room for argument. His lips pressed tight into a thin line. 

Yet, you refused to believe that. You were nothing like him. Couldn't even dream so. You were not him.

"You kill children in your womb, I kill them after they're born. How is it so different?"

"It is different." You yelled, your jaw clenched, teeth baring out. "This world needs no more of your lineage, it needs no more of you." You jabbed your pointer finger on his chest, tears pooling into your eyes. You refused to shed them. "You kill for your own sake, I do not."

"Then who do you kill for?"

"For everyone." The faint snort of his reached your ears. You couldn't decipher what he found so delightful in this.

"Playing God, are we?" He mocked causing your vexation to rise.

"Maybe I am. For the least, I am not killing innocent people like you."

From where such defiance arose, you weren't sure of. Perhaps, all the frustration, fright, terror which accumulated till now had reached its limit. Moreover, Sukuna's provocation must be the fuel to the fire.

You might be left bleeding– No, you would be left bleeding. You welcomed it with open arms.

.

"Careful," Sukuna pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. "All Gods aren't worshipped."

He was enjoying himself. In all honesty, your obedience was getting too monotonous. This was better. Your defiance was amusing. Arousing, if there's to add. If he knew, letting you end a few lives would have this effect then he would have resorted to this long ago.

"Better than you." You shoved his hand away, "You are nothing more than a wretched, two-faced curse destroying all of our lives."

He noted your scowl, the way your lips were shut tight, your eyebrows crinkled together. Reasons evident, all he desired was to pull you into his arms smash his lips against yours. Taste the very essence of your being. Consume you wholly, just the way you are. So that in the end, your name, your taste, your scent would be engraved in his very soul. Without your mention, he wouldn't be complete. 

But he refrained from giving in now. His desire extended to a far more sinister route. "I wonder..."

What would it be like to break your conviction? What would it be like to break you?

Oh, he knew.

Would it be right moment to let you know? Maybe he should wait for another, more appropriate time.

Hmm, perhaps he should. But no.

He let you play these games for too long. Tired of this game plan, he was. Maybe, you would just come to your senses if he let you know. So he let the words, flow out:

"I wonder, why this curse keeps protecting your pathetic life from people who would cross rivers to lay siege to your life?"

Worth everything.

Sukuna watched as your face lost its color. The previous boldness you presented him with was replaced by a mask of confusion and. Such a pretty sight, it was. To see you, falter from your stand. Second guess, yourself, be in denial then rage consumes you. And you look at him, like he was the forbearer of your misery. (He is).

Oh, how good he has you memorized.

Even the littlest of reactions you contort on your mien, on your mannerisms; everything has him intrigued. You have him intoxicated.

"You know the ones, the people... your people, for whom you play this God."

Sukuna wished he could capture this moment. He'd have the chance to take a glimpse of it again, whenever he wished to. The horrified look on your face as the weight of his words started to sink in.

Would you still look like this if he tells you the terror he bestowed on them who tried to steal you away from him? What would you say if he vividly describes each imagery of how he slowly, agonizingly burnt them, severed them and tormented them? Leaving them nothing but fragments beyond recognition.

You were his. All of you belonged to him. Without his sanction, no one could even see you, let alone touch you. Ah- just how many sorcerers perished from his hands, the number of villages, bathed in blood; save for yours. (Courtesy to that stupid pact, he forged with you)

Something had told him, that there'd be a better time to put an end to the pitiful lives of your kin.

"Can't speak? What caused so, darling?" His tone was laced with smugness, a twisted joy elicited in him. "Fearful that your play amounted to nothing?"

Your jaw ticked with anger. You were furious. "I don't believe you. You are lying."

Your trust on humans was commendable, he'd give you that. However, there's stark contrast between faith and blind belief. You were inclining towards the latter.

So, what do they do when words fail to convey message? Oh right, you give them a prime example.

"Let me just show it to you then, wife."

It was a gamble, he was willing to make. To keep you with him, forever, as he wanted - he needed you to know that no place other than his arms would be as comforting. Even if that meant breaking your very soul, so be it.

.

You were home.

One moment, Sukuna held your gaze. The next, you are standing before your hearth.

Toes dipping into the familiar black soil, the land where you ran and played during your childhood. Your familial home stood steps away from you. Still looked the same except the visible cracks on the wall, a layer of dust on top of the door and the woods looked worn out. However, what caught your eyes weren't the flaws of your home but the familiar older woman walking into your home.

"Mother…"

She stilled all of a sudden, rotating on her heels, her eyes landed on you. Shell shocked, that's what she was with the widened eyes and parted lips. A small smile curved up on your lips, she still looked the same except the few grey hairs and wrinkles aside her eyes.

"Mother," You called again, taking a step towards her. "I am back."

Sooner than you expected, her eyebrows scrunched up, mouth curving down when she finally registered your presence. You weren't some illusion or her mind playing tricks. "What are you here for?"

The disdainful tone caused you to flinch. You didn't expect this. Returning home, you dreamt of it to be filled with tears of joy and warm embraces. Not this… whatever, she was presenting you with. But- But its fine, you have returned after a two whole years. She must have been worried. The reason of her apprehension. God, you had a lot making up to do.

"Well, you know," You chuckled lightly, scratching the back of your neck. "Back… just back. I have returned."

"Found your way after two years?" She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at you with a look you didn't want to recognize.

You nodded, "Yes. How could I forget my way? Our address, its-"

You were interrupted when your name was spit out from her mouth. Her glare on you was palpable, "I know what it is. What are you here for?"

Her fury even made your skin crawl with fear. You were often on the receiving end of her glare when you were a child, given by your tendencies to run around and cause trouble for others. Yet, those glares, were none like this. This- this- you didn't want to name what it was.

"You are angry," You don't know if its directed towards your mother or yourself as you hold onto the last bit of fragments that not all is lost. "I get it, I really do." You stood on your toes, attempting to look behind her, into your house. "Where's father? Tell him, I am-"

"No more."

As if the air was knocked out of your lungs.

"What?" Your neck craned towards her so fast, it might have left a sprain. Yet, that was the least of your concern. "What do you mean by no more?"

"No more means no more." Your mother's sigh fell heavy on the air, words carried the weight of the world. Laid with pain underneath.

"How- when? Wha-what happened?" You couldn't wrap your mind around the new discovery. No one told you such. Who could've guessed? Such an ordeal to occur in your absence. And what might she be going through, without you. You didn't even get the chance to talk to him, one last time.

"A year ago," She confessed, her voice conveyed her lament and sorrow. Her words felt like a hammered blow on the fragile façade of hope, you had intricately crafted for yourself. However, she wasn't done. Her eyes held scorn, lips curled up to a sneer. "Aren't you satisfied? You finally made your mark. Must tell you," Her voice, once filled with love held nothing save for contempt, directed at you. "Good game, you played, dear." She spit the endearment as if, it were poison.

"No, I- I never wanted any of this. What are you even talking about?" A trembling footfall towards her, you whispered, "M-mother-"

"Don't you dare call me that."

The weight of her judgement felt heavy on you, pressing down, suffocating you alike chains.

"You are no daughter of mine."

You weren't aware since when the tears had sprang up your eyes, breaking the barricades, they shed down. Your throat burnt as you struggled to even breathe, clutching your chest - a searing pain shooting in your heart. Your heart was shattering from the ultimate rejection from your own flesh and blood.

"While you're at it, know this." Your mother continued.

The next words were like a blow to the gut, each syllable lined with the weight of revelations. Ones that hung in the air like a funeral shroud.

"In his last moments, his only regret was bringing a daughter like you in this world."

.

This night just doesn't seem to end, does it?

You were left as a hollow shell. Tethering the steps away from the home you were no more welcomed. Exhaustion reigned heavy on you. Physically and mentally.

Where were you going? You didn't know. Just where your feet would take you, there would you go. Perhaps, you can return to Sukuna. Would he take you back? Most probably not. Considering, your earlier outburst, adding to the fact that you refused to give him what you want; he might just discard you as you proved to be useless.

Funny. It was so damn funny. Once, you wished to escape from his hands whatsoever the price yet now… now you considered returning to him.

You could hear him calling you pathetic. Disgusting. More disgusting, that you agreed with him.

You were truly pathetic.

But before you could spiral down the void of self-hatred, a voice- nah, multiple voices startled you.

"There she is, parading around some meek, innocent girl." A scoff is added. "You are far from it."

"The nerve of you to just walk back into our lives after you betrayed us."

Your neck cranes to your left, an old man - the village elder with a few other men and women following behind; they approached you. "Excuse me?"

"Who do you think you are?" A woman's cry reached your ears. "Returning after you turned your back on us."

You flinched at the accusation thrown. What could be possibly be instigating? To all your knowledge, you were walking in this- in your village after two long years. Anger, disdain and accusatory glares clouded their features. If your mother's insults weren't enough to pierce through your heart then it certainly did now, with all the people, you once called your own to look at you like you were the monster.

You summoned the least bit of courage you had, squared your shoulders and started, "I'd have you know-"

"Traitors don't get to speak." At the center of the crowd was the village elder. He was the pillars of your hamlet, revered for his wisdom and guidance, but now he looked akin a judge ready to deliver his sentence upon you. A sentence which would push you more into this conundrum. "You've been cavorting to that monster. Disgusting."

"I am no traitor." You retorted soon. "You can't accuse me of such when you don't ev-"

"Save it for someone who would care, whore."

The curse had your mouth parted in disbelief, horror etched upon your mien. Sooner than you could compose yourself, did whispers of agreement rippled through the crowd which branded you as a traitor.

"You are just as twisted as him."

"Get out of here if you so much as hold your life dear."

"Don't play as the innocent bitch, now."

The accusation hung in the air like a dark cloud, poisoning the atmosphere with its venomous hatred. Your breath was caught in your throat as you searched desperately for words to defend yourself; the crowd's hostility rendered you speechless. But amidst the cacophony of condemnation, one voice stood out above the rest.

I wonder, why this curse keeps protecting your pathetic life from people who would cross rivers to lay down yours?

Really? Were you really recalling his words now? Now of all times… You truly were pathetic.

For one moment, You just stayed silent - letting their accusations bore you down. Somewhere you wished all of it were just a nightmare. You'll soon wake up on your bed beside Sukun- fuck! Since when did you start to expect to wake up with him? He- He was toying with your mind. This was the only result. But the fact that this was your thought process had you recoil back.

The next moment, everything made sense.

These accusations were stemmed from the fact that you- you were proclaimed to be the wife of the King of curses. Your unwillingness to return, given for the pact you forged with Sukuna, was taken as your cue that you betrayed your family, your home, your people.

Your family despised you. Your people despised you. The very same people you chose to protect were turning their back on you.

Did they truly try to lay down your life?

Amidst your plight, you didn't register when the village elder marched up to you. "Didn't you hea-" His trial at speech was cut off. Nay, his lifeline was cut off. (Humorous, isn't it?)

Numerous red lines appeared on his body before it burst off into a globs of flesh and blood. Blood which splashed onto you, marring your visage and attire with its hues.

He was here. You knew it. You could feel it.

For some reason, it filled you with a sense of relief.

However, your people were on the other end of the rope. The eyes which afore held hatred and disgust, they were now filled with horror and fright. In this reverie as the villagers started to flee, a torch tumbled on the ground - lighting the grass on fire. The winds showed no mercy, as the howls increased, so did the flames.

Provoking him was never the right move.

You were digging your own grave.

So you shouldn't have been surprised that your wish would be granted. Yet, if you could have one wish then you'd wish for freedom but no- freedom was a forfeited dream, far beyond your reach. Consideration of that one would never be fruitful. You are trapped even in your dreams.

Playing with fire only gets you burnt.

For long, you played this game and this- this was your compensation. For everything you had done until now, all you are returned with was abandonment. Not that supposedly, betrayal, yes. More appropriate.

Flames surrounded you, crawling up your skin, the screams piercing your ears, your chest heaved up and down. Gaze, once settled on your hearth, now all you saw were the burning huts, the crackling of embers reached your ears. Attire and hands stained with blood of the insolent.

No one touches what's mine.

The warning shouldn't have been taken lightly. Should have known, the extent of his power.

Eyes held terror, fright, regret- whatever you could name. The multitude of names you received seemed no more than a distant dream, nowhere to be found. All were running away - expectable.

You expected calamity, but you were calm.

The sparks danced over your irises as everything went down in the crimson hues. Save for you, you weren't burning. Not an spark touched your skin. Was it the distance or the control? Who knows. But one confirmation which you held was that - tonight you won't die. Not so soon either.

Careful, not all Gods are worshipped.

The words rang in your ears and as if on cue, you found him again. In this trance of insanity, only one thing held your sight when you attempted to turn - The eyes tinted with crimson.

All of a sudden, something burnt inside you too.

Unbridled rage consumed you. Your chest heaved up and down as ragged breath left your mouth. Their words came back to you, ringing in your ears as if you were pushed into a void.

Who do you think you are? Returning after you turned your back on us.

Would this bitch even be alive if you prioritized yourself?

Don't play as the innocent bitch, now.

Is that the thanks you get for trying to protect them?

Traitors don't get to talk.

Traitor… fine, you'd be the traitor.

With caution you took one step towards him. No reaction. Your chance - you took another. Then another and another. You stood before him, with nothing save for a void etching your features. Amusement flickered over him, the corner of his lip curled up.

"Saw it for yourself wife?"

Seemed like silence was your go-to response lately. From your peripheral, you saw the burning houses, the distant screams reached you. For some reason, the screams were almost soothing. You revelled in this. Their gut wrenching shrieks were like a balm to your essence.

Their predicament was your solace.

Sounded like someone you knew. Someone who had warned you about them but you chose to remain ignorant. Sickening… were you becoming like him?

You were always like me, wife.

You could laugh. Maybe you were like him.

"Let's forge another pact?" You offered, keeping your eyes pinned on him.

"A pact?"

"A pact."

A smirk curved up his lips, the upper pair of arms crossed over his chest, "Humour me, love."

The smirk wasn't directly for you. But he did. So you returned it back. One with an equal malicious intent. Cause in that moment, no second thoughts, no doubts clouded your mind. And so, you uttered the blasphemy:

"You kill them all, each and everyone. In return, I will stay with you, give you an heir. Whatever you want from me."

.

A year later

Screams died down after a gruelling ten hours.

"Good news, Sukuna sama. It's a boy."

A/N: Honestly, I was almost done with this fic, long ago but while writing the climax, I kept chickening out with all the self-doubts but then I just wrote what I wanted. I do understand if the ending is not up to your liking and I sincerely apologize for it.

However, thanks for reading up till the end. I enjoyed writing this a lot. Some feedback is appreciated <3