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cowboygenesis · 5 months ago

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18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

pairing: astarion ancunin x afab!bard!reader tags: 18+, smut, fluff, switch dynamics, m/f, fingering, unprotected sex, resolved tension, playfighting, sex after training session. word count: 7.8k notes: this fic was SO fun to write even if im a gale girlie myself. this is my first attempt at writing ANY bg3 character, so i really hope i did okay. if not, let me know! comments help me improve my writing (and warm my heart, seriously, thanks to anyone taking the time out of their day to comment). anyways gang, no beta as ALWAYS, you know how we roll. ENJOY! masterlist.

It still made little sense to you.

You had honed your skills at the most prestigious music schools in Faerûn for years, pouring your heart into every note, every chord, only to find yourself shamelessly ridiculed for an entirely different kind of performance. And by a man you’d grown to like, no less.

"Get up, darling," Astarion’s voice drips with amusement, the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips with infuriating smugness. His crimson eyes watch you with a predatory glint, locking onto your vulnerable form sprawled in the dirt—a definitive result of his frustratingly agile moves.

You groan lowly, propping yourself up on bruised elbows, wincing as a dull ache pulses through your body. A stray lock of hair falls in front of your face, and you blow it away in frustration.

"I’m starting to think this isn’t educational at all." You glare at him with all the venom you can muster, eyebrows furrowed as his arms cross.

Your eyes absentmindedly scan down his body, taking note of his slightly disheveled shirt and tousled hair. He looks… good. Beautiful, even. Basking in the soft moonlight seeping through the vast greenery above, he stands there like he’s in his element.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by your vapid tone. "Oh, but it is, my dear. Think of it as a new, humbling experience. Valuable in its own right."

You bite back a retort as he offers you a hand, his expression making your eye twitch. You never thought you’d fall for arrogance, yet ironically it’s your own conceit that might have brewed your upcoming downfall.

After a particularly boisterous night of drinking in camp—brought on by the recent victory over a pack of gnolls—you foolishly accepted Astarion’s challenge to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Your alcohol-addled brain had been more confident than your body, and now, after a series of harsh jabs and sidesteps, you were being taught the harsh reality of “real” combat.

Defeated, you eventually obliged a quick lesson from the master himself, which he had (admittedly suspiciously) made you take after losing your bet.

At the very least, the bruising would rid you of your lingering hangover once you were done taking the thrashing. Plus, you hoped it would bring you two closer. Figuratively and physically.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your hesitation. "Come now, my dear, don’t be so stubborn. You seemed so eager at first,"

"You told me you’d teach me to fight, not fall on my damn face," you lament, but begrudgingly accept his help, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

His grip is firm, and the coolness of his skin sends a small jolt of electricity down your spine. You had often imagined what holding his hand would feel like during the colder nights alone in your tent, and while the circumstances ended up being less than ideal, it was good enough for you. For now.

You rub at your sore arm with a frown and catch that Astarion, unmistakably, stands completely unscathed, his pale complexion almost glowing in the ambient light.

"I’m thinking…” he muses, glancing at the weathered lyre resting peacefully by the roots of a tree. His lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the teasing jab sting your pride. “Perhaps you’re better suited to the more... delicate aspects of life,"

Your jaw clenches. While bards famously went underestimated— a fact you were reminded of frequently— it hurt more coming from someone you so badly wanted to fuck.

"Oh, I don’t know," you say with a saccharine tone, brushing the residual dirt from your pants; your favorite pair, yet you’d probably end up having to toss them out after your poor performance today. "I think a harp string could make a fine garrote in the right hands."

Astarion’s laughter rings out clearly, and your heart skips a beat unbeknownst to you. "Dully noted. Fortunately for the both of us, we’re stripped of any weaponry in our current pinnacle."

Your eyes roll, running a hand through your disheveled, sweat-slick hair and adjusting your posture to the one he had taught you: one foot forward, back straight.

"Again," you demand, squaring your shoulders. If he wanted to mock you, fine— but you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight.

Astarion’s eyes widen, but his smirk never falters. He sighs in faux exasperation but quickly matches your posture. "So eager to be tossed into the dirt again, darling."

Your face flashes with heat at his painfully languid remark, your mind going places it probably shouldn’t. You knew the pet names were simply an inherent part of his vocabulary and that he used them generously, with everyone, yet a part of you liked to imagine they were reserved for you, and you only.

“Try me again,” you reply curtly, lowering your gaze as you feel the tension sprawling through your aching body.

He shoots you an arrogant smirk, his gaze penetrating your soul with an intensity you didn’t think possible. He bares his fangs, licking over his bottom lip lazily. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion approaches, but this time, you’re ready. As he moves to close the distance, you anticipate the first jab, ducking low before he can catch you off-guard. You dart to the side, aiming a swift thrust toward his midsection. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but it seems to work.

Your fist connects with his toned stomach. He topples off-balance, but only for a fleeting second. His reflexes are too sharp, too honed through his century-long life for you to overcome with your pitiful attempt.

He catches himself with a graceful pivot, turning the stumble into a curt spin that has him facing you once more.

"Fast learner, are we?" he muses, watching you closely through his fists. "I might actually have to try now."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shoot back, heart racing. At that moment, you recognize you can’t win. Not this time, probably not the next. But you don’t want to forfeit, even if it means enduring a day or two of terrible muscle soreness.

Every sidestep, every deflected blow, brings you closer, the air between you growing heavy with static. You aren’t sure if it’s the heat of the fight or the dangerous proximity, but you can feel it—an irresistible, undeniable pull.

"Careful now," Astarion purrs as you barely miss his face with a rugged swing. He catches your wrist, holding it tight as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear. "You wouldn’t want to harm me, would you?"

You swallow hard, your body tensing under his tight grip. The closeness is intoxicating, but you force yourself to stay focused, pushing back against the growing heat in your chest.

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

For a moment, neither of you move. The world seems to narrow, the charged atmosphere thick with tacit suspense. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, senses sharp, attuned to every breath he takes as they intermingle with yours.

"Darling," a dramatic pout creeps onto his lips, only to be replaced by a sly grin seconds later. You feel his grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to slip free. It’s a calculated move, once he grants you himself. "You wound me with your words."

You take a step back, breathless. This isn’t over, not by a long shot, yet your muscles fight against that thought. They scream at you with pain, worn and stretched by what feels like hours of sparring.

“Sounds like you’re the one trying to wound me,” you taunt, shooting him a lowered gaze. “Why’d you take me out here? Trying to make your next kill less obvious?”

The vampire had insisted you two train away from the bustle of camp, even if it meant missing out on tonight’s feast. While the rest of your companions enjoyed the finest ale Baldur’s Gate could offer, you were stuck trying to prove something to your crush.

Astarion's grin widens, his eyes flashing with amusement as he takes a slow, calculated step forward. “Now, now,” he purrs, voice dripping with mock innocence. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming— no need for childish theatrics.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight tremble in your legs from the strain of the sparring—or maybe it’s from something else entirely, you can’t be sure. You know he’s dangerous, that this game you’ve been playing with him has always had its sharp edges. But there’s something about that edge, about the way he dances so easily between teasing and threatening, that weakens your knees and makes you breathless every damn time.

"Then why are we here?" you challenge, taking a step back to match his forward one. Your voice is steady, but your pulse is hammering in your throat. The woods feel like a world apart from camp, the sounds of chatter distant as you sit in your isolated little bubble of the world. “It’s a little… intimate, don’t you think?”

Astarion tilts his head, studying you with a curious twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That sharp tongue again,” he says quietly, “Do you truly believe I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you out here just to end you? If I wanted your death, I’d make it enjoyable for both of us.”

Your breath catches at his words. His words drip with venom, but somewhere deep down, in the depths of his blackened heart, you swear you feel an instance of temptation.

“What’s the game then?” you ask, holding his gaze despite the anxiety twisting in your chest. “Because by the Gods, I know you love those.”

Astarion’s smirk softens, but the intensity in his eyes never falters. He steps closer again, until there’s barely any space between you, his presence intoxicating. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re capable of,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d let me push you before you push back.”

His hand hovers near yours, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, but he doesn’t make full contact.

“And maybe,” he continues, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your cheek, “I’m curious what could happen once we both stop playing.”

Your heart is racing now, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the sparring or the charged air between you that’s making your head spin a hundred miles an hour.

“You’ll never know,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Because I’m not backing down from this.”

His grin widens at your rebellion, and with a swift, fluid motion, the man’s playful smirk turns into a vicious one. Before you can react, he spins you around, movements smooth and practiced, making you lose your balance.

Your back hits his chest, and within seconds he wraps one arm around your neck in a tight headlock— his grip is firm, but not painful. Your mind strays to his other arm, feeling it press against your waist to keep you securely against him.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he purrs into your ear, his breath warm against your sweat-slick skin.

You struggle against his hold, trying to twist free, but his grip is relentless. “Fuck you,” you manage to scowl, though the words are strained by the pressure on your throat.

Astarion chuckles softly, and you feel it reverberate through your body. “Oh, she bites back,” he teases, his voice a dark, seductive buzz. “Are you taunting me, darling?”

You try to shift your weight, to find a way out of the headlock, but his grip doesn’t waver. “You’re projecting,” you growl breathlessly.

“And you’re persistent,” he replies, “Suits you well.”

You feel a warmth spread through your belly, tickling your nerve endings and making your thighs squeeze. You thank the Gods he can’t see your flustered face right now.

And suddenly, he releases. Not fully, but his grip weakens enough to allow you a moment to slip out again, stumbling over your own feet as you face him.

“Here’s your second freebie,” he chuckles, getting into position again. “Careful, next one might come at a price.”

“Like I need a third one,”

You recalibrate, then in the spur of the moment, pounce. Your arms extend as they barrel toward him. His eyes widen, but he manages to catch them mid-air; his hands clasping into yours and pushing against you.

“Fair strategy,” he commends, and you sense it might at least be partially earnest. “Desperate, but fair.”

You strain against him, breath hitching when he periodically pushes back. Whenever he does, you feel his gaze boring into you with a crazed intensity.

Then, you try not to think about the fact your digits fit together really damn well— and fail. Take what you can get, right?

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he sneers, slender fingers tightening around your palm. He leans in, your chests threatening to collide. “Getting distracted?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in with your full body weight, but he barely budges. “You wish,” you shoot back breathlessly.

“I feel it,” he corrects in a whisper, leaning in just enough that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. “It’s in your eyes. You’re not even thinking about our little lesson anymore, are you?”

Your breath hitches at his words, the undoubted truth in them cutting through the haze in your mind. He’s right. The bet, your lesson —somewhere along the lines, your sparring posture went lax. All that matters to you now is the palpable closeness, your hands in his, and his hot, idle breath on your neck. Your throat threatens to cast a strained groan, but you withhold.

“I—” you start to protest, but your voice falters. His chest is now pressed flush against yours, pushing you forward.

“Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive. “And I’ll let you win.”

Your hands tremble in the small space they lock with his, the smoldering red of his gaze telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing—how his actions leave you a mess in body and soul.

“I won’t, I— I can’t,” you manage to stutter, but the words sound weak and unconvincing even to your own weary ears.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through you like a slow current. “Liar,” he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly fangs in your hazed peripherals. “Not a good one, either. Another thing I should school you on.”

Your eyes roll, but the implication accelerates the growing tension within your guts. “Just how generous you are.”

His head tilts gradually, and you go pale as you catch his tongue running along the length of his bottom lip.

“No, darling,” he purrs, “I haven’t shown you generous just yet.”

And then, you catch his eyes darkening. There’s a certain mania to them when they widen, pupils blown out like a cat’s when he suddenly pushes firmly against you. Your feet stumble backward, staring into him as a wild grin plasters on his face.

You yelp when you lose balance, lips ajar and eyes closed shut as you feel your back crash into something soft, or at least, soft enough to leave you un-bruised.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s on top of you. You study his broad shoulders, the pale neck between them, and finally let your half-lidded gazes connect in a silent, tension-filled juncture.

The ambiance of dusk quiets down to a soft murmur, crickets chirping in the distance as his strong body hovers inches above you, hands placed firmly around your wrists to successfully lock you in place.

“Seems to me you’ve lost our little bet,” he purrs out, and your breath hitches as one of his legs slides between yours, slowly inching to put a distance between your knees.

All you can do is stare up at him hungrily, desperately, drinking in his weathered features and pray he’d let you run your fingers through his flaxen locks at some point in the night.

“No clever retort? That’s not the little bard I know and love,” he teases, and your hips almost buck into him at that one word. You know he doesn’t mean it, yet your teeth still clench when your body jolts in response to his familiar lilt.

“You’re playing dirty,” you finally breathe out, cringing at how strained your voice sounds as you lie under his weight.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” he retorts, his crimson gaze boring into you before gradually disappearing into your neck.

His lips hover over your skin, hot breath tickling the soft spot near your pulse point as you gasp quietly. You feel him hesitate, arms tensing and releasing over your own as if soaked in apprehension. You strain your muscles, eyes shutting in preparation for the inevitable, sharp bite coming onto your poor vein. Gods, was this his plan all along?

But then, you feel the grip on your wrists loosen.

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly catch the tousled white locks in your neck as the vampire looms over you.

“Here’s your chance to run,” he hitches, and somehow he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You lie on the blanket of moss, chest heaving and gaze tracing languidly over the treeline as you feel your body go limp. He’s giving you one last opt-out before… before something happens, be it a bloody massacre or... Or?

Your mind shrieks at you: take advantage, prove yourself on top in this stupid bet— but the little voice in your heart urges you to stay under his firm body; find out if your instincts rang true after all.

You stay. Not only that, but you let your hands slip out of his, one of them snaking down his shoulder while the other runs through his waves. They’re silky, and soft, and when you catch a whiff of rosemary in the air, your grip tightens.

“Astarion,” you whisper, voice surprisingly steady as your heart beats a constant rhythm into the space between you.

His body jerks abruptly, albeit subtly, and you feel him smirking— smiling— into the soft flesh of your neck. “So I was right, after all.”

His face withdraws from you slightly, the residual condensation of his warm breath leaving you shivering. You catch his gaze, half-lidded and scanning your expression with apt concentration.

“Feisty, spirited little thing,” he continues, inching towards you again.

Your stiff body jerks, grazing against him as your shaky hand snakes to his cheek. You cradle it gently but with urgency, and there’s a beat of silence before you finally understand what to do.

You inhale softly, catch his questioning gaze, and crash your lips onto his.

He groans softly when you meet in the middle, lowering himself with his arms. Your chest thrums with the beat of your heart, shooting waves of dopamine down your worn spine.

When you feel his nimble hand on your jaw, your lips part with a sigh. He matches your buzz with his own self-satisfied murmur, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You smile. He’s sweet and bitter, and you whine gently into the kiss when you recognize brandy on his tongue.

This is what you’ve been waiting for all these lonesome months.

The culmination dawns on you like a powerful current, making your eyes squeeze and your hands tremble in his waves.

He seems to notice your tremor, but instead of slowing down or (Gods forbid) stopping, he dives deeper. You moan into his mouth as he wriggles a hand around your waist, holding you close to his hips and suddenly, you feel a steady pressure grinding into your crotch.

The movement is slow, precise, practiced. His hips buff into yours in a controlled rhythm, making you sense his already taut erection through the thick material of his linen pants.

“Do you get it now, darling?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to stare lazily into your glassy eyes. “Look what you do to me.”

His hand snakes to your blouse, and before you can register what’s happening, you hear three ivory buttons pop off followed by the cool, evening breeze tickling your heated skin. You don’t need to open your eyes to know your nipples are standing taut in the chilly air, yet the image makes you redden.

“How— how unceremonious,” you croak out, moaning softly when his large hand begins palming at your right breast.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze at your erect nipple, toying with it in smooth, tactile movements and relishing the way his name sounds coming out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Mm, forgive me,” he chuckles darkly, planting a quick, ardent kiss on your lips before lowering his face to your chest. His tongue licks a slow, tender strip up your sternum before he looks up to smile at you; it’s a genuine look of satisfaction, untouched by the plague that is his faux arrogance. “I’ll make sure to be good next time.”

’Next time?’

You look at him lazily, gaze puzzled and lips ajar to ask but he doesn’t even offer you the chance. His hand dips from your tits to the band of your pants, sliding underneath it with his finger, the coolness of his skin making you gasp.

His mouth assaults your other nipple with sucks, nibbles, and gentle bites, making you mewl under him as his hand continues to travel down the soft flesh of your thigh. He rubs it gently, lovingly, starting under your hip and slowly stroking his way toward the inner region, where you’re most sensitive.

“Divine,” he mumbles against your chest, pressing a kiss to your rib. “So divine.”

His free palm moves to your exposed belly, massaging it gently. You sigh at the slow, consistent pressure, moving your trembling hand to the back of his neck.

When your one eye pops open in curiosity, you see him snug against your body, face contorted with empathic fixation as he labors down your body. It’s intimate, yes, but also… loving. His tongue is warm against your breast, and his palms caress your skin with slow, delicate strokes; the same hands you’ve seen wield blood-soaked daggers and longbows.

He runs two digits along the stretchy fabric of your bottoms, lip caught between his teeth. He catches you staring and smirks up at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he husks out, and you’re desperate enough to nod wordlessly.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, hand smoothing down the waistband of your panties that peers from behind your bottoms. Not even your cutest pair, but oh well. He doesn’t even seem to notice, as his digits play with the elastic.

You’re already so exposed, but nothing can prepare you for what he does next.

With a few more kisses to your breasts, he tugs at the two waistbands, pulling down your pants and panties in one go.

The material slides off your legs and you hiss out, feeling the coolness caress your slick core. Your hands instinctively reach to cover up, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a strong grasp around your wrist.

“Oh no, no,” He looks up at you with an arched eyebrow, and somehow, despite his collected mien, you catch a soft dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare deny me this view. Not after I’ve waited for so long.”

Your face heats up at the brazen comment, but that only seems to draw him closer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and he takes the hint immediately.

You connect in a heated kiss, and this time, Astarion is the one groaning against you. You work in tandem, like a gentle, effortless dance, heavy breaths intermingling in a sweet symphony of hums and sighs when…

You feel a touch against your heat. The contact is almost impalpable, yet your eyes flutter open in shock as the man’s fingers trace over your slit.

He withdraws from your kiss, hovering inches from your lips with a soft smile.

“S’unfair,” you slur, gazing up at him with a pleasure-drunken gaze. He exhales loudly, and you gasp. His fingers dip in, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “You— Gods—”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he taunts lowly, continuing his torturously languid movements with a devious smirk plastered on his perfect face. “What’s got you so bothered, my sweet?”

He dips down, teasing your entrance with his index. You pant softly at the prolonged stimulation, trying your damn best to stay focused on furrowing your eyebrows in mock anger.

“Got me so exposed and—” you trail tensely as his finger probes your entrance. “—And you’re still in your damn clothes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but you doubt he’s even listening to you by how he surveys your body, bottom lip caught between his fangs. “I’m about to show you ‘generous’, like I promised.”

And then, he bottoms out. You moan, feeling two of his digits sliding into you, the slickness of your opening making it an easy feat.

You squeeze around him, and he pumps into you once, then twice for good measure. The sound of his movements is unbelievably and utterly obscene, making your stomach knot in delight.

“So wet already,” he purrs through a smirk, watching you writhe under him, “Don’t tell me our little sparring session got you this bothered.”

You roll your eyes, thighs squeezed tight around his wrist as you move your hips in tandem with his rhythm.

“Come on, talk to me,” he taunts again, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and letting his fingers fuck you in a steady, purposeful rhythm. “Now’s not the time to get coy.”

He switches gears, stopping his movement so he can curl his fingers inside you. He presses against the sweet spot, his thumb reaching to simultaneously rub slow circles against your swollen clit.

You cry out at the newfound pressure, the warmth in your belly twisting into a vortex of fiery delight.

“I—” you mewl against him, wrapping your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna— c-cum—”

His movements quicken at your desperate words, digits working hard against your favorite spot.

“Cum then, my darling,” he taunts firmly, his free hand roaming under your jaw and holding it in place. “Cum for me. Let me— let me look at you, sweet thing.”

Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but once they do, he hits something white-hot inside you.

His lips crash desperately onto yours, but you struggle to kiss him back through the blinding pleasure of your climax. It thunders down your legs, up your belly, making you cry out against his mouth as everything melts away into a wonderful oblivion.

The last thing you see before your muscles go lax is red.

He rubs your clit methodically through your high, letting you ride it out peacefully as he burrows into your neck again.

When your breath steadies, you feel his fingers slowly withdraw. The emptiness that follows makes you cry out softly, helplessly watching as the man runs his palms up and down your sides.

He presses a soft, soothing kiss against your swollen lips, and you can’t help but glare when you see that he’s still fully dressed, even after your heated orgasm.

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?” he purrs, pulling away to take you all in. You’re caught speechless when his hungry gaze scans down your nude body; starting at your smitten face and ending with a lingering glimpse at your spent pussy.

“Please,” you mewl out, raking your hands down his clothed abs. “Gods— Please take these off, I can’t—”

He does.

His hands momentarily withdraw from around you, and with a swift, deft move, he tosses his shirt off.

The silken cloth comes flying into the night like a phantasmal figure, and you watch it catch onto a stray branch to your right.

Your gaze skims hungrily down his sculpted body, watching his muscles tense and release with every little movement. Yes, you’ve seen him shirtless before, yet the context of your current predicament somehow makes it feel like it’s the first time all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, his hands work at his bottoms, swiftly unbuttoning the waistband and letting it sit loose against his hips. You catch a soft, white trail against the edge of his undergarments, leading down to a straining, tented mess below.

Your hand reaches out absent-mindedly, still drunk off the high of your climax and so, so desperate to finally feel him for yourself.

“Not so fast, darling,” he scolds, gently slapping your hand away and letting it wither at your side.

“Let me touch you,” you retort desperately, but he only chuckles as his fingers begin working at his waistband.

“You lost our bet,” he explains, sliding a thumb under the elastic and letting it lower. You catch the very base of his straining erection, and that taunting alone makes you gasp. “Gives me the upper hand.”

“Says who?” you hiss under your breath, failing to give him the glare he deserves as your eyes bore into his.

He gives you a once over, gaze drawing languidly over your exposed body, and only then does the extent of your nudity finally dawn on you.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You shift under him, shimmying within the small space he allows, and he takes your brief distraction as a moment to unravel his pants completely. They drop to the ground behind you, leaving him in his undergarments, and you bite your lip at how dangerously lax they sit around his hips.

“I think I’ve left you waiting long enough,” he mutters, and your lips go ajar.

The thumb hooked into his briefs starts sliding down his waist, lower and lower until you’re finally even in terms of undress— and you’re ever so starstruck by the sight of his bulging cock hovering over your belly. It stands thick and taut within arm’s reach and you find the fact makes your mouth water.

Then, before you can think of touching him, you feel him place either hand below your knees. He looks up at you with a sly smirk, and you gasp softly when he pushes your thighs flat against your torso, feet in the air and scandalously exposed in front of him.

“You’re playing with me,” you mutter breathlessly, hissing as you feel his length stroking against your inner thigh.

His arms compress you tighter as you feel him lowering, the underside of his cock slapping against your tummy. The gasp that leaves your throat at the sudden contact widens your eyes, and he catches your gaze with his self-satisfied one.

“Do you like that I’m playing with you?” he follows up without a beat, his hips rutting forward. The movement is gentle, yet the pressure is enough to make you whine out in desperation— it’s also the only answer you manage to choke up for him before his cock slides between your wet folds.

“A-Ah— you fucking— fucking prick,” you hiss at the vampire, and so he bears his fangs at you through a wide grin. You find that it makes your breath hitch even amidst your despair.

“Now, now,” he reprimands, words syrupy, “bold words coming from someone so vulnerable.”

His nails dig into the soft flesh of your legs as he slides back and forth, taking meticulous care so that the head of his cock butts against your clit with every dip. The stimulation feels electric, and soon enough, you feel your still-sensitive body ramp up with heated energy for a second time this night.

A minute passes, yet it feels like an eternity. The air between you is thick with tension and the soft, repetitive harmony of your strained moans and his little gasps. You watch his eyes close in concentration, and despite his otherwise relaxed facade, you can tell he’s struggling to resist you by the way his eyebrows knit in the middle.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out, one of your hands extending to claw at his withholding forearm.

When your gazes meet, he looks surprisingly spent; eyes glassed-over, mouth ajar, and the slightest hint of sweat glazing his pale forehead. You realize that his domineering act seemed to come at the expense of his stamina: a resource you had slowly replenished in your comfortable position.

“Not— not yet, darling,” he hitches out, but the words appear tender and helpless to your trained ears. “I— I want to enjoy this— enjoy you—”

Your grip on his forearm tightens, making the bucking of his hips stutter. His eyebrow raises at your touch, but before he can shoot you a witty comment, you’re pushing him forward.

It happens within seconds.

Your knees straighten, feet slamming into his abdomen. He coughs at the sudden, unexpected impact, and you take the opportunity to grab tight onto his forearms. He falls backward, and just before his spine hits the soil beneath, you use the momentum to push yourself onto him.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re straddling his waist.

He blinks in brief confusion, surveying his surroundings before the crimson gaze finally turns to you.

He surveys your face, and you let him. The moment is like a silent meditation, heavy breaths intermingling as he takes your raw beauty in; the longing in your eyes, the soft dusting of pink across your nose, and ultimately, the plush of your lips he had ravaged mere moments ago.

Next, he moves to your body. His eyes scan down your taut nipples, down your tummy, and to the softness of your thighs squeezing his midriff to the ground. When he reaches the junction between your bodies, your hips buck as if on instinct.

“My, just how courageous we are,” he purrs under you, hands reaching to rub down the outside of your thighs. “I wouldn’t be so nice about your dirty tricks if I didn’t find this view thoroughly delectable.”

You shiver at his honeyed words, yet your gaze stays determined on him. Your palms go to rest atop his, marveling at the eccentric softness of his knuckles and the polarizing edge of the nails.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” you grin playfully, rocking your hips back to feel his hard length against the curve of your ass. When a soft hiss escapes his lips, you feel your ego inflate. “Sound familiar?”

His eyes roll, but the grin creeping onto his lips deceives him immediately.

His head tilts at you, fangs bearing in the soft moonlight. “You’re trouble.”

The mischief of your smile spins into a warm fondness. Your cheeks warm, and your heart swells, but you don’t quite understand why. “Oh how rich that is coming from you.”

And then you’re rising on your knees, hips hovering over his throbbing erection. Your palms connect, digits intertwining with his as you lower yourself onto him.

You test the waters first, letting his tip brush over your slit with feather-like touches. You hum gently at the teasing pleasure, and so does Astarion.

When you feel your tummy tightening with anticipation, you dive in. With a light shimmy, you line your hips with his, and with more desperation than you planned, you slide down.

You both hiss as the head of his cock penetrates you, the stretch making your palm tighten against his. You bend at the knees, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim after such a long, lonesome time.

Finally, you let your hips slam against his. The sudden, harsh movement makes you gasp out into the tantric air as his tip pokes against your womb. The dull pain quickly shifts into a flat, resonant pleasure, and you waste no time.

Your hips begin to buck against his, building a slow, steady rhythm until you’re confidently riding your vampire lover with a self-satisfied smirk on your lips.

Each thrust makes you mewl, moan, and cry out into the night, that pleasant angle of his cock hitting that same spot his fingers did just minutes ago.

His head rolls back into the ground, and with the remnants of his energy, he issues an occasional, quick rut into you. As it’s rare, you decide to savor it. You squeeze around him with the thrusts, and soon, you feel yourself running out of breath.

“I— I could let you do this for—hells— forever,” he hisses out, and suddenly, you feel his hands unclasp from yours and snake around your waist. “Where have you been all these centuries?”

Your upper body is dragged forward, your tits colliding with his toned chest when he pulls you into a tight, possessive embrace.

You gasp at the warmth between you, and your eyebrows soon furrow when you realize the position limits your hip movement. As you’re forced into a pause from your delirious riding, his lips crash onto yours.

Your tongues share a private, slack dance, heads tilting to adjust as you both hum and groan into the fiery kiss. You attempt to rut into him, and soon enough he gets the hint.

Keeping you immobilized against his chest, his hips pound up into you. The first few smacks are scandalously loud, and you revel in the newfound angle.

You’re lost in him, completely and utterly. When he moans, you respond with a hum— when his embrace tightens around you, you kiss him harder.

The familiar, fiery heat in your tummy bubbles up again. You feel it amp up, grow, and send jolts up your spine when suddenly, you’re being pushed up. When your eyes flutter open, you catch his still closed.

His chest stays firm against yours as he positions you upright, letting you straddle his hips as you’re both left sitting in the soft patch of grass and wildflowers.

With your body regaining its mobility, you start grinding against him again. The position allows for a deliciously intimate closeness, his cock burrowing deep into you as you resume riding him.

The pressure within you grows, emerging as a knot— threatening to unravel with every other thrust. Your clit rubs against the base of his groin, amplifying the pleasure into a sensation you’ve long forgotten about.

“A-Astarion—” you mewl out between kisses, and his hot breath tickles your face when he chuckles.

“Cum for me,” he sighs out, and the assertion comes off soft and pleading as it settles into the groves of your heart.

“O-Okay— I… I—”

He tightens his hold on your waist with one hand, as the other moves to cradle your cheek. His touch is unbelievably delicate and affectionate, and out of all the stimulation he had so graciously provided you this night, it’s that soft touch that sends you over the edge.

Your lips connect in one last kiss, and you moan throatily into his mouth. Your hips still, thighs squeezing as your pussy tightens around his cock in a moment of pure bliss. The steadily rising pressure in your belly finally tips over, sending a wave of bliss down your entire being.

Still, he keeps moving. You almost want to scream against him as his hips begin pounding into you again, the soft slaps quickening as he slowly peaks with you.

Withdrawing from the kiss to lean against your neck, he cums. Hard.

Your slowly declining climax seems to slam the gas pedal as you feel him release deep into you, the warmth spreading through your body like a genial embrace, a fact that makes him groan loudly against your mouth. Your breath stills in your throat, before finally releasing into a long, guttural moan— it echoes into the night, and your vision blurs.

White-hot bliss envelops your body, and you melt into Astarion’s for solace. You feel him grip you, caress your face, kiss away your adrenaline-fueled tears, and pant softly against your lips as your pussy spasms again.

Your orgasm envelops you in slow, pulsating waves as it withdraws, and you’re soon left huffing into the vampire’s flaxen locks. You think you hear him speak, but the ringing in your ears is too potent to know for certain.

Then, as the ringing finally retires, you hear him whisper your name. It’s a soft, patient call against the burning skin of your neck, one you commit to memory as you’re finally awarded your senses back— if only partially.

The forest feels exceptionally silent as you fall into his arms. You recognize the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, perhaps a distant hoot of owls, but it all seems to blend into an indecipherable blur as exhaustion floods your system.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck, and your mind sinks into the soft, languid thumps of his heart. His hand caresses your back, and you sigh deeply.

You sit there for what feels like hours, drinking each other in. You’ve waited so long, and finally, you’re at ease— it’s a feeling you wish to cherish, and if it wasn’t for the pesky passage of time, you’d choose to stay in this damned forest for eons; with him.

You feel him shift against you. His hands withdraw from your waist, and he whispers softly against you. “Come, my love.”

You hum in disagreement, face burrowing deeper into him. Yes, rosemary and brandy— now it’s clear to you.

He exhales sharply, and you smile into his neck. He waits for a beat, before placing a soft kiss to your temple. “Wait here.”

You nod gently and finally allow him to withdraw. The separation makes you sigh, your body shivering in the newfound cold of the night, but you persevere. In the longing to hold on to the moment for a little longer, you keep your eyes closed and hope he’ll return before you open them again.

You hear him shuffle around, walking from left to right, before finally returning to face you. “Hands up,” he mutters softly, and you do as you’re told in your pleasure-drunken stupor.

You feel him drape something silken over your sweat-slick body, the soft material draping your hips before coming to a stop at your thighs. When you breathe in, you immediately realize it’s not your shirt, so you grin.

When you’re comfortably wrapped up, he leans in. Once you finally sense the familiar warmth of his chest, you lean against his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

You’re surprised he does this for you. Tenderness is not exactly something you’d connect with a man of his past, of his skill. Yet, when his hands move to rest under your knees and back, you don’t resist.

He lifts you off the ground, letting your fatigued frame rest against him. He takes it upon himself to get you back to camp, safe and sound, and only slightly perturbed.

You drink in everything you can, letting yourself be greedy for once. The steadiness of his breath, his warm chest, the crinkling of leaves under his feet— it’s an image you swear to place, no matter what difficulties might threaten to befall you in the future.

And he’s silent up until you reach the campgrounds. The chatter of dinnertime has long died down, and when you open your eyes, you spot the crackling embers of firelight flickering away among a circle of stones. The flames cast a soft, warm light onto the closed tents, and you revel in the intimacy of the moment.

“Everyone met their bedtime while we’ve been naughty sneaking out,” he murmurs with a chuckle, and you close your eyes hurriedly in hopes of feigning slumber. Still, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face at his brazen comment.

You reach the outskirts and finally spot his tent just below an old, sturdy oak tree. You recall the talks you had out front so many times before, back when your feelings were just sparks of something much stronger and much, much warmer.

He crouches down and with an unsurprising agility climbs into the little shelter with you still in his arms. You lie slack against him, letting his arms lay you gently onto his woolen mat. You melt into the warmth almost immediately, sighing out dreamily when you feel his presence beside you.

It’s silent for a moment, and when your eyes finally flutter open, you catch him staring at you. His gaze is thoughtful but warm, lingering over your form with a certain glimmer.

“I guess it’s official, then,” you sigh out, closing your eyes again and letting a lazy smile drift over your features.

He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “What… what is?”

You chuckle softly at his awkward tone, shifting to the side and letting one of your eyes pop open to glance at him.

“My victory,” you state matter-of-factly before quickly shifting to your other side, facing away from him just to let a satisfied grin creep onto your face.

You don’t witness it, but his expression goes from tense, to disconcerted, to irritated in a matter of seconds. His eyes roll, and you suddenly feel a flat slap against your ass.

“Woah there, hey!” you gasp, followed by a cheeky giggle. Your head turns to face him from your comfortable position, and you catch him mirroring your grin.

“Quiet, now,” he commands softly, pivoting to lie beside you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Bet’s over, darling. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve not proven yourself capable. Shame, really.”

You blow a raspberry through your smile and shimmy closer to him, your body melting perfectly into his— a fact that has you near to falling asleep.

“Shame indeed. The look on your face was priceless when you ate dirt,” you shrug nonchalantly, “At least that’s the version I’ll be telling everyone come morning.”

He scoffs, the low rumble of it vibrating against your back, but his arm only tightens around you. You feel his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“If you do that, I might just have to kill you,” he mutters, but despite the intensity of the words, his voice is soft and loving against your head. His hand drifts to your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there.

“You would never.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your lips open to build on your clever retort before you feel his sharp exhale on your neck.

“Sleep, darling,” he reprimands, squeezing your midriff gently.

You sigh contentedly, your lips brushing against the pillow as you settle deeper into his embrace. The tent is cocooned in warmth, but you feel the cool kiss of the evening breeze filtering in through the small opening at the entrance. Outside, the campfire crackles faintly, the last embers glowing like distant stars before fading into fine ash.

As you drift closer to sleep, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the world around you blurs into the peaceful haze of near-dreams.

Just as the veil of slumber begins to pull you under, you feel his lips press against your hair, a soft whisper brushing against your skin.

“As long as I'll live, I never could.”

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thebroccolination · 24 days ago

Text

GMMTV ISN’T CONTRACTUALLY FORCING THEIR ACTORS INTO THE CLOSET

Recently, I saw a fan from the U.S. claiming on TikTok that GMMTV contractually forces their queer actors to keep their sexual identities a secret. Why else would there be so few openly queer actors???

So, first of all, it’s not like the few openly queer actors in GMMTV had to break some corporate closet door to escape, and then GMMTV went, “Aw, shucks. Well, I guess y’all win. We’ll keep paying you, you little rainbowy scamps.” There are only a few of them because being openly queer in Thailand’s media industry is still fucking hard.

Fluke Natouch of Until We Meet Again (and OhmFluke 1.0) fame left his agency years ago to work freelance so he could navigate his career on his own terms. When openly gay director New of Studio Wabi Sabi approached him to offer the role of Pharm, Fluke very actually asked New if he was sure he wanted an openly gay actor in his series. This was a conversation that two openly gay men had! No sexualities whatsoever were hidden in the having of this conversation! Or in the public recounting of it later!

Fluke asked New this because there are still roadblocks for openly queer actors, and as a freelancer, he knew this. Some sponsors are hesitant to have a queer face on their commercials, and some of the industry’s upper management are old bigoted guys holding the purse strings. Why do you think so many of these guys have to appear straight-presenting?

Interfans contribute to the glorification of heteronormativity, too. How many times have I seen interfans lusting over the KinnPorsche actors as “real men” or excusing Joss’s myriad issues over the years because he’s “so hot”?

How many femme actors are given roles with complexity? How many are shunted into comedic roles or tragic figures? How many interfans point at Pharm and complain that He Cries Too Much? You’ve all seen it. “P’DEEEEEAN.”

Regardless of what interfans claim to want, the series that tend to do best nowadays feature straight-presenting actors. Bad Buddy, 2gether, My School President, KinnPorsche, etc.

Ironically, the series that lean hard on queer themes tend not to do as well.

So you can see why most choose to keep at least a veneer of heterosexuality or else keep the glass closet door closed.

New cast Fluke and Cooheart in Until We Meet Again because Studio Wabi Sabi was both agency and production company owned by New, and New could do whatever he wanted. SWS was very much a safe haven for queer actors of all levels of openness.

And regardless of my complaints about New’s directing and perpetual insistence that he do all the editing and sound design himself (stop, man, I’m begging you, learn how to delegate), he has been working for years to create a welcoming space for queer actors in an industry that is still extremely cautious, and I’ll always respect him for that.

As much as people love to hate a corporate body, GMMTV’s myriad flaws are more based in the categories of “terrible organization” and “poor management” and “haphazardly throwing a thousand medicore, half-baked projects at a wall until one of them sticks by chance and then celebrating that surprise hit into the ground”—not “forcing their actors into the closet.”

As far as I’m aware, the only khuujin (“imaginary couple”) in the industry who’s Openly Dating is PorscheArm, and they were already out and together before the fame, so they’re more Public Figures Advocating for Social Progress than they are BL actors. I’d say ZeeNuNew are borderline, because while they seem increasingly more cavalier with their subtlety, even they’ve been excruciatingly careful in their labeling over the past few years. (“Are you a couple?” “You could call us that.”)

And there’s a reason for the caution. Things are changing for the better, but progress is slow.

In an early, post-SOTUS interview from 2016, infant actors KristSingto were point-blank asked by TV hosts if they’re “normal” with a heavy insinuation that they’d be mocked and laughed at unless they asserted their heterosexuality in front of a live audience. Not exactly a warm and kind environment to say, “Actually…” As the first in the line of fire, KristSingto were constantly bombarded with invasive questions and suspicion and homophobia, and it’s only been nine years since SOTUS aired.

Now, you’ve got the evolution of hosts making lewd innuendos at khuujin and trying to “trick” them into Coming Out for content. Yet, all the khuujin seem to know how to play the game Juuuust Right to avoid saying anything concrete and damning, leaving just enough crumbs for fans to pick up on and enjoy.

Because look how the few openly queer actors are treated. Bruce Sirikorn Kananurak’s best-known role is framed villain Aey in Lovely Writer, and Gun Korawit Boonsri is regularly cast as Sassy Gay Side Character. Cooheart gets variety in his roles, but he’s with Studio Wabi Sabi under New, an openly gay CEO who famously allows his actors a ton of freedom in their image. And it says a lot to me that Cooheart didn’t make the move over to GMMTV along with his colleagues last year.

So, y’know, of course I’m not saying GMMTV is paradise. While he was with SWS, Boun said he wanted to get tattoos but New advised him against it because it might have limited potential roles. So New didn’t forbid it, he just cautioned Boun against doing it. Meanwhile, he implied recently that he’d like to dye his hair blond again, but GMMTV has to approve things like that. Hence, you’ll hear about some GMMTV actors who just get a tattoo done or cut their hair without telling anyone and then they show up for work with an insouciant shrug; the beg forgiveness>>>ask permission move.

So GMMTV does have some stupid public image rules, and they have also discouraged certain actors from interacting with each other in case it drives their profit margins down (see: The Chronicles of Management Driving KristGun Apart—I’m making a post about it, don’t worry). And I’m sure the Grammy Powers That Be go ://// if a GMMTV actor says, “Hey, I’m thinking of telling the world I’m bisexual tomorrow,” and go, “Maybe don’t though.” It’s just not something they’re Contractually Obligated to hide; it’s more common sense.

Like I said, GMMTV’s real crimes in my eyes are things like 1) repeatedly trying to push men like Foei and Joss who’ve proven themselves to be toxic nightmares to women and queer people over and over throughout the years, 2) overworking their most popular actors to physical and mental exhaustion, 3) barely promoting their GL productions despite their obvious popularity, 4) shoving their Not Singers onstage with zero vocal training, 5) prioritizing trends over quality, 6) having Zero Plan of what to do Most of the Time, 7) hiring on more and more actors without hiring enough managers to support them, and more.

There’s no “you gotta be Heterosexual-Presenting or else” clause in their contracts. They’re just actors in a conservative Asian country where marriage equality has only recently been recognized, and that’s not even close to having social equality. Plenty of western actors don’t want the extra baggage of being Openly Queer (see the Kit Connor debacle), let alone in a country controlled by military and monarchy.

Thailand isn’t a queer paradise.

Hell, look at Japan: they invented BL and GL and their government isn’t even close to recognizing marriage equality. To the majority of Japanese people, BL and GL are embarrassing subgenres that “Normal People” (ie: what heterosexuals are called in Japan—yes I’m serious) would never publicly admit to enjoying. I know this because I was a Queer Foreigner in Japan for eleven years and my whole existence was weird.

As far as I’ve heard from friends who work with GMMTV, it’s a far more progressive company than many interfans give it credit for. Many of the staff are openly queer, a ton of their directors are openly queer, and their actors who are queer are either open with the understanding that there are limitations to that choice or closeted to protect their job opportunities. Once you’re Openly Queer, you’re pushed into a very different and much smaller box, and they all know it.

So y’know. GMMTV actors aren’t All Straight, and the ones who are queer aren’t Closeted by Force. GMMTV is just a company of people with a wide tapestry of nuance, just like you’d expect from any large organization of artistic and business folk producing queer media for a general audience.

In 2025, let’s please abandon the myth that GMMTV is an evil kpop company. <3

It’s a sloppy, poorly run nightmare factory. :D

EDIT: Also, director X confirmed on Twitter last year that GMMTV has no anti-dating policy.

#thai bl #thai gl #thai ql #gmmtv #studio wabi sabi #domundi

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makeyoumine69 · 11 months ago

Text

Memory Reboot

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: You work at P&P, and one day you come into Bateman's office and witness his breakdown. Your attempts to comfort him only increase his obsession with you, and without realizing it, you push this man to his limits. The outburst that finds you both in a club called the Tunnel will change your lives forever and irrevocably.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, obsessive behavior, desperate-touch-starved Patrick, masturbating, oral sex (reader receiving), aggressive foreplay, dirty talk, body worship, teasing, biting, drug usage, pet names.

WORDS: 3k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent - Memory Reboot

A/N: This is for my dear @iron-flavored-lipgloss! It was such a pleasure for me to write this for you! Enjoy!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [EDIT]

Patrick Bateman. What kind of a mess was this man? Chaotic, impulsive, pathetic? Or all of the above?

Smirking, you went to his office to deliver some documents you needed him to sign, but when you got there, you noticed that Jean — his lovely blonde assistant — was absent and the door to his office was suspiciously half open. It was strange, to say the least, but you just shrugged your shoulders and stood there for a while when you heard a loud thud coming through the door — the sound almost made you jump in surprise. 'What the hell?' You wondered as you approached the door, turning around to see if Jean was coming, but there was no sign of her. With measured steps you got closer to the hole in the open door and just peeked in out of curiosity, but the scene you saw was not what you expected — Bateman, all flushed and covered in sweat, was storming around his office, his hands desperately fumbling with his tie as if it was choking him.

Your reaction was quick, and you didn't even notice as you opened the door and stepped inside. "Bateman? Are you okay?"

The man stopped shaking the moment he heard your voice and leaned down on his desk. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get your signature on some of my docs when I heard you crying,” you grinned, watching his face go pale. "What's wrong, Bateman? Did you miss your facial?" The way he balled his hands made you laugh. "But really, did something happen?"

"Yes," Patrick replied, looking at you and running his hand through his disheveled hair. "I mean...no...nothing happened…" You saw his lips tremble a little each time he spoke. "Gimme the docs."

Frowning in confusion, you pulled out a napkin and handed it to him instead, meeting his scornful gaze. "You're sweating…” You placed the white piece of cloth on his desk, only now noticing a small jar that you were sure was full of pills. "Maybe I should ask Jean to bring you some coffee? You look really sick..."

"No!" Bateman suddenly blurted out, pointing his finger at you. "I asked Jean to take the day off..."

"Hey, hey, relax," you raised your hands defensively. "Relax, I was just trying to help."

Slowly, you placed the folder of documents on his wooden desk, which he grabbed almost immediately, and your hands touched for a brief moment, and Bateman didn't flinch, and neither did you.

"Take a seat." Patrick muttered incoherently.

"What?"

"Sit," he repeated irritably. "And wait."

His tumultuous behavior actually frightened you, but you did as he said and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘My God, he really is mental, Tim was right.’

"What are these pills? Some vitamins?" You tried to keep the conversation alive, not even knowing why, as you watched his long, thin fingers floating across the pages.

Your question made him stop and look up at you. "That's none of your business, (y/n). I asked you to sit and wait, not ask me stupid questions."

‘Why does he look so cute when he's so angry?’ The thought brought a smile to your face, but then you zipped up your mouth theatrically and Bateman's office went silent for a while. And you used it to admire his perfect jawline, even though his brown hair was messy now, it looked so inviting to touch anyway.

"Is that all?" Bateman asked suddenly, arching his eyebrows and interrupting your train of thought.

"Uh, what?"

A prominent line appeared on Patrick's forehead — a testament to his annoyance. "Are you deaf or something?"

"Lemme see them," you pointed at the documents. "I want to make sure you put your cute sign on every page." Your playful tone made the line between Patrick's eyebrows even more noticeable. "I don't want to come back here."

Bateman didn't even try to jab back, his face still pale and sweaty, his eyes nothing but dark voids — oh, how fucking empty they were. Sighing heavily, Patrick raised his gaze when he heard the chair creak as you got up and walked around his desk. The sudden cut in the distance between the two of you was something Patrick didn't seem to be ready for, as his hands nervously gripped the armrests, but you pretended not to notice.

"We all feel down sometimes," you murmured over his ear, literally sensing the tension radiating from his body. "And that's okay." Placing your hand on his broad shoulder, you leaned down to look at the documents, surreptitiously inhaling the scent of his perfume mixed with his sweat. ‘Fuck, what am I doing?’

"I didn't know you had a part-time job as a therapist," he grumbled, examining your palm, wondering if he was going to kill you here and now, or keep you in here forever. "Listen, I have a reservation at Barcadia..."

"Mmm, Barcadia? Really?"

Bateman nodded and finally removed your hand. "Yes, I'm having lunch with Coutrney."

"I wonder what Luis thinks of these lunches with his fiancé." You picked up the folder and stepped back from his armchair. "You don't feel guilty about sleeping with Coutrney behind his back, do you?"

Gritting his perfectly white teeth, the brown-haired man abruptly got up from his desk and stormed toward you, surely intending to yell at you or say something rude, but the moment he stopped directly across from you and your eyes met, Bateman's expression suddenly became lost and confused. "Just stop," he finally managed to mutter. "Stop poking around in my fucking head…" As you noticed his pupils widening, things were no longer funny to you. "Understand?"

‘Well, maybe turning it into a joke is not a bad plan,’ you hummed and nodded. "Sure, Bateman," you sneered a little nervously. "I'm just reading this book Timothy gave me," you slowly turned and walked to the door. "The book about Human Psychology." That was surely a joke, but judging by the serious look Patrick gave you, he didn't seem to get it.

"Tim gave you... a book?" He repeated, frowning in confusion and disbelief.

When you opened the door, you paused for a second, wanting to say something smart at the end. "Oh yeah. Why don't you ask him about it? Maybe he can recommend some books about... human relationships or something." And with that, you smiled in satisfaction at seeing Bateman's face quiver with anger before you left his office, leaving him with a raging tempest in his chest.

Later that day, Patrick couldn't sleep because his mind was so full of different thoughts, but the only thing they had in common was that they were all connected to you. You, you, you. The sound of running water echoed off the marble walls of his lavish bathroom as Bateman stood in the shower, enjoying the way the strong streams of cold water hit his back. Huffing, Patrick desperately scrubbed his skin as if it would help him get rid of the thoughts of you that haunted him the day he first met you — you were so cheeky, so sweet, everyone loved you and wanted to hang out with you. How fucking cute. Patrick groaned as he felt a throb at the base of his hard cock, God, he felt like it was hard all the time and no sex could help him with that because all those people, they weren't you.

"Argh, fuck," he groaned as he finally allowed himself to touch his twitching dick and give it a few strokes.

"F-fuck..." Bateman pumped his length rhythmically, recoiling at the memories of today, the way you put your hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your breath on the back of his neck. And what would it feel like if you had placed your hand on his chest, or run it over his abdomen and then down?

"Uh, a-ahhh," the man moaned louder, shaking uncontrollably from the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "(Y/n), your hands feel so good on me, oh-shit…" Patrick had to lean against the shower wall as his legs buckled from the intense waves of ecstasy as he cummed with your name on his trembling lips, the water still running down his sculpted body, washing his cum off, but he was still so hard.

"Reading books on psychology," Bateman chuckled, tilting his head. "What an idiot." His nervous giggle bounced across the shower, but soon the laughter turned to a low wail. "Pathetic…”

Time flowed like sand through your fingers, and you couldn't even remember how many days had passed since your visit to Bateman's office, but since then something had changed between the two of you, but you both couldn't understand what exactly had changed, or maybe you didn't want to try to understand. To be fair, it was so fucking annoying that when you found out that Tim, David, Craig and Patrick were going to the Tunnel, you saw it as your chance to dot the T's, no matter how the evening would end.

When you arrived at the club, it was so crowded that it took you a while to find the group of yuppies sitting on the plush couches next to the dance floor, jamming to the music and drinking their cocktails.

As you approached, Craig was the first to spot you. "Woah, woah, look who it is!" His cheeky remark caused everyone to look at you, including Bateman, whose teeth were visibly clenched around his cigar at that moment.

"Hey, guys! Enjoying the music I see?" You smiled, fixing your hair briefly from the sudden rush of panic. ‘Damn it, stay calm! Why am I so nervous?’

Timothy winked at you and raised his glass. "Did you come alone or..." he stopped abruptly when he noticed someone behind your back. "Hey, is that Paul Allen?"

‘Shit, shit, shit. That was so much easier in my head than it is in reality.’ You chewed on your cheek, and while the men were guessing whether they really saw Paul Allen or not, a sudden idea came to your mind, but you hated it before you even started to bring it to life. "Do you have a gram?" You asked without thinking, hoping they would say no.

"I do," Bateman's voice came out of nowhere and you almost screamed in your head, but you had to keep your composure. "But you will owe me." As he said this, you came closer to where he was sitting with a playful smile on your face and took a seat next to him. "Wait, we are not going to do coke here."

"Hey, why not?" David chuckled and took out his business card holder. "What's wrong with it?

"Oh God, look at that cheeky bastard," Craig pressed a palm to his face. "Van Patten decided to be a bad boy today."

The men laughed and high-fived each other before Bateman whispered in your ear, making you almost jump. "Follow me." Those two simple words made you obey like you were under a spell.

As the two of you made your way to the bathroom where people in the Tunnel usually did coke, your heart pounded to the heavy beat of the music, or even faster. Patrick went first, his elegant silhouette like a shining star in the midnight sky — so eye-catching and mesmerizing that it wasn't surprising that a lot of people turned around to look at him, but you didn't care as soon you would be alone with him. ‘Just you and me, Bateman.’

The bathroom was surprisingly empty today. The last time you were there, you had to wait almost half an hour to get into the free stall, but now luck seemed to be on your side. As you stepped into one, Patrick pulled out his business card holder and rolled the $100 bill; you did the same, watching as Bateman made lines of coke with his platinum AmEx card.

"I have to say, you look much better." You commented briefly.

The man was about to lean over to snort the white powder, but your words made him freeze. "Huh," he chuckled abruptly and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "I was just reading some books about... relationships," Patrick grimaced, drawing out the last word with a cocky grin. "It changed my mind." Before you could say anything, Patrick was snorting the coke, holding the rolled-up bill to his nostril while holding another down with his thumb.

"Very funny," you mumbled, tapping the rolled note against the inside of your palm. "Where was your wit when I walked into your office a week ago?"

Bateman coughed quietly and threw his head back for a moment to clean his nose. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to his business card holder to inhale the white line of powder that had been left there, your mood was already off, and at some point you even began to regret coming to Tunnel tonight. Though it wasn't your first time doing coke, you felt so dizzy as the drug began to intoxicate your system that you almost fell to the floor if you hadn't bumped into Bateman's chest, leaving a white stain on the lapel of his Valentino suit.

"Hey! What the fuck!" Patrick blurted out, ready to push you off, but the way you grabbed his shoulders stirred something strange inside him, something he was fighting all the time. "Have you ever done coke?"

You coughed several times, blinked nervously, and only then did you let him go. "Sorry..." you gasped and leaned against the wall of the stall behind your back. "It's been a while."

"You stained my jacket."

"God! I'm sorry, okay?"

"No," Bateman replied, brushing off. "Not okay."

"What do you mean?" You asked confusedly, batting your eyelashes and breathing heavily.

Patrick dropped his head for a second before looking at you again, your faces dangerously close. "I'm not okay."

You licked your lips nervously. "Why?"

Instead of saying anything, the man pulled you against his massive frame, giving you no time to react as his hot mouth covered yours; it was difficult to call it a kiss, it was more like the act of claiming — his strong arms trapping you between the wall and his muscular body while yours hovered motionlessly like whips. When Bateman released you, he tugged at your lower lip and licked it with a wet, obscene sound. "Because...because of this."

Panting, you stood in shock for a moment before nodding and touching your wet lips. "Yes," you put both hands on his chest, exploring it slowly but boldly, causing him to close his eyes for a second. "I don't think I'm okay either." After whispering it in his ear, you slid your tongue down his bare neck, right over the mole, and when you heard him grunting, you lowered your hand to his belt, playing teasingly with the buckle.

"Lower," Bateman husked, and when you didn't listen, he grabbed your hand and lowered it himself — the outline of his fully erected cock eliciting a muffled moan to break out of your cramped throat. "Ahhh-fuck."

"God, you're so needy," you murmured against his neck, busy undoing his belt. "So touchy."

It only took a few seconds for you to undo his pants and let his taut dick pop out of his underwear. ‘Mmhhm, his cock is so perfect, just as I expected,’ you smiled to yourself, and in the next moment you were stroking his throbbing length, smearing his slick pre-cum around his swollen tip without any shame or fear of getting caught.

"(Y/n)," Patrick hissed as he pressed you against the wall with his weight, his hands sneaking down your back to grope your ass. "Be quiet," the man ordered when he heard your soft moans. "Keep quiet and undo this." Bateman pointed to your bottom and just the thought of what he was about to do to you almost made you cum.

"Why?" You gave him a foxy grin and tightened your grip on his dick, forcing Patrick to hold his breath.

"Just...just do what I say..."

"Okay, honey."

"Don't call me that!" He uttered and squeezed your ass painfully, your bodies grinding against each other, making you hot and sweaty.

"Patrick..." You attempted to kiss him, but he turned away.

In one swift motion, the man reached your neck and aggressively nipped at the throbbing artery. "Shut up! Just shut up and undo this fucking..."

You didn't let him finish his tantrum as you caught his lips with yours, increasing the tempo of the jacking, and you could feel he was so damn close. But since he was so insistent, you undid the lower part of your garment, and everything that happened next was like one of your recent dreams. Bateman, flushed and panting, crouched down, his cock slipping out of your grasp, but the next second his fierce mouth found its way between your legs as he began to suck on your sensitive flesh with sheer greed and passion, not forgetting to pump his dick and growl softly against your skin.

"Ohh, Pat-Patrick," you gasped, tugging at his brown hair, dishevelling it, but neither of you cared. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop..."

"Mmm-fuck, you taste so sweet," Patrick pressed his face closer to your core, his free hand nailing you to the wall to hold you in place. "You're shaking like a fucking whore."

Chucking, you yanked at his hair a little harder. "And you're devouring me like a starved man, are you starved, Bateman? How long have you been... so fucking s-starved?" You hiccupped as he redoubled his efforts, lapping at your crotch and jerking himself off. "F-fuck, I'm... I'm gonna..."

The loud footsteps made you both stop in your tracks, and when you heard people coming into the bathroom, you stalled completely, only to quickly fix your clothes and then pretend nothing had happened as you left the stall. Later, as you were washing your hands, Patrick stood behind you and you met his eyes in the mirror. "Are you leaving or..." You asked briefly as he handed you your twisted bill.

"Yeah," Bateman straightened his jacket and wiped his mouth with a paper towel before opening the door. "You better forget about it. Believe me."

‘And now I feel like I need a memory reboot.’

Chapter 2 is here! 💗✌

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader #gn reader

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cheriecelestial · 6 months ago

Text

Jacob Black's Self Saving System Pt.1

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ crack.swearing.not proofread

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Jason, a self-proclaimed no. 1 Stephenie Meyer hater, finds himself unexpectedly transmigrated into the very novel he disdained. Following this ironic twist of fate, he is now tasked with the challenge of creating a better version of the story himself.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Inspired from @duckysprouts ’s series. It’s so good ⁉️‼️. If you haven’t seen it already, PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT. Like finally svsss content that isn’t shizun sphinx cats or binghe skin creature abomination. Art and concept so fresh it made my heart cry with joy and pulled me out of my three-month long writing slump. So, I humbly present this as an offering to our lord and savior, Ducky. Comment, Reblog and Like (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Pt 2

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer was a modern classic in its renaissance era with a large cult that loved to hate it. Set in a place with relentless rain, mist shrouded forest and an ethereal light piercing the gloom — the light being the one of only Edward Cullen. Though the statement is subject to fan bias — he was a man, rather sparkly vampire, who somehow managed to be both irresistible and perpetually constipated.

Nonetheless, his charms never overshadowed the stellar performance of our female lead, Isabella Marie Swan— better known as Bella — a teenager who gained worldwide fame for having a personality less vibrant than a wet cabbage. Together, they navigated the perilous world of teenage angst, vampire baseball, millenia old racist italian politicians and werewolves with a curious t-shirt allergy, all in an impressively monotone palette.

It was a heartwarming tale that began with awkward stares, cryptic yet nauseatingly clichéd conversations and Bella’s inexplicable attraction to danger, making the romance as thrilling as it was perplexing. Meanwhile, the supporting cast of her high school friends, each with their own irrelevant quirks and subplots, served as convenient plot devices — appearing and disappearing at the whim of the author.

And as if her love life wasn’t tumultuous enough, Bella befriended Jacob Black. A werewolf who, unsurprisingly, hated all things vampire and Edward Cullen in particular. Between Edward’s brooding, Jacob’s abs and Bella’s classic damsel-in-distress antics that made poor Elena Gilbert seem unremarkable by comparison — the story unfolded with the subtlety of a glitter bomb and reached unprecedented heights of melodrama. Something that helped the tale become a global phenomenon, demonstrating that improbable love stories can indeed shine in their own sparkly “skin-of-a-killer” fashion.

“This has to be the worst piece of literature I’ve ever read in my life.” Those were strong words from a man who spent years and at least six hundred dollars collecting softbacks and hardbacks in every special and limited edition the series offered. Jason Black was an anti-fan who lived to scoff at the literary mediocrities of authors who, after taking one look at their drafts, believed they deserved to be released into the world as actual literature. Such people, often inspired by similar works, spawned their own deranged narratives, subsequently contaminating the sanctity of literature.

In layman’s terms, Jason was a fervent hater of the highest order. He had a long list of things he despised about the series, yet curiously, re-watching the movies and re-reading the books always found its way to the top of his to-do list every other weekend. But do not get him wrong, not once did he say anything in favour of the series. Jason simply considered it one of those brain-rotting pieces that needed to be experienced to truly appreciate the beauty of classics like Emily Brontë and Jane Austen.

_username_1 : Bruh stfu. You’re probably an unemployed loner with nothing better to do in life than to be a keyboard warrior.

_username_2 : then idk buddy don’t read it ? It’s not that hard.

Jason huffed at the screen crossily, his fingers dancing over the keyboard unsure of what to type next. With a sigh, he stretched his arms as if preparing for battle. And a battle it was — being an anti-fan required more dedication, practice and patience than being a regular fan. What he didn’t realize was that he had knocked a water bottle off the table onto the frayed cord of his PC.

He couldn't fathom why people defended it as if their lives depended on it. If he ever met Stephenie Meyer, Jason would have a long talk with her about the plot—or rather, the lack thereof. With the number of plot holes in the books, they could qualify as swiss cheese. The inconsistencies were glaring: if sunlight made them sparkle, wouldn't they still sparkle during the day, just less brilliantly ? How did Jasper and Alice not overhear the phone call despite having super-hearing ? Why did Jasper go ballistic over a papercut when he attended a school where students would get paper cuts and scrapes all the time ? Why were vampires and werewolves the only species to exist ? And why was Bella, or more specifically her blood, so exceptional ? Did she perhaps descend from a line of flavourful blood havers or was it due to her mother's partial albinism ?

Was she special because she was the female lead, or was she the female lead because she was special ? There were so many unanswered questions and half-assed excuses for the events in the story that most explanations came from clever fans trying to make sense of things the author clearly put no effort into planning or thinking through. These questions had plagued him since he first read the series, and the lack of satisfying answers only fueled his irritation. So much so that Jason was embarrassed for the author. Regardless, he didn’t like the direction this conversation was going so he did what any intelligent person would do, i.e., spew hate comments and log off.

edward_my_bbg : Dumbfuck novel, Dumbfuck author

And as if on cue, a new notification popped up, dragging him back into the fray. It was another comment, this time mocking his apparent obsession with the series he claimed to hate. Jason’s face flushed with irritation as he furiously typed a retort, but before he could hit send, his screen flickered and went black.

He looked down and realized the water bottle he had knocked over had short-circuited his PC. With a groan, Jason leaned back in his chair, staring at the dark screen. It seemed the universe had decided to give him a break from his self-imposed battle. His hand fumbled in the dark for the plug only to feel water on the surface. The sharp pain and crackle of electricity were the last things he knew before he plunged headfirst into endless darkness.

[Activation Code:「Dumbfuck Author, Dumbfuck Novel」 ]

[System activated]

[Pairing command successful]

“What system ?” Jason asked out loud into the void even though he knew that it was most likely a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t expected to receive a reply however he did receive one much to his surprise.

[Welcome to the system. During the opening of the 「you can you up」system currently in its development phase, we wish to provide you with the best experience. It is our sincere hope that during the process, you will achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing in accordance with your wishes into a high-end, expansive, and classic work. We wish you happiness.]

Jason blinked, trying to make sense of the message. He glanced around the dim room, half-expecting to see some kind of holographic interface or futuristic display but there was nothing. Just the voice in his head and the darkness. “What the hell is this ?” he muttered, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity.

[You have been selected to participate in the beta phase of the 「you can you up」 system. Your task is to improve the story you despise, turning it into a masterpiece. All resources and guidance will be provided to you. Do you accept this challenge ?]

Jason hesitated, the situation seemed absurd, yet a part of him was intrigued. As he sat in silence, a thought occurred to him—what if he could actually fix all the plot holes that drove him up a wall ? Maybe this was his chance to prove he could do better. But then, the possibility of all of this being real seemed too slim. How did he get here ? What happened to him after the electric shock? Was he dying, or was he already dead ? "And if I don't accept ?" he asked, uncertainty and fear bleeding into his voice despite his attempt at maintaining his composure. The system responded quickly in the same mechanical tone as before.

[Your connection between your former body and soul was severed before the initiation of the program. If you choose not to accept, you will be returned to your previous reality with no changes made. This opportunity is unique and will not be offered again.]

“Severed from my body ? Wait— doesn’t that mean I’ll die if I don’t accept ?” Jason's question hung in the air, met with nothing but silence from the system. The lack of response only confirmed his fear.

The system's silence was deafening, seemingly pressing him to make a decision. Realizing he had little choice, Jason took a deep breath. “Fine, I accept,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. How bad could it possibly be ?

[Command acknowledged. Initializing story rewrite mode.]

The void around him began to shift and wrap. Till now he felt as though he was floating with no sensation except the system’s sound. His reality dissolved into swirling colours and Jason felt himself being pulled into a vortex. When the chaos settled, he heard a man’s voice call out to him. Unlike the clinical tone of system, this voice felt comforting and personal. He could feel tender warmth run through him however he couldn’t quite figure out what the voice was saying.

“Son ? Can you hear me ?”

“Dad ?” Jason murmured involuntarily, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. The gravel in the voice reminded him of the joys of his childhood when his dad was still — wait a second. Who the hell is that ?

His eyes struggled to focus as his eyelids fluttered a few times. Eventually, he was able to make out his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling. Unlike the damp ceiling of his old apartment with its peeling plaster and harsh lighting, this one had old glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers. It wasn’t familiar, but it seemed oddly comforting, like he had known it all his life. He slowly turned his head and saw a middle-aged man sitting on a wheelchair beside him with concern clouding his face. The man's russet complexion was lined with wrinkles yet his hair was long and lustrous.

“Where am I ?”

“You’re at home. You’ve been asleep for so long, it’s alright if you’re confused. Take your time son.” The man he called ‘dad’ answered sincerely.

Jason’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. The familiarity of the room and the comforting presence of the man didn’t align with the reality he remembered. In that moment, everything came back to him—his death, the void, the system, everything. Jason went into what could only be described as psychological shock. His brain went on autopilot.

The man reached out to grab Jason’s hand, but Jason flinched and pulled away. Slivers of hurt flashed in the old man’s eyes as he slowly withdrew his hand. Jason hadn’t meant to react so harshly, but the information dump combined with the influx of sensory input, he was simply too overwhelmed to cope.

“I-I think i need some space. Do you mind ?” Jason spoke each word carefully, then added, “...dad,” feeling strangely guilty for hurting his feelings. The old man nodded slowly and wheeled himself out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Jason jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. "Who the FUCK is this?"

Staring back at him was a boy, fifteen or sixteen, with the same russet skin as the old man and glossy black hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Recognizing the features, Jason knew this could only be one person.

[System activation successful ! Binding your role as : Jacob Black]

[System : Booting Up]

Jason, now Jacob Black, stared at his reflection in disbelief. The reality of his situation hit him like a shit ton of bricks. He brought his fist to his mouth and sobbed into it, and here he thought college was devastating. “But I’m Team Edward,” he choked out between sobs. “That’s so fucked up.”

[Thank you for initiating the execution of the system. You are not bound with the account ‘Jacob Black’. All resources and guidance will be provided to you in due time. Initial B points : 100]

Jason—Jacob—felt a rush of confusion and frustration. “Now what the hell are B points ?!” he yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls of the unfamiliar room. The loudness of his own voice startled him, making him realize just how different everything felt in this new body.

[As the plot progresses, a number of opportunities to gain more points will be available. Please make sure your B points are not lower than 0. Otherwise, the system will automatically impose penalties.]

He stumbled back from the mirror, running a hand through his hair, which was definitely longer and thicker than he remembered. He could feel the strength in his limbs, the vitality of youth coursing through him. Yet, despite the physical vigor, his mind was in turmoil. He had transmigrated into the very novel he hated; the universe always seemed to have a field day when it came to ruining his life. Jacob looked around the room that was littered with the relics of a life he had to now live — a cozy bed with rumpled sheets, a desk cluttered with schoolbooks and posters of motorcycles, bands and scenic landscapes on the walls.

“Um, so is Bella here ?” Jacob asked, scarfing down the bacon his dad made for him. Despite stressing over the role he was supposed to play in the story, he quickly adapted to his new life. He had a family, a house to live in, no worries about finding employment, no bills or taxes, a social life—or at least he assumed he had one—and, most importantly, no backaches. In hindsight, this might not be all that bad.

“Oh, you remember that ? Charlie said she’s arriving in a couple of days,” his dad, Billy, replied. Jacob felt a strange mix of anticipation and relief. Unlike most unfortunate transmigratees, he had no death flags to worry about, so he could sit back and watch Bella and Edward fall in love without “Jacob” interrupting them. Maybe he could even make things easier for Bella by acting like the perfect wingman. Who cared about making a better story anyway ? And once he had seen his OTP together, he could take his ticket out of town after the wedding and never return so that he could avoid the whole Renesmee business because some fates are worse than death.

[WARNING: Your plan is extremely dangerous and constitutes a violation. Please do not attempt it, or the system will impose strict penalties.]

Jacob choked on his water as the sudden warning window popped up in front of him. For a moment, he was so immersed in the domestic comfort of his new life that he almost forgot about the cursed system. His father looked at him with concern.

“Water went down the wrong pipe, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” Jacob said awkwardly, trying to reassure his father. So you can read minds now ? He internally taunted the system.

[It is a feature designed to ensure maximum support for the user.]

“That’s bullshit. Also, what do you mean by violation ?” Jacob asked. Does this system really have no respect for privacy ? If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was some kind of Zuckerberg’s meta gimmick.

[You are currently at the beginning stage. OOC function freeze is activated. You must complete the beginning stage before any functions can be unlocked. If you perform any actions against the original ‘Jacob Black’ role before the functions are unfrozen, a certain number of B points will be deducted.]

Given his extensive time spent on the internet, Jacob was well aware of what OOC meant, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. OOC stood for Out Of Character, referring to actions taken by a role that deviated from how the character was originally written.

“FUCK OFF. I’m an adult. I already finished my degree and Bella is like, a baby. And you can forget the whole Renesmee shit too. Bella belongs with Edward and and I have no intention of pursuing either her or her future daughter. So back off, you creep of a system.”

[WARNING: The system is issuing another alert. If your B points fall below 0, you will incur a penalty, which involves being automatically transported back to your original world.]

“You know, threatening me with death is really getting old,” Jacob stared at the warning message with his anger mounting. It felt like the system was encroaching on every aspect of his new life, imposing rules and restrictions without offering any clarity or real support.

He took a deep breath, trying to push past his irritation. There was no point in arguing with an automated system, especially one that clearly had its own agenda. Jacob decided to focus on what he could control. He needed to immerse himself in his role as Jacob Black and complete the introductory stage without attracting undue attention. The system’s warnings might be annoying, but he couldn’t let them derail his efforts to adapt to his new life.

As he finished his breakfast, Jacob glanced around the house. It was warm and welcoming, albeit a little messy, which was understandable. He and his dad were the only ones living there and according to his dad, he had been inexplicably unconscious for almost a week. Keeping the house tidy wasn't exactly a priority for a man worried sick about his son.

“Thanks for breakfast… Dad,” Jacob said, still not used to the idea of having a father again. There was the whole issue of stealing the real “Jacob” ’s life, dealing with imposter syndrome, and the guilt of replacing the memory of his own father by calling this old man his dad. But that was an existential crisis he chose not to mull over at the moment, especially on the precipice of the story's start. Call him selfish, but he preferred to focus on his blessings.

“I’ll go take a walk. I’ve been asleep for a while, so I need to… uh, stretch my legs,” Jacob said awkwardly, hoping Billy wouldn’t notice anything strange about his behavior.

“Sure thing, son. Also grab some red meat from the store for dinner. A growing kid like you needs that protein. And buy yourself something nice with the leftover money,” Billy replied, taking out his wallet and handing him some cash.

Jacob stared at the man in awe. As a kid who had bounced around the foster system after his dad died, he was used to being scorned and neglected. This might be part of the reason why he had become a social recluse, spending his time bashing bad literature and authors online. To him, Billy Black was the closest thing he had ever seen to an angel.

Jacob took the money, still feeling a bit dazed. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed to say, pocketing the cash. The air filling his lungs was much fresher than the pollution-riddled air of the city he used to live in. Nature seemed a lot nicer than he remembered. So, here's a lesson for the kids—don’t wait until you die and get transmigrated into a novel you hate to understand the importance of getting outside and appreciating nature. In short, go touch some fucking grass before it’s too late.

Almost as if by instinct he found himself at La Push beach. He wandered through the familiar yet new surroundings, trying to piece together his plan. If he was going to be stuck in this world, he might as well make the best of it. He thought about the story and mentally reviewed his plan. He would stay under the radar, be friendly but unobtrusive and focus on blending in with the locals. If he played his cards right, he might just manage to navigate this strange new life without getting points deducted by the system’s restrictions.

After strolling along the shore for a while, Jacob found a rock to sit on and watch the ocean. It was a stark contrast to the urban jungle he was accustomed to, this place was serene and almost idyllic.

“Ayo, is that Jacob ? Hey, Jake !” he heard someone call out. A moment later, a boy close to his age ran up to him, followed by one more. “Um, hey guys. How’s it... going ?” Socializing wasn’t one of Jacob’s strong suits; in fact, it was the exact opposite of the skill he had meticulously avoided developing over the years.

“Man, the whole crew was freaking out about you. You were out cold for a week and for no reason !” One thing Jacob appreciated about the system was the introduction tags above each character’s head. The boy speaking was named Quil, his cousin from the Quileute tribe. He knew these interactions were unavoidable, given their significance to his new role in the plot.

“Well, I got better ?” Jacob attempted a witty quip but cringed at how poorly it landed. To his surprise, the two boys just laughed. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Stop by Sam’s sometime; he’s been asking about you,” Embry said, giving Jacob a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Wait Sam ? Right of course. Duh. Sam’s place. Got it.” Jacob replied, blinking in confusion for a moment. Sam Uley was the Alpha—or at least the to-be Alpha—of the pack Jacob was supposed to join during New Moon.

[Mild OOC warning]

“Ay man, you feeling okay ?” Embry asked again, noticing Jacob’s hesitation. Jacob froze, Embry Call was the real Jacob’s best friend and if he figured out that Jason wasn’t really Jacob, it would spell massive trouble for him.

Jacob forced a smile. “Uh, yeah. I just—” He quickly tried to think of something. What would Jacob Black say in this situation ? What does he do to feel better ? He racked his brain for answers, knowing he needed to play the part convincingly, at least till he found a way to unfreeze the OOC function.

Go bother Bella ? a small voice suggested. Bella’s not here yet dumbass, another voice countered sharply. After years of social isolation, Jason’s inner dialogue had evolved to the point where he could have entire discussions with himself. No, he wasn’t schizophrenic.

“—I was just going to grab some red meat to chow on and uh y’know, work on my bike,” he finished, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

Embry and Quil exchanged a knowing look, which made Jacob's anxiety spike only to burst into laughter. “Classic Jake. At this rate, you might end up marrying your bike,” Quil teased and Jacob laughed along, though he desperately wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

“Just take it easy, yeah ? We don’t want you passing out on us again. By the way, there's a sale at the store on the other side of town,” Embry squeezed Jacob’s shoulder reassuringly again. The familiarity they seemed to share with him was comforting, even if he felt like an imposter. He knew he had to get up to speed quickly if he wanted to maintain this facade. They soon parted ways and Jacob headed towards the store.

The store lady was overly enthusiastic upon seeing Jacob. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his face or the fact that he was a regular. As Jason, he had always been below average in looks and physique. Whereas, by the virtue of being the second male lead of a popular teenage romance novel, Jacob Black was undeniably attractive. With his deep-set dark eyes, prominent cheekbones, and beautiful long hair, he looked like someone Jason would have envied. Maybe he could try his hand at modeling once the story ended, because there was no way he was putting himself through college again.

And as unpredictable as the weather of Forks was, it began to rain. Normally, Jason would wait it out and then go but now that he as in Jacob’s body, he thought to test his body’s limits. Like c’mon a little drizzle isn’t going to hurt a big strong werewolf alpha-to-be. He stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool droplets on his skin. It was refreshing, almost invigorating. Jacob’s body seemed to handle the cold and wet far better than Jason’s ever did. As he made his way back the store, he noticed people giving him friendly nods and waves. It felt strange to be acknowledged so warmly, a stark contrast to the anonymity he was used to.

At the red light he stopped, waiting for it to turn green. Sure, there were no cars around and he could have just walked, but road rules were no joke. He liked this life too much to risk having it taken away by truck-kun. “Hey system, is double isekai a thing?” he asked. The system didn’t reply, so that was probably a no.

Jacob glanced to his side and saw a person standing under a large black umbrella. A strong sweet scent pricked his nose. How strong does this guy’s cologne have to be to reach me even with the rain ? There was a name tag hovering above the person’s head, but it was obscured by the umbrella, as was his face. One thing he had learned was that only people relevant to the story had name tags over their heads, which meant this person was a character in the story. He looked down at the stranger’s hand—it looked like porcelain.

Jacob felt a sense of foreboding, creeping up his veins. His instincts were on high alert, telling him that this stranger was no ordinary person. The rain began to pour harder, each drop bouncing off the asphalt with increasing intensity.

The person probably noticed Jacob staring and as he did, the umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a pale, almost ethereal face with piercing golden eyes. The moment their gazes met, Jacob was momentarily blinded by a brilliant golden aura radiating from the name tag above the person’s head.

[Edward Cullen]

Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Of course, it had to be Edward. What were the odds of encountering your favorite character on the very first day of your new life ? He felt his knees weaken. Despite the dim lighting and gloomy setting, Edward was undeniably striking. The rain seemed to fall more slowly around him, as if even the weather was reluctant to mar his flawlessness . His tousled bronze hair framed his face perfectly and Jacob felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it. Despite all his criticisms of the novel, Edward had always held a special place in his heart for reasons Jacob couldn’t quite explain.

Damn, this mf looks anemic as hell. Maybe I should feed him. It was a half-serious thought, borne from both concern and his internal struggle to reconcile his feelings towards the character with the reality of his situation.

[OOC WARNING! OOC WARNING!]

[Edward Cullen is your enemy.]

“Fuck off, he’s my babygirl,”Jacob shot a mental retort at the system in exasperation and a streak of protectiveness. The system’s declaration that Edward was an enemy wasn’t misplaced given Jacob’s role in the novel but that didn’t mean it wasn’t at odds with his feelings.

Edward had always been his favorite character, a source of fascination and admiration. This was supposed to be his chance to explore and perhaps even improve upon the narrative, not to be embroiled in conflict with a character he held dear.

Jacob didn't even notice when the light turned green and Edward started walking away, his steps soundless on the wet pavement. Acting on impulse or perhaps some hidden desire, Jacob found himself walking towards Edward and grabbing his elbow, accidentally knocking his umbrella aside. Edward stopped and turned to him as the rain continued to soak them both. His gaze was like a sharp, unyielding beam of light, cutting through the rain. His eyes, an unusual shade of golden amber, held a depth that seemed to pierce directly into Jacob's soul, scrutinizing every hidden corner of his being.

[OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC!]

[EDWARD CULLEN IS YOUR ENEMY]

I’m so stupid — I forgot completely. Jacob and Edward haven’t met yet. Maybe… maybe I can salvage this ? Be a dick and still be nice ? He definitely didn’t want to end up on Edward’s bad side, nor did he want to break the system’s rules. Annoying as it was, the system was what kept him alive. Though he’d never say it out loud, he was terrified at the thought of dying, again. The system’s constant reminders of their supposed enmity were starting to grate on him, but he couldn’t afford to make more mistakes. What was a man to do when every choice seemed fraught with peril ?

Ack — he’s staring. Can he hear my thoughts ? I hope not. He and Bella meet soon, if I remember correctly so— Jacob’s anxiety skyrocketed under the weight of that gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat drumming in his ears. A tight knot of dread twisted in his stomach and whether it was the rain or not, he could feel cold sweat forming on his palms. He needed to say something—anything—that wouldn’t completely derail the plot but also wouldn’t make Edward hate him from the start, even if it was inevitable.

“Oh uh — my bad, dude. I just thought you looked kinda sick so I thought — I mean,” Jacob scrambled for an explanation, forcing a nonchalant tone as he released Edward’s elbow. He felt like a small animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, desperately searching for a way to escape unscathed.

“—Uh, here.” He shoved the raw steak he had just bought into Edward’s arms. The system fell silent for a moment, as stunned by his actions as Jacob was. The sound of the rain was almost deafening as awkward silence stretched between them. Edward looked down at the raw steak in his hands, confusion and surprise painting his features.

Without waiting for a reply, Jacob quickly turned on his heel and hurried away, his footsteps splashing through the rain-soaked pavement. “Later ! Get that iron up and be the lady killer you were born to be !” he called over his shoulder. After walking a few metres, he paused briefly and added,“ And seriously lay off the sauvage man !”

As he put more distance between them, Jacob’s thoughts began to spiral. What had he just done ? Did Edward think he was completely nuts ? Or worse, could Edward have read his thoughts and seen through his facade ? Jacob shuddered at the possibility.

[Why did you do that ?]

“I don’t know okay !? I thought it’d help with looking y’know less dead when he meets Bella.” He shrugged. Explaining himself to the system felt pointless considering it was neither his parent nor his babysitter. The system remained silent, as if considering his response, Jacob rolled his eyes.

[OOC ! -20 B points ↓ ↓ ↓]

“Oh come on !”

“Still staring at that bag of steak, Ed ?” The pixie-haired woman leaned over her brother’s shoulder, teasing him.

“Go away, Alice,” Edward muttered, his gaze still locked on the steak as if it held some profound answers of the universe. His fingers occasionally running over the plastic, making the blood inside to squelch against the surface.

“Seriously what’s up with you ?” Alice frowned, dropping the banter. Ever since Edward had returned, he’d been fixated on this bag of steak that suspiciously smelled like wet dog. What was even more peculiar was the fact that she hadn’t had any visions of this event. Normally, Alice caught glimpses of all the interesting things happening with her family throughout the day but she had no clue how Edward had ended up with that steak. And from the look on his face, Edward didn’t look like he was divulging anything either.

“Nothing just… trying to figure someone out.” Edward sighed. Alice was his favorite family member, and he seldom told her off but this was something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. If he told Alice, she’d likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. But despite everything, one question kept lingering in his mind.

Who was that man ?

A.n - should I make this into a series ? If yes please lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist.

#jacob black’s self saving system #jbsss #scum villian self saving system #scumbag system #scum villain #twilight #jacob black #bella swan #edward cullen #luo binghe #shen quingqiu #svsss #mxtx svsss #mxtx #ducky if you’re seeing this just know I owe you my life and firstborn

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shesjustanothergeek · 7 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch

Chapter One: My Dream

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Let's celebrate the first episode of season 2 with a new story! I'm publishing this before the show airs, so let's say a tentative prayer in case the first episode is Blood & Cheese. Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: sexism (it's a patriarchal feudalistic society), brief descriptions of childbirth and death related to it, Alicent being delulu.

When Viserys Targaryen's wife, Aemma of House Arryn, had failed pregnancy after failed pregnancy, a girl was a welcomed result. It proved not only to Aemma herself and her King Husband that she could produce a child but to the realm that there was hope for a son, a much-preferred result.

“My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?” - Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

If a daughter were to be born seconds before a brother, it did not matter. He was the heir. If she was born decades before a boy, it did not matter. He was the heir. Or so the realm believed until the reign of Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, Grandson to the Old King Jaehaerys.

Queen Consort Aemma Arryn died in pursuit of something she could not control, screaming, wailing, begging her husband not to cut her open, but he did not listen, for the birth of a son was more important than the life of a woman.

The infant Baelon Targaryen died a day later, leaving King Viserys a widower with only a daughter with the same fair skin and hair as the woman he murdered. The woman who laid slain on her birthing bed, bright blue irises now glassy, blood pooling from her womb, was given a Targaryen funeral along with the Heir for a Day, as her good brother called him, her last surviving child whispering, “dragon fire” through tears, with the encouragement of the same man who lusted after her and the throne.

The result of a mother’s and son’s death gave way to grief and anger. Viserys, blinded by the insults levied against his dead child, broke centuries of tradition and named Westeros’ first female heir Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Daemon Targaryen was furious at the abuse of being cast aside for a girl of ten and four and took to Dragonstone, the rightful seat of the Iron Throne's successor, with his whore, Lady Misery, an enslaved Lysene sold into the sex trade that became the Prince's favorite mistress.

Daemon did not hate his niece. He loved his family far more than anyone believed, so he surrendered when the Realm's Delight flew on her dragon to confront her uncle.

Less than a year later, not nearly long enough to mourn the death of two people, Viserys Targaryen married Alicent of House Hightower, daughter of the Hand and dearest friend to his daughter. The King saw the union as an act of fortunate duty and desire instead of love. On that much, the young Alicent Hightower could agree. Perhaps, he thought, it was a way to ensure his daughter would always have her closest Lady around, but Viserys was a fool . He could not see past his blinding grief and selfish lust that he tore the two girls apart.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's mother was a girl her age, a girl she longed to have to accompany her on Syrax, explore the East, and eat cake, but that was never meant to be. The Gods provided as quickly as they took, and her lifelong confidant viewed her with such hate and distaste that Rhaenyra soon began to consider her the same.

“Stepdaughter,” Alicent called her at the Princess's wedding feast to Ser Laenor of House Velaryon. Her voice laced with enough venom, and her dress so green you would mistake her for a snake. This gave Rhaenyra a sickening feeling in her gut, which soon hardened into one of cool indifference.

And that was how they lived.

Silent and icy indifference as Queen Alicent walked through the Targaryen halls of the Red Keep in Hightower Green, birthing the King his first surviving sons and second daughter.

However, there was a moment of repreave in the Queen's and the Princess's glacial flippancy when her forgotten ally fell pregnant for the first time.

Alicent could not help herself from caring for her old friend during her first pregnancy. She quickly fell back into the role of her Lady, supplying Rhaenyra with food, oils, clothing, and occasionally companionship during the quarrelsome nine moons.

The Queen had almost found it within her heart to forgive Rhaenyra for her lies and false swearing beneath the Heart Tree all those years ago, and she did until the labors when she saw the brown tuft of hair atop a young babe's head.

At the time, Alicent did not have a moment to contemplate what that meant before her friend screamed, holding on so tightly to her hand that she thought it might break as the rest of the infant emerged. The babe's face was so purple and cord wrapped around their neck that Alicent nearly cried, fearing life had repeated itself. The nursemaids quickly cut the blue and pink veiny line that connected the child to its mother, turning the babe upside down and spanking it on the back until its cries rang out throughout Maegor’s Holdfast.

A girl.

There, screaming and curling their once lifeless fist, were you , the firstborn child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, only by a mere moment, finally breathing and wailing as they swaddled you in an embroidered black and red cloth, a boy soon following.

“What shall you name them, your highness?” the eldest midwife asked, nearly as out of air as Rhaenyra.

“We…” the princess breathed heavily, positioning herself in the birthing chair. “We had only thought of a boy with the help of Lord Corlys. Jacaerys,” she panted, her cheeks tinged pink, either from exertion or embarrassment from being so thoughtless. Alicent did not know.

The nurse holding Rhaenyra’s son passed him to her, all eyes lingering on that same flattened-down dark hair. “Shall we wait for the Prince, your highness?” another question, holding the unnamed girl.

“I think,” Rhaenyra groans, shifting her weight to account for the new one, “we shall be waiting for a while should my husband suddenly return from his travels.” She glanced at Alicent, watching her once closest friend pick at the skin of her nails. She grinned, a brilliant idea coming to mind as she ordered the maid to give her daughter to the Queen.

Alicent's doe eyes widened as she accepted. She peered down at the tiny bundle before her, still crying, purple face now a deep red and full of life. The Queen did not know what came over her as she leaned, bringing the child’s blotchy forehead to her lips, inhaling the unique scent only a newborn has. She noticed the muscles around where the babe's brows should be twitching, opening her eyes to reveal a mirror of Alicent’s own looking at her.

The Queen forgot for a moment that she was not her own and that she should be alarmed that the child's eyes bore no resemblance to their parents. Yet the Queen continued to smile down at the small fidgeting bundle in her grasp, her arms wiggling themselves out of their confines to clench and unclench. The cries now became softer but still there. Sounds that used to cause Alicent great distress now soothe her uneasy soul like a salve to a wound.

“What shall we call her, my Queen?” Rhaenyra questioned, a crooked smile on her face as Alicent broke from her revere. Her plush lips parted in surprise, looking as if a deer caught grazing alone in a field.

The Queen appeared bewildered, unprepared for such a monumental task; all faces turned to her. “I… I am unsure, Princess. I did not come prepared for such an honor.”

Rhaenyra kept the same lopsided grin on her lips, showing the tips of her white teeth. “Tis all mine. It's an honor to have the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms name my first born daughter.”

“An honor I accept gladly,” Alicent rushed, worried that her refusal would shatter their peace.

She paused, pursing her lips in thought. Despite having three and another on the way, she had never named a child. Helaena was the closest she had ever gotten, a familiar name within the Reach but made to fit the traditional Targaryen spelling. Alicent would have something to herself, one tiny sliver of something that belonged to her, and she was unsure what to do with it. She was confident that Rhaenyra would be content with any name she chose, but she wanted it to be unique, to mean something more than just a word.

Alicent thought of her mother then—her darling mother, whom she barely had a chance to spend life with before a fever took her. A mother that her father said she looked like an extension of, and suddenly, only one name felt right.

The Queen was constantly conflicted about every choice she made, every move. From the food she ate to the clothes she wore, Alicent always worried herself over it, wondering if she had made the correct decision, but in this, she was sure. No man, woman, or God could sway her from this choice. It was right. The Queen could feel it in the marrow of her bones that it was so.

“Aelora.”

Aelora, my light.

The King came bursting moments later, a servant dressed in a crimson gown, white apron, and cap standing anxiously beside him. He immediately went straight into the room, brushing past his wife in favor of his daughter. Alicent felt a sour taste in her mouth at the notion, pulling the quiet lump tighter to her chest.

“A boy and a girl!” Viserys excitedly hollered, Rhaenyra passing Jacaerys to him. Anxiousness settled over the birthing chamber, the midwives and maids observing with worrisome eyes at the head of brown hair. “ Ah! And I see they have inherited my favorite cousin's hair.”

He held the newborn with a reverence Alicent had never seen with her own, and she stepped back into the shadows of the onlookers. She peered down, catching the babe's eyes shut and face slack, still with the fresh scent of birth. She brought you to her forehead again as she took in this brief moment of joy, nose nuzzling the infant’s as she grunted at the intrusion.

“Aelora, the Gods’ Light. My shining light,” she whispered so softly against the babe's satin-smooth skin that it drifted into the air like dust, lost in the wind.

“Oh, and her eyes, too!” Viserys beamed, hoisting Jacaerys into the air as the wetnurses squealed in terror. “She will make a fine queen one day, and should the Gods allow it, you, a king.” Rhaenyra laughed at her father's antics, already planning the children’s marriage. She was too high on the feeling of birthing not one but two healthy babes, a boy and a girl, no less to care. Alicent's amber eyes flicked to her husband and then to your plump face, a frown pulling her lips.

Aegon had come quickly and without fuss. Though Alicent was merely a girl of ten and six when it happened, the moments leading up to it frightened her thoroughly. She worried her nails down to the quick, the pink fleshy beds exposed and bleeding whenever she would use too harsh of a grip.

She knew of what happened to Aemma Arryn, that the babe was stuck and couldn't turn to leave the womb, at least to the Maester’s belief. He gave the King a choice, not the woman who was writhing in pain as her body contracted, to either let the process play out with the chance that the child and his wife could perish or have him slice her open from hip to hip, dig through her guts and blood to pry the child out. Aemma Arryn had no voice in the matter from what she heard from the midwives, as her husband allowed a man to pull Prince Baelon straight from her womb.

Alicent did not want to face the same fate and prayed to the Mother day after day, night after night, until her knees were yellow and blue, and even then, she continued her efforts. She was alone in all this, with no one to confide in. Her father had told her to do her duty when she expressed concern. He assured her the King would allow no such thing if she did everything correctly. He offered no comfort, and Alicent longed for her dearest Princess. Her prayers were answered when that fateful day came, and the labors lasted no more than an hour.

She birthed a healthy boy with blonde hair and purple eyes, but even then, Viserys did not act the way he was now with Rhaenyra's children. A means to end all the uncertainty of an heir, her father said in words of solace. She hadn't understood what he meant then. Rhaenyra was the heir, crowned Princess of Dragonstone, and Lords swore allegiance to her across the realm. To Alicent, there was no uncertainty until there was.

Until Otto Hightower planted the rot that festered and spread in her mind that the girl she grew up alongside, the girl she spent so many days and nights with, the girl that had said she would forget her duty and fly off across the world eating nothing but cake with her friend by her side, would murder Alicent's children so they could not depose her reign.

She did not believe Rhaenyra was capable of cruelty, but then again, she had once considered her incapable of lying to her and was proven wrong.

She began to fuss as if the infant in her embrace could sense the Queen's unrest. Her delicate little face scrunched up as Alicent bounced her softly, cooing soothingly. She smiled despite her unpleasantness within, unfazed by the sudden outburst, unlike when Helaena had her fits as a child. Her daughter would have to meet her niece and nephew, along with Aegon. Aemond was too young. She wouldn't be able to keep a close eye on him.

Though he was half the size of Aegon when he was born, he had grown twice as fierce. At barely three years old, his nursemaids had to ceaselessly follow the moonlight-haired boy less than a step away lest he jump down a flight of stairs just to see if he could. Once, when Alicent dismissed the servants from Aemond's chambers as he readied for bed, she turned her back on him for a singular blink, and he opened his balcony doors and climbed over the railing to get a better view of the night sky. Alicent remembered how he kicked and screamed as she yanked him from the ledge, saying words and phrases she never knew, even at the age she was now.

“My Queen,” the wetnurse called like she had repeated herself as Alicent looked at the girl. “The young Princess needs her first feeding.” The woman held out her arms for her to hand over the fussing bundle, a calm but concerned expression on her face.

Alicent refused, curling her limbs as the babe squirmed, her cries becoming ear-piercing screams. She knew the child needed to eat but could not force her body to release the girl. It was as if her very bones denied the movement that was not keeping the hungry infant close to her. The fleeting thought that Alicent could feed the girl herself crossed her mind, but she shook it away, realizing the ludacrisy of it. It was improper for a woman of nobility to nurse their child. That's what the maids were for, the Queen told herself.

The wetnurse peered at her curiously, walking a pace closer, but Alicent stepped back as if she attempted to harm her. “The King has not held her yet,” she protested, looking towards her King-Husband in an attempt to prolong her time.

“All is well, Alicent. What kind of King refuses to let their babe grandchild eat?” he jested, tilting his head to the side playfully and exposing a gaping smile. It made Alicent want to vomit.

When she doesn't move to listen, the Queen stared at her husband like her silence could serve as a rejection of his words. Viserys sighed as Rhaenyra watched with piqued interest, wordlessly handing Jacaerys to another maid.

“Alicent, give her the child.”

She hesitated again, her brown eyes flickering to Rhaenyra when she did not offer for Alicent to stay while the maids worked. Once again, she mused bitterly, watching the infant intently as she relented. I give my dream away to you. A dream that was never indeed mine.

The Queen bowed to the Princess, congratulating her on the success as she took her leave, hand splaying over the swollen stomach of her emerald green gown. It felt too tight, the once smooth fabric now itching at her skin, the fine hairs on her arms catching between the threads.

How stupid she was to believe in Rhaenyra’s kindness. She felt like a girl again, the same girl who stood beneath the Weirwood, listening to her friend swear on her mother’s memory that she had not lain with a man, only to find out there was moontea delivered to her chambers.

A sudden kick was sent to the Queen's abdomen, halting her brisk pace as she doubled over within the pale redstone hall. Ser Criston Cole arrived moments later, helping her rise to her feet. She soothed the afflicted area with her palm, no doubt the cause being her own making. Despite the growing life inside of her, the Queen has now done it four times. Alicent believed the moment she laid her wide amber eyes on yours was the closest she had ever felt to being whole with someone in her life. It’s as if the child's very being was now a part of her, and every moment she was away, it felt as if she was missing a piece of her soul.

Rhaenyra flaunts and does as she pleases, lies, and tricks all she pleases. It made Alicent furious with a rage she had not felt for nearly a decade. Aelora will not become like her mother. The Green Queen will not allow it, even if she has to twist and shape the clay of Aelora's mind into something of her own. Aelora is her dream. She is the Gods' shining light, and Alicent will be damned if she allows Rhaenyra to blacken her glow.

Septon Eustace's Recount of Princess Aelora I Targaryen's Early Life

The young Velaryon princess, later taking her mother’s namesake, grew into a spritely and mischievous child, playing jests on her Septa and Prince Aemond with the aid of her brothers and the eldest of the Queen’s children, Prince Aegon. She did not develop into a traditional Targaryen beauty with blonde hair and violet eyes; instead, she had a golden chestnut crown with eyes to match. Many said she resembled Queen Alicent, though if anyone made the error of voicing it, they faced Princess Rhaenyra’s wrath.

Though her features were plain by Targaryen standards, the realm rejoiced in her beauty. Lords and ladies commissioned portraits of her countenance throughout the kingdom, proudly displaying a halcyon halo of red rubies adorning the top of her divine facade. The common folk coined the name “The Gods' Light” for the sweet girl. A glimpse of her was as close as one would get to the Maiden, and they cherished it whenever Princess Rhaenyra's faction made rare journeys to the Grand Sept.

Masterlist of Series

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I'm excited to write for my favorite war criminal, Visenya Incarnate, Aemond Targaryen. I'm just super happy to write Aemond smut! I'm also taking a different approach to this story because it will solely be based on the show (to the best of my ability), not the book, and will be released with the same progression. It will have accounts of the reader's life through the eyes of the Maester's. Of course, there will be some cannon divergence and whatnot, considering we're introducing a new character into the fray. This fic will also be a lot darker than what I've written in the past, including content such as childhood sexual assault and the after-effects of it, self-harm, depression, suicide, and unhealthy sibling dynamics/relationships.

This story is told from the second person's perspective. The reader only has a name for the sake of a title and the description of Strong features.

Y'all have no idea how fulfilling writing has been for me. It's given me purpose when I've felt like I had none. It's helped my mental health by giving me an outlet for self-expression and a good source of distraction from all the worries I have in life. I wish I could get paid for this!

I hope y'all will enjoy the story as much as I will writing it, and of course, thank you so much for taking the time to read this. You genuinely have no idea how much your support means to me, but I will continue to express it in the best way I know how. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Ps. Alicent's mom's name is unknown in the show and the book, so I'm creating a name that combines my original idea with traditional Targaryen spelling.

Pronunciation: Uh-lore-uh, Ae-lore-uh

Origin: Latin

Meaning: dream, dreamer, shining light.

Biblical Meaning: God is light, God's light.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf

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a-leg-without-fear · 5 months ago

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Flooded Red (pt.1)🩸🌧️

some lore for the reader character!! this takes place during the raid on the mansion in X2: X-Men United. please enjoy some Gore and some BAMF reader :)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 4.7k

Warnings: gore, violence, Carrie-levels of blood, mentions of child abuse/abandonment, child endangerment, mentions of experimentation, depressive thoughts, drugging, choking, mentions of serious illness

Series: Flooded Red

You were no stranger to nightmares. Whether they were your own, making you toss and turn and wake up feeling exhausted, or Logan’s, leaving him shaking and panting. Yours were more infrequent than his. Every other night or so, your dreams were edged with that toxic darkness compared to his nightly torment. Anxiety-fuelled imagery that made your heart pump and your skin sweaty.

Tonight, it seemed, was your turn on the nightmare-express. Flashes of your life before joining Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters pierced your mind like a hot poker. Your father dying of polio, your mother abandoning you when your mutation showed itself, you begging for food on the side of the road for twenty years.

In particular, one evening in the ‘50s decided to plague you.

You, a 54-year old who appeared to still be twelve, were hunkered down in the abandoned building you called home. It was raining, humid summer air leaking in through the boarded up windows. Mildew spots covered the aged wallpaper. A distinct, old-house smell permeated the aged floorboards.

You sat on your collection of moth-eaten blankets. An array of warm reds and cool blues created a cushy, makeshift bed that you spent your nights in. Pale orange filtered in from the streetlamps outside the abandoned house. You had tried your best to block out light by sticking newspapers to what windows weren’t covered by pine boards.

A group of men stood in front of you. Varying heights and weights. One had darker skin and cropped black hair, another had a neck tattoo and a cleft lip. Those two stood at the front of the pack of five. All wearing dark clothes and brandishing various household items as weapons. Steel pipes, wrenches, tire irons.

“You guys really don’t want to do this,” you squeaked out. You silently cursed your prepubescent voice. The man with the tattoo scoffed, squinted eyes peering around where you sat.

“And what’re you gonna do, pipsqueak?” he sneered. He smacked his palm with the pipe in his hands. The others moved to form a line next to him, blocking you from any exits.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you muttered under your breath. The man on the far right, blonde-haired and green-eyed, chuckled at you.

“You are the least threatening girl I-”

His words were cut short, breath caught in his throat. Your head was tilted as you focused. Dark eyes flooded red, blood overtaking the white, as your left arm raised toward the group.

Rough gurgles echoed from each man’s chest. Eyes wide with fear, skin flushing, lungs filled with liquid. Your lips spread into a knowing grin.

With one flick of your fingers, you made the men’s blood reach its boiling point. Explosions of crimson ichor burst from the five men. Skin split and flowered around large wounds. Bones cracked, limbs twitching and flailing.

One by one, each man fell to the ground. Bodies turned to sacks of flesh and organs. Blood seeped from the empty carcasses into the wooden floorboards.

Your smile remained stretched across your face. You hadn’t moved from your pile of blankets. Left arm covered to the elbow in blood, rest of your body clean, eyes returning to their normal ruby shade.

A piercing, world-shattering scream broke you from the shackles of your nightmare. You darted up, chest heaving, hands covering your ears to shield yourself from the noise. Glancing briefly at your own body, you were met with your adult self. Your wide eyes looked up and darted around your room.

The left side of your bed was empty. Sheets bunched up by your knees, pillow ruffled. Results of Logan sharing your bed. Yet the grouch was nowhere to be seen. You looked up to the door hoping to see him standing there.

Instead, your eyes landed on three heavily armed men. Covered in kevlar, bullet-proof vests, thick helmets. Each one having several guns attached at various points on their bodies. They were hunched over, hands over their ears, occasional grunts coming from beneath black, cloth masks.

Ignoring the scream that jabbed your eardrums when you lowered your hands, you scrambled out of bed. Your socked feet slid slightly on the hardwood floors as you dashed to the doorway.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped. You shook your head and blinked a few times. You took the chance you saw before you while the armed men reoriented.

A sharp jab to the front man’s jaw, his head ricocheting back, and a swift kick to his stomach sent him careening back between the other two. You couldn’t stop to check if he was out yet. You swiveled on your backfoot to the man on the right. Grabbing the sides of his helmet, you yanked his head down and connected his eye socket with your knee. You punched him in the temple for good measure as he fell to the floor.

The last man raised his machine gun to your torso. You paused briefly, eyeing the man up and down, then dropped to your knees as gunshots ringed over your head. You lunged forward at the man’s legs and knocked him to the ground. A strong kick to the face and he was out.

Breathing heavily, you clambered to your feet. Your gaze landed on the wooden door behind you. You expected to see bullet holes and splintered shrapnel. Instead, three small, white darts were embedded in the wood grain. You plucked one from the door to inspect it.

Right when the dart was lifted to your face, thick arms wrapped around your neck. Kevlar vest met your t-shirt clad back as the man who you’d failed to check choked you. Your breath came out ragged and strained. You tried to stomp back on the man’s feet, but he just stepped out of the way. Your vision was growing blurry around the edges.

“Stupid fucking mutant,” the man huffed in your ear, every word laced with malice and hate.

In a last ditch attempt, you took the dart still clutched in your fingers and stabbed it into the man’s arm. A string of pained curses left the man’s mouth as he released you. You stumbled forward, chest heaving to recover lost air, as you pivoted to face your attacker.

The man blindly grabbed at the dart in his forearm. He stumbled back, body connecting with the wall behind him, then started sinking to the floor. His head lolled to the side.

Huh, tranquilizers, you thought.

You hardly had time to assess your situation as you heard scuffling down the hall. Dozens of thick boots stepping quietly across the hardwood floor. When you listened closer, you heard the clatter of guns in gloved hands.

An involuntary growl left your chest. These men were here for the kids. Your kids. The kids you’ve helped teach and care for and raise. Flashes of fiery anger licked up your chest. You knelt and tore one of the machine guns filled with darts away from the unconscious men.

You kept low to the ground as you peered out of your bedroom doorway. A larger group of kevlar-clad men, about eight strong, were walking away from your room and toward the edge of the mansion. You nestled the stock in your shoulder and aimed at the group.

Muffled, quick shots echoed from the rifle as you shot at the men, each bundle of three darts connecting with a limb. Helmets clattered on the floor as the men collapsed. They had no time to register where the shots were coming from before they laid in an unconscious heap on the floor.

You threw the empty gun to the floor as you stood. You hated guns. Hated what they represented, the violence they caused, the people who wielded them. It was a very rare circumstance that placed a gun in your hands.

A chorus of children’s screams came from the hallway behind you. Terrified, heart-wrenching, utterly fearful. Pure, unbridled rage tugged at your chest. You could feel red coat the edges of your eyes. Blood seeping into the whites to make you look like some kind of demon.

You turned and walked briskly down the hall. Hands clenched in fists at your sides, pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin, eyes clouded in a flaming scarlet.

When you approached the next group of men, this group being six strong and standing outside Ryan and Addie’s room, your mind seemed to click off. All you could see was red, all you could hear was your own pulse in your ears, all you could taste was fresh blood coating your tongue.

Your body wasn’t your own. Fingers twisted and manipulated the pumping blood beneath the men’s skin. Bubbling and boiling the flowing ichor until each man froze where they stood. Twitching and shaking, eyes crying scarlet and mouths leaking red. Another flick of your fingers and they exploded into clouds of steamed blood. Crimson coated your entire body, leaving you drenched in the men’s remains.

Six men. Turned into empty skins and abandoned organs. Blood seeping into the hardwood floor. Dead.

Your vision came back to you. Gasping breaths left your throat in short bursts. Warm liquid beaded on the sides of your face and dripped down your skin. Your clothes were utterly drenched, your hair plastered to your scalp, feet submerged in a puddle of red.

It had been so long since you’d lashed out like that. Mind going blank and fingers acting of their own accord. Since that night in the abandoned house, you’d kept your wits about you. Always resorting to hand-to-hand or to weapons if the need presented itself. You never used your mutation if you could help it.

You felt ashamed. These six men were just doing as they were told. They were only following orders. No one, not even the worst humans, deserved to die like that.

Before the panic could grip you in a chokehold, another group of booted footsteps came from down the hall. A small voice echoed in the back of your mind. The kids. Protect the kids. Whatever it takes. How could you refuse, when the children were your life? Your reason for being?

You splashed through the puddles of blood as you moved down the hall. Eyes flooded red, fingers twitching at your sides, anger gripping your chest in a vice. You weren’t yourself anymore. You weren’t the art teacher the children loved, the friend that the X-Men laughed with, or the lover Logan had grown to know.

All you were was a burning, churning whirlpool of fiery hate. Flames licked at your lungs, filling each breath with fire. Swirling images of corpses at your feet filled your stomach to the brim.

“There’s another one! Wait… holy shit!” yelled out from in front of you. You cocked your head as you observed this new group of men.

Ten strong, all clad in kevlar and vests, all pointing their rifles loaded with tranquilizer darts at you. You could see a shake in their hands as they took in the sight of you. Eyes flooded red, blood seeping through your hair and into your clothes, feet tracking crimson in their wake. If there was a physical embodiment of Carrie, you fit the bill.

“D-Don’t move!” called the trembling voice again. Guns clicked in gloved hands as the safeties were switched off. You could see every hand had a finger resting on a trigger.

Your right hand twitched, fingers curling, as a manic grin overtook your stoney expression. These men, these infiltrators, were giving you commands? Were demanding you stand down as they took your children away? These puny, insignificant men were instructing someone with the power to kill them in a single motion? The thought made you laugh under your breath.

“Or what?” you said back. Red dots centered on your chest as every man aimed at you. Another chuckle flitted through your lips, “Good luck with that.”

Dozens of gunshots ringed out through the hallway as dart after dart embedded in your chest. Clusters of white needles protruded from your blood stained shirt. You glanced down at the intrusions to your bloodstream. A tired edge overtook your mind as the tranquilizers pumped their chemicals into you.

You gripped the darts and ripped them from your chest. A cacophony of clatters bounced back to the men as the darts fell to the floor. You shook your head to rid yourself of the chemicals threatening to knock you out.

“Wanna try that again?” you asked, every word dripping in sarcastic confidence.

Before the men could reload and obey your request, you raised your left hand to the group. Your senses focused on the blood pumping through their scared little hearts. Cortisol coursed through each man’s veins. Pathetic.

A twitch of your fingers made their hearts careen to a stop. Blood froze in their veins, oxygen being deprived from their lungs, eyes widening and limp hands clutching at their throats. It only took a few moments for them to collapse to the floor.

You breathed a humorless laugh at the mess of corpses in front of you. Who did they think they were, to challenge you like that? Especially after they saw that their darts didn’t work. You tilted your head side to side as you stretched out your neck.

“Vampire?” a small voice said from behind you. You turned to the source, fingers twitching in preparation. Whoever this new threat was, you’d deal with it quickly.

Regret filled your stomach like a lead ball when your eyes landed on Addie and Ryan. They stood, hand in shaking hand, feet soaking in the puddles of blood, wide eyes looking up at you. Your breath left your lungs in one sharp gust.

“Are you okay?” Addie asked, being the one who’d said your nickname before. She tucked a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. You sank to your knees before the siblings.

“I… Yeah, I’m okay,” you sighed. You squeezed your eyes shut, clearing your head of the hatred it was filled with. When you opened them again, Ryan stood before you. His blue eyes looked you over with a deep concern crinkling in the corners.

“You sure? You’re pretty bloody,” he said. You wiped at the blood covering your face. It was no use, your hands being equally drenched.

“Is it your blood?” Addie questioned from behind her brother. You shook your head.

“No. No, it’s not. Are you guys okay?” you asked, desperate to shift the attention from yourself. Both children nodded. You gave them both a once over. Their hair was ruffled from sleep, hems of their pajamas and white socks soaked in the blood covering the floor, wide eyes looking to you for reassurance. You cleared your throat, “Did those guys hit you with anything?”

Both siblings shook their heads. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright. Let’s get you to the passageway on this floor. Ryan, You’ll be right behind me. Protect your sister,” you instructed. The kids nodded their heads again. You stood before them, giving yourself a look up and down.

You looked horrifying. Once white t-shirt and green shorts were drenched in thick blood. Your hair clung to the sides of your head. Rivulets of crimson leaked down your bare legs and arms.

Yet, when your gaze met the kids’, they looked at you with nothing but adoration. How could they look up to someone as terrifying as you? Someone who just killed sixteen fucking people? What would that teach them?

You squared your shoulders, pushing your insecurities down as far as they could go, and started leading the kids back down the hall. Your knees were bent as you kept low to the floor. You would pause every few moments to listen to the mansion around you. More gunshots from the floor below you, screams of terrified children, grunts and yells from the men in kevlar. You kept your mind from wandering to that rage and continued to lead Addie and Ryan to safety.

Relief flooded your lungs when you saw a group of children, led by Piotr, standing by this floor’s escape passageway. You straightened your posture. Addie and Ryan ran ahead of you to reconnect with their classmates.

“How many do you have?” you called over the swarm of scared children. Piotr, an older student whose skin could turn to metal, looked up at you from directing kids through the narrow doorway. His eyes widened at the state of you.

“Uh… Twelve, I think,” he replied. He ushered Addie and Ryan through the door, then turned to you, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth. Your shoulders seized when you heard heavy boots across the hall from you. Piotr looked over his shoulder, having also heard the approach.

Logan turned the corner. White tank top bunched around his midriff, jeans torn around his thighs, dark hair mussed from its two points. He held a knocked-out Jones, a young brunet who could manipulate electrical frequencies, in his arms. His hazel eyes glanced at you then fixed on Piotr.

“Hey, take him. He’s stunned,” Logan said, handing Jones over to Piotr. The larger boy held Jones tight against his chest.

Just as Logan was turning to you, Piotr called out, “I can help you!” Logan looked back at Piotr. He pointed down the passageway, then said, “Help them.”

Piotr nodded at Logan, ducking into the doorway and sealing the passageway behind him. Logan suddenly grabbed your shoulders in both of his hands. You met his frantic eyes, narrowed lids shadowed by his furrowed brow.

“What the hell happened to you? Why are you covered in blood?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Lo. It’s not my blood,” you said, shrugging his hands off your shoulders. His indignant reply was cut off when you both heard movement around the corner.

Logan shoved you behind him as you both approached the corner. He pushed on your shoulder so you could squat next to him. His sturdy arm held you against the wall at your backs.

“Stay here,” he breathed into your ear. You nodded once in acknowledgement. Logan nodded back, then turned his attention back to the approaching group.

You focused on lifting the blood from your shirt. Beads of crimson drifted away from your body and floated in the air before you. Your fingers twitched and the beads crashed into each other. Blood cell on top of blood cell, stacking together and forming a sharp lance the length of your forearm. One last flick of your wrist and the iron in the blood hardened the lance. A solid, red, metal weapon fell out of the air and into your open palm. At least you were significantly less bloody now.

Logan watched you out of the corners of his eyes. An air of admiration crossed his face.

The brief moment was interrupted as a combat boot landed by Logan’s knees. Logan’s chest rumbled a deep growl, his claws shinking out of his knuckles, as he lunged forward and stabbed his right claws through the toe of the boot. A pained cry fell from the kevlar wearing man. Logan leapt to his feet as he plunged his left hand into the man’s stomach, shoving them both around the corner and out of your sight.

You remained crouched, back leaning against the wooden wall. Loud pops of gunfire echoed around you. Real guns, loaded with bullets instead of darts. Sharp cracks pierced the air as bullets flew in rapid succession toward Logan. A few bullet casings landed, smoking, by your feet.

Light beamed from the dropped flashlight that rolled into view. Spurts of blood coated the tool in red jets. You spun the lance a few times in your hands, waiting.

“Clear,” Logan called. You pushed yourself upright and rounded the corner. About a dozen men, all clad in the same dark kevlar, lay dead at Logan’s feet. His chest was heaving, eyes darting to and from each man’s face, fists still clenched with claws poking out between his knuckles.

“All good, Lo?” you asked. His claws fully retracted as he met your gaze. He gave you a sharp nod then turned on his heel. You picked your way through the bodies, accidentally kicking a few limbs here and there, as you followed after him.

“You never answered my question,” Logan said. You caught up with him and met his fast pace down the hallway. The two of you jogged while you tried to ignore his question. A few moments passed, the clipping of Logan’s boots on the floor being the only noise between you.

“I snapped,” was your quiet response. Short, simple, to the point. And it was all Logan needed. He threw you another quick nod while you two approached the balcony overlooking the mansion’s foyer.

Bright lights shone on Rogue, Bobby, and John as they stood below the balcony. All in their sleep clothes, all looking absolutely terrified. A guttural yell came from Logan as he leapt over the railing and dived into the four men aiming rifles at the older students.

You were about to follow when the back of your head was grabbed, a rough hand shoving your face into the railing and knocking your forehead on the wood. Spiked pain shot through your head, your knees crumpling beneath you. The hand tangled in your hair remained.

“Got the bloody one,” the man gripping you called behind him. You scratched at his hand as you tried to free yourself.

Slicing claws through flesh and pained yells soared over the balcony from the floor below. Your dazed mind tried to comprehend what was happening around you.

Some of the kevlar-clad men stood around you. Five, or was it seven, surrounded you with the muzzles of their guns aimed at your woozy form. Your head was utterly spinning. Nausea flooded your stomach and sent you reeling. If it weren’t for the gloved hand in your hair, you’d be sprawled out on the floor.

“Vampire!” Bobby called. You could just barely see his face through the bars of the railing. Wide, blue eyes glanced between you and the men surrounding you. He threw a hand up in your direction, “Duck!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You yanked your head away from the man above you and dove to the floor. Just as your hands covered the back of your head, a biting chill filled the air above you. Wave after wave of flowing ice coursed over the balcony. You shivered from where you laid on the floor.

“C’mon!” John yelled up at you. You peered at the men who held you captive. All of them were coated in a thick layer of ice, skin turned pale and blue, joints frozen in place. Living ice sculptures.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the sway in your motion, as you prepared to vault over the railing. Just as you had swung your leg over the wood banister the front door burst open, streams of LED lights illuminating the four mutants below you.

Logan motioned for you to stay where you were, looking you up and down, then ushered Rogue, Bobby, and John further into the mansion. Dozens of men followed in their wake.

You, not being one to listen to instructions very often, crept along the banister until you reached the stairs. Lucky for you, your socked and soaked feet wouldn’t make much noise on the hardwood. You snuck down the stairs while listening to the kevlar-clad men flood through the front door. When you reached the bottom you paused. Squatted, lance clutched in both hands, waiting for the last of the men to pass.

Once you saw a break in the stream of soldiers, you dashed between shadows while trailing after Logan. Keeping out of sight, ducking beneath flashlight beams, sneaking around corners.

“You want to shoot me? Shoot me!” you heard Logan yell down the hall from where you were. You picked up the pace. Soaked feet slapping against the wood floors, clubbing soldiers on the head as you passed with the blunt end of your lance to knock them out, racing to try and prevent Logan and the others from getting hurt.

“Don’t shoot him!” a male voice yelled. You slid around the last corner and found a cluster of kevlar-clad men. All with their rifles and flashlights pointed at Logan down the hall. You froze in place, breath held. One of the men stepped forward, a flashlight held aloft in his gunless hands. He moved to stand in the middle of the rest of the men, “Not yet.”

You slipped behind one of the giant vases scattered throughout this hallway. Tucking yourself into the long shadows thrown by the large piece of pottery, your head just barely poked out to watch the scene unfold.

“Wolverine? Well, I must admit, this is certainly the last place I’d expect to find you,” the unarmed man said. He took a few more steps forward. Logan watched his approach, confusion written in his knitted brows. The lone man chuckled, “How long has it been? 15 years? You haven’t changed one bit. Me, on the other hand…” the man trailed off. He stopped a few feet in front of Logan and gestured to his own face, “...nature.”

You didn’t like this. The man in front of Logan gave you a bad feeling. Like shocks of anxiety pricking over your hypersensitive skin. You gripped your lance tighter in your hands.

Logan’s claws retracted back between his knuckles. Narrowed, hazel eyes analyzed the man standing in front of him.

“I didn’t realize Xavier was taking in animals,” the man said with a laugh. He adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his wide nose, “Even animals as unique as you.”

“Who are you?” Logan asked. His hands remained clenched at his sides.

The man laughed again, “Don’t you remember?”

Logan stared at the man, mouth agape. He took a few steps forward.

You’d had enough. This man, whoever he was, wasn’t going to talk Logan into… whatever it is this guy was trying to do.

You darted out from behind the vase, lance brandished in your hands. Your head cocked as you sent the weapon soaring through the air. One of the kevlar-wearing men to your right gasped as the lance speared through his back and exited from the center of his chest. You focused on the lance as it flew from one man to the next. Sailing through the air until it pierced the men’s abdomens and sent them careening to the floor.

Every gun pointed in your direction. Some men holding rifles containing darts, others aiming real guns straight at you. You paused mid-step.

Your gaze met Logan’s. Recognition flashed in his widened eyes. He took another step forward, this time toward you.

Ice crackled on the walls of the hallway. Large snowflakes linked together as they stretched the width of the hallway and formed a wall. The ice solidified, creating a transparent, blue blockade between you and Logan.

“No, no!” Logan yelled from his side of the wall. He pounded desperately on the ice.

The unarmed man turned to face you. He was older, hair graying and beard wiry. Black glasses framed his squinted, blue eyes. You shifted your weight between your feet.

“Hello, my dear. You must be the one called ‘Bleeder,’” he said. Your posture stiffened at the name. You felt your jaw clench.

“I haven’t been called that in a long time,” you replied. God, if it weren’t for the guns pointed at you, you’d have skewered this man ages ago.

“And yet it was your moniker all the same,” the man said. His boots clicked against the hardwood as he approached you. Thick coat covering his torso, gloved hands clutched behind his back. He stopped a few paces in front of you. His hooded eyes passed over your blood-covered form, “I believe I have use of you. Take her.”

The familiar pop of the dart-filled guns rang out as you were peppered with white needles. Dozens and dozens of pinpricks filled your chest. You gasped, falling to one knee. The edges of your mind began to cloud with a foggy haze.

“Vampire!” you distantly heard Logan yell. You felt the floor sway beneath your feet. Your hands planted on the hardwood when you fell forward.

“That’s it. Off to sleep, Bleeder,” the man said above you. You threw him one last hate-filled glare, then collapsed as the tranquilizers overtook your senses.

some looooooooooore for reader!!! hope y'all enjoyed. and what a cliffhanger, huh?

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#logan howlett #wolverine #hugh jackman #xmen #x2 xmen united #logan howlett fanfic #wolverine fanfic #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #mutant!f!reader #trying my hand at writing combat!! what do we think?

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starlessea · 24 days ago

Text

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙙 [𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣 𝙓 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 3: Catatonia

Series Masterlist: The Ties That Mend

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. More so than any is a man named Daryl, patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

The medical bay smells faintly of antiseptic. You sit stiff on the edge of an examination table, a paper sheet crinkling under your jeans; you try not to rip it as you readjust. Before you, the doctor—former vet, as he corrected—rifles through supplies with practiced care.

“Any trouble sleeping?”

The question weighs heavy on your chest. From anyone else, it would sting, but Hershel’s tone isn’t discriminatory. He has no knowledge of last night—wasn’t there at breakfast, either. He didn’t notice the faces too tired to hide their disdain for you. To him, you’re just another patient.

It’s ironic. The vet is the first person here not to look at you like an animal.

“Some,” you reply, after a moment.

It’s a lie, of course. A big fat one.

Back at the college, sleep was a thing that took you only when it was lucky. Even then, it was never peaceful. It was something stolen in fits and starts as you held the door shut from whatever lurked on the other side. Here, those nights still haunt you.

“Just a new place,” you add. “I’ll g—get used to it.”

Hershel doesn’t press. Whether he believes you or not, he drops the subject for now, opting instead to examine your hands. You flinch at first, instinct pulling you back. But the warmth in his old fingers seeps through your skin, coaxing you to unclench your palms.

He studies the callouses lining them: the handiwork of your hatchet.

You feel dismembered without it.

After the last three-hundred-and-ninety-seven days, you could hardly remember a time you before it. It had been with you since the outbreak. Ever since you smashed that glass box near the fire escape, in search of anything to defend yourself.

You’d been near catatonic when Rick had pried it from your hands the night before. “There are children here,” he’d reasoned, conjuring an image of a boy in a Sheriff’s hat—too curious for his own good.

You couldn’t bring yourself to refute him; you’d nearly taken the heads of two of his group already. Even now, Daryl’s expression still burns behind your eyes, not particularly angry nor pitiful. Just sort of… Disappointed?

Somehow that was worse.

“You’re a lucky one, my dear,” Hershel notes, his thumbs brushing over the rough patches between your fingers. “To be in this condition… It’s nothing short of miraculous.”

You raise a brow, trying to discern any humour in his words. What about you could possibly be lucky?

“Besides the malnourishment and sores,” Hershel continues, his smile so genuine you almost don’t believe it, “you’re healthy.”

Healthy. The word sounds foreign. Impossible. You can’t be healthy—not in the head, at least.

You say nothing, choosing only to watch as Hershel pulls a small jar from his medical kit. He unscrews the lid to reveal a pungent salve. As he spreads it over your hands, the sting is sharp, biting—but like everything else these days, it fades quickly into nothingness.

“I’d suggest bone broth for the first couple of meals. Meat will be too rich,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Grimacing, you nod; you’d already discovered that.

But as Hershel works, you can’t help but notice the kindness in his actions. He applies the salve with gentle ministrations, retreating out of your space as soon as he’s done. It’s refreshing. There’s something about him that calms you. Whether it’s the crinkles of his eyes, or the way he rounds his sentences, it has you speaking before the words have even taken shape in your head.

“Hershel?”

His gaze flickers to yours.

“What do you know about…” You hesitate, swallowing hard. “The m—mind? Can you fix it?”

His expression softens, though the weight of his answer is clear before he speaks. “Unfortunately, that’s one of the toughest things to mend,” he says. “Takes time. Patience.”

How many days? you want to ask, but your better judgement cautions against it. That’s not the right question. This isn’t something that can be measured by tally marks on a wall.

“Where do I start?” you ask instead.

There’s a pause. Hershel chooses his next words with care. “A good night’s sleep,” he says. “Then ten. Then fifty.”

You try not to let his answer deflate you.

Does he know you can barely manage one?

“Those tremors, too,” Hershel leans back slightly, considering you, “They’re no good. Have you burning through energy quicker than you can replenish it.”

He takes a second to deliberate, pawing at the white hairs of his beard. Then, something flashes behind his eyes—a recollection. An idea. “You know what they used to suggest to old war vets?”

You keep quiet, waiting.

“Repetitive action,” he explains. “Something you can do without thinking.”

His raised brow prompts for an answer.

“Guitar.”

It comes to you immediately, dredged up from another life. Free classes at the college, teaching music to a bunch of ragtags dumped by their parents after church. You never loved it—it was just something to do.

Hershel chuckles softly. “Haven’t seen many of those around these parts, I’m afraid. What about something a little more… accessible? Sketching, knitting—”

“I can sew,” you interrupt.

The admission feels small but significant. It was your mother’s trade, just poor seamstress trying to make ends meet. She’d only passed down two things to you when she died: her needlework and her debt.

“That’ll be handy,” Hershel replies. He makes no show of it, but you catch him reaching over to open the drawer beside him. After some calculated rummaging, his hand emerges with a biscuit tin—an odd find amongst prescription bottles and bandages. As he pops the lid open, you’re met with a familiar sight: a sewing kit filled with buttons, thread, and patches of mismatched cloth.

Hershel locks eyes with you before speaking, “This is what I want you to do. Each time you thread this needle, visualise yourself letting go of whatever it is that’s holding onto you.” He places it into your palm; it’s a little rusted, but you’ve seen worse. “I want you to practice it—each stitch, mending those parts you want to fix.”

You glance between him and the needle, trying to process his words.

“If you ever feel like you’re losing control—which you will—I want you to imagine you are here. Threading the needle. Safe, focused.” Before you can reply, Hershel plucks it from you, dropping it back into the small biscuit tin for safe keeping. With the lid secured, he gestures for you to put it in your pocket.

“But first, you need to clean yourself up. You might not be sick now, but staying covered in filth,” he says, taking a pause to look you up and down, “it’s only a matter of time.”

You find yourself agreeing.

It’s strange, you think. In this moment, the old man could tell you anything—to stick your hand in flames or jump from a tall building—and you fear you would. It’s a dangerous countenance he has. One that instills trust.

You don't argue when Hershel offers to walk you back through the winding corridors to Cell Block D. His gait makes you feel a little guilty—he's missing a leg, after all—but your appreciation for his presence outweighs it.

As you pass by the windows overlooking the courtyard, the air carries the faint smell of damp concrete, rusted metal, and people—too many people, their voices filtering in with the breeze. You prepare yourself to face their scrutiny. The nicknames they thought you didn’t notice:

Loony Bin

You had keen ears, and that one was loud.

In an obvious attempt at distraction, Hershel begins to tell you about his daughters. “You’ll like Maggie,” he says, a faint smile in his voice. “She’s strong—headstrong, sometimes—just like her mother. And you’ve already met her husband.” He notes the confusion on your face before adding, “Glenn.”

Your steps falter. Glenn. The realisation sinks in slowly as you draw the thread between them all. Hershel’s warmth, the glimmer of trust in his eyes—it wasn’t random. He had Maggie’s smile, Glenn’s optimism.

And you’d almost killed his son-in-law.

“Though he might be off on some errand,” Hershel continues, oblivious to the tangle of thoughts in your mind. “That boy never sits still.” He then chuckles softly, like he’s sharing an inside joke. It does little to calm your nerves.

By the time you reach the entryway to Cell Block D, you’re already on edge. The low hum of voices carries through the open door, a stark contrast to the relative quiet of the medical bay. You spot a small group gathered near the common area—a brother-sister duo whose names you’ve already forgotten, Carol, Maggie, and a young woman you can’t quite place.

“One of my girls will show you to the washroom,” Hershel announces, nodding towards the brunette in the corner. She offers a polite smile but seems less than thrilled at the prospect. “And this is my youngest—”

“Beth?”

The name tears out of you before Hershel even finishes.

Across from you, she stands motionless. Unaware. There’s a good ten years between you—at least—but her face, though older and sharper, holds the same softness you remembered. You still see her as the kid who played piano, sang shy and did good. Beth Greene. You’re certain it’s her, recognised her from the recesses of your memory. Sweet, quiet Beth. Alive.

But she can’t be real—can she?

Her face is full of confusion at first. But that disappears the moment she takes a step forward, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Sweet Jesus,” she breathes, “Is that really you? What happened?”

You chew over the question: what happened? What didn’t? The answers feel too jagged, too large to fit into words. Your mind is racing, unraveling. She’s not supposed to be here. The auditorium—you’d been so sure. You’d seen them fall, heard the screams, the countless bodies. She’d been there. Hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?

“Beth Greene?” you whisper again. You’re not even sure if it’s a question or a plea.

She moves again, tentative but willing to close the distance. “Oh my God,” she mutters. “It’s really is you.” Her fingers brush yours, grounding you to the moment, to her.

Beside you, Hershel clears his throat. “You two know each other?”

Beth retracts her hand to acknowledge him. “Yes, Daddy. She—” She glances back at you, taking in the sight. “She used to teach music at the old college. On Sundays. I used to beg to go.”

A silence lingers for a moment; you catch Maggie's stare, Carol's intrigue.

“She could sing real good,” Beth adds, barely above a whisper.

Her words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You see it now—her sitting on the edge of the stage, pouring over sheet music in her lap.

Before you can say anything, her eyes are suddenly wide, frantic. They pin you in place. “Oh my goodness. Were you there?”

You try not to cringe, to give yourself away. But your silence speaks volumes.

“I think it's time our newest arrival took a shower,” Carol announces, shielding you from the question. “Here.”

She hands Beth a set of clippers. They’re the old kind. You squeezed; they buzzed.

“You’re going to have to crop that hair,” she says briskly, gesturing to you. “It’s too matted.”

You shoot her a look. Neither of you exchange any words, but you can tell Carol understands. You're thankful for her redirection. She's definitely good with children.

“No.”

Beth's voice brings you back to the moment. To the group of people and their prying eyes.

“It was pretty,” she says, but it's mainly to herself. “I remember bein’ jealous, it was so long.”

You look down at the tangles hanging over your shoulders, at the filth caked in the strands. You're not precious of it. In fact, you couldn’t care less.

“It’s disgusting,” you counter. “I don’t want to turn p—people off their food.”

Beth shakes her head, her brows drawing together in protest. “Give me a day,” she says. “If I can’t fix it… we’ll shave it.”

Your eyes find the clippers in her hand before coming back up to meet her.

“One day,” she reasserts, her voice soft but firm.

One day. A single tally mark.

You nod.

—

It takes the full day.

Not just an hour or two. No quick fixes or shortcuts. It’s a full day of prying away the layers of filth that had buried themselves into you over the past three-hundred-and-ninety-seven days.

You’re sitting beneath her on a wooden chair in the corner of the washroom. The place is damp, steam rising from the water you’ve drained three times already. Your body aches from the scrubbing—you’ve lost count of the hours—and beneath your fingers, the skin feels almost new.

Then there was your hair…

At first, you thought it was futile; the clippers were a far easier alternative. But now, as the last few knots on your head give way under Beth’s patient fingers, you can hardly believe it. You’d gone through the prison's entire supply of shampoo. Four near-empty bottles now lined the edge of the sink, their contents spent in the battle against the god-knows-what was in your hair.

When you’d muttered an apology for using up so much, Beth had only waved you off. “Don’t worry about it,” she’d said casually. “Daryl and Michonne can find more.”

The thought made you wince; another burden, another thing you’d added to their list. But Beth hadn’t seemed bothered in the least. If anything, she worked with more determination, as if this—your restoration—was her personal mission.

But she never overstepped.

Besides her odd instructions, “pass me that comb, tell me if it hurts, try not to move,” the two of you barely spoke. Beth had made the effort at first, but your mind was far too loud for her to get a word in edgeways.

When was the last time someone had touched you like this? When was the last time you’d let them? You can’t remember. It’s easier that way—to keep people at a hatchet’s length. Safer, too.

Yet, here she is. Beth Greene, picking you apart, piece by piece, like she’s unearthing something she’s determined to save.

Why?

The question gnaws at you as you sit there, letting her hands work through the last of the tangles. You can’t fathom what she sees in you that’s worth saving: a patchwork of sores and sins, held together by whatever instinct still clings to survival. Even now, you’re barely hanging on.

“Why weren’t you there that day?” you ask her.

The question’s out before you can stop it. Your heart pounds behind your ribs.

“What?”

You swallow hard, forcing the words out again. “That Sunday. Why weren’t you there?”

Beth doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she resumes her work, her fingers methodical as she begins to braid a lock of hair. “My daddy wanted me to stay home,” she says eventually. “Maggie was sick, and he thought she needed me more.”

You nod, a hollow kind of relief settling in your chest. If she was there, she’d be rotting in the auditorium with the others. Those first few days, the faces all seemed to blend together—one corpse at a time. You’d been so sure she was among them.

Her voice pulls you back. “I’m glad I wasn’t there,” she admits quietly. “But I hate that you were.”

You don’t reply.

“Was it bad?”

You feel tremors picking at your skin as the memories come back to you. The screams. The blood. The bodies piled on that same stage where you used to hold concerts. Your throat tightens. “It was…” You pause, searching for a word that could do it justice. Somehow, none feel adequate.

A bloodbath? Carnage? Despair?

“Hell,” you say finally, barely above a whisper.

This time, Beth stays silent.

“Why are you doing this?” you press. The words come pouring out, circling the drain like four bottles of shampoo.

It’s been weighing on you the whole day. The girl behind you can barely be called an acquaintance. She’s just some kid you saw every other week for a-half-hour when her parents—like most folks—likely needed a break.

She has no reason to be here.

Beth stills. You feel her hands rest on your scalp. “Because I remember what it’s like,” she finally answers. “To lose everything. To feel like there’s nothing left of you.”

As she reaches for her comb, you see it again: that scar on her wrist, too perfect and straight to be accidental. You don’t reply, but she doesn’t seem to expect you to. “You might not remember, but my aunt died a few years back,” she says softly; you hear Hershel in her voice. “The last thing I wanted to do after the funeral was go to that damn music class—sorry—but my daddy thought it’d be good for me. Couldn’t stop crying in the truck.”

You glance at her, something tugging at the edges of your memory.

“I don’t know if you did it on purpose,” she lets out a faint laugh, “but you sang a good song that day. My favourite. Did your best Dolly impression for all us kids.”

Beth ties off your braids with a gentle tug, stepping back to survey her work. “It brought some life back to me, you know? And I wanted to do the same for you.”

As she circles the wooden stool, coming into your view, you see the sincerity in her eyes. In truth, you could hardly remember it; the image was as foggy as the room in which the two of you stood. Did you even do it for her? Possibly. Or maybe you were hungover and Jolene just had it coming.

Either way, it had made her smile. And that was enough.

“Alright,” she says, nodding toward the mirror across the room. “Let’s see it.”

You hesitate. You’re not sure you want to see. Not yet. It’s just a mirror, you know, but you can’t help remembering the reflection you saw yesterday, at the end of the hall in Cell Block D.

“Go on,” Beth urges, nudging your shoulder just enough to make you move.

You can’t avoid it. You shuffle closer, the tiled floor cool beneath your bare feet. The mirror looms before you, its surface slightly fogged from the lingering steam. For a second, you don’t look. You focus on your breathing, on the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Then, slowly, you lift your eyes.

The person staring back at you is familiar.

Your hair is neatly braided. Two long plaits trail down your back, each bound with a simple tie. The scent of lavender clings to you, fresh in contrast to the mould you’d grown used to. And the clothes—borrowed from Beth—fit like they belong to a version of yourself.

She watches you, arms crossed, expectant. You catch her gaze in the mirror. “Well?” she asks, one brow arched in challenge.

The outfit it nice, simple. The body in it could use some square meals. But overall, it's not bad. You’re more weedy now, all elbows and knees, but you could grow to accept this.

“It’s me,” you say.

Beth’s reflection joins yours as she sways slightly on the balls of her feet. “Yeah,” she agrees. “It is.”

The image holds you in place, locking you into this moment. Somehow, you’re still here. Not the person you were before, nor the hollow shadow you’ve been dragging behind you. Something in between. Someone half-stitched back together, the seams raw but holding.

Beth leans in. “So, what do you think?”

You glance down at your hands—rough but yours—and when you look back at the mirror, you almost don’t recognise the faint curve of your lips.

“It’ll do,” you say.

Beth laughs, and for a small moment, you feel it—something fitting into place.

— It's too damn late.

Daryl’s boots echo over the metal catwalk, one dull thud after another. He’d been hunting most of the afternoon, causing a ruckus out there in the woods. But now it's dark, quiet, and he's reminded just how little sleep he's gotten these last few days. How he'd kill to be one of these snoring bastards in the cells next door.

Last night was rough.

He'd cursed you at first, tossing and turning in his bed as he tried to shake the image of you curled up on the floor. At breakfast, too, he could barely stomach you. But as soon as he got out of those gates, into the world and the trees and everything beyond four concrete walls, he felt nothing.

Well, he felt something.

Just not the burning contempt he felt initially when the sun first shone into his eyes. This was different. He'd realised it some hours ago, during the time he spent tracking a deer. It was a small thing, barely enough to feed the kids, but once Daryl had it at end of his arrow, wide-eyed and frantic, he couldn't bring himself to shoot it.

It's the first time he'd come back empty-handed from a hunt.

That stupid look on it's face reminded him of you.

Rick had filled him in earlier, told him that you were looking... different. Better, he’d said. Like some semblance of a woman now, instead of the half-dead thing Glenn had brought back from the brink.

Daryl doesn't know what he expected, but as he passes your cell—still illuminated by candle light—he's surprised by how much that change has settled in. You don't notice him, which gives Daryl time to survey you from afar; he knows better than to cross the threshold. You're sitting near the door, back straight, eyes wide, not a hint of sleep on you. No blankets, no covers—just you, focused on something in your lap.

You're wearing Beth's clothes, they fit better than Glenn's, and long, twin braids fall down your back. But the biggest change is your face, warm in the candle light—

It's less biting now.

Daryl almost doesn’t know what to say. No quips come to him, no bitterness held from the night before. Instead, he speaks honestly, “Ya look better.” He shifts on his feet, then adds, “Smell better, too.”

A huff of dry air escapes him. Lavender. That’s new.

“You have Beth to thank,” you respond, without missing a beat.

Daryl blinks, thrown off by the reply. You knew he was there, and your stutter... It’s gone.

He should leave, he thinks.

But instead, he watches you fiddle with that fabric—sewing, he realises—and takes in the way your fingers work the needle. He knows nothing of the stitch you’re weaving; he’s more concerned by the fact your hands have finally stopped shaking. It's a kind of concentration, the same way he focuses when he hunts. Steady and unbroken.

“Ya know,” he says after a long pause, “‘M pretty sure whatever tha’ is can wait.” He gestures at the remnants of a shirt in your lap. “Ya should get some sleep.”

His words are meaningless; you don’t even look up. But when you shake your head, it's with certainty. “If I do, you won’t.”

Daryl scowls. The memory of earlier—of how you looked trembling in the dark—flashes in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you add. Then, using your sewing needle, you to draw a line in the air across your throat.

Daryl would’ve laughed at that, usually. But not from you. He doesn’t know you like that. Hell, he’s still not sure you won’t decapitate him the next chance you get. “Quit sayin’ sorry,” he says instead, more sharply than he meant to.

“Sor—” You catch yourself. “It won’t happen again,” you finish.

And it can’t, Daryl thinks. He’s made damn sure of that. Rick’s got that thing reserved for firewood only—a duty he’ll make sure you’ll never have.

But he doesn't tell you that, so instead the moment stretches out, the soft scrape of your needle stitching through fabric. He should really leave now. Yet, his tired eyes catch something on the cell wall across from him, pinning him in place.

One faint, vertical line, followed by chicken-scratch words he struggles to decipher:

Loony Bin

His eyes flicker over them before snapping back to you. He’d only said it once—muttered it under his breath at breakfast—but he had a feeling you’d heard. If not, you’d surely felt it in his stare.

He swallows thick. “Ya best be careful,” he says, trying to think of something—anything that comes to mind. He tries a joke. “A head ain’t something ya can just sew back on.”

The laugh that follows catches him off guard. A dry sound, but genuine. It cuts through the tension like scissors through silk, and seems to surprise you, too.

Daryl clears his throat. “Get some sleep for real,” he says, stepping back from the door. He tries to sound like he’s giving an order, but it comes out more like a suggestion. “Tomorrow, Rick wants ya to learn ‘bout this place. How we all keep it runnin’.”

He’s not sure what the hell you’ll be doing; he can’t imagine you playing well with others. Maybe watch duty. Something distant. Something that’ll keep you out of the way.

But then, before he can leave, he tests his luck. “You know how to shoot?” he asks. Tiredness is thick in his voice. “Could use more eyes on them walls.”

You pause, and for a moment, Daryl thinks he’s gone too far. He’s half-joking, but there’s something about you that makes him feel like a kid again. A kid too stupid for his own good, who wants to push, prod, and only find out where the line is once he's crossed it.

You look up. Daryl catches the flash of something in your eyes—defiance, maybe. It’s gone as quick as it surfaces. “No,” you say, quietly. “I can’t.”

Daryl’s shrug is automatic. He hadn’t expected you to say yes, wouldn’t trust you if you did. “Mm. A’right.”

He leaves without a goodbye, halfway to his cell before he hears it. That flicker of a voice calling out to him:

“But I’m pretty good with a hatchet.”

A/N This chapter was bloody massive. I deliberated on the structure for ages, but I felt each part was necessary to paint the picture I'm going for. In all honesty, I was a little worried you guys would think ''there's not enough Daryl'' and considered interjecting more of him. But at this stage, it's just not realistic. It doesn't feel natural. I want each of their interactions to mean sometime, so please be patient with me as I set them up. And let me know your thoughts -do you appreciate this style? The relationships she's building with others? I'm keen to know :) As always, thanks for reading! x

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pa1nrema1ns · 10 days ago

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In a Sea of Fire || Sung Jin-woo (Part 3 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!omega!reader

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so excited to finally bring you the conclusion to the siren AU trilogy. This is my first full-fledged fic, and it was a true labor of love. To mark this milestone, I commissioned this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous artwork of Jin-woo's siren form from the amazing @ekkurea. She is super kind and an incredible artist. I highly recommend checking out all her beautiful art and commissioning her.

I have been overwhelmed by the positive reception to this series and I am so grateful for all of you. I also want to personally thank my good friend and dedicated beta-reader @forbidden-sunlight for supporting me in the creation of this story. I could not have done it without her 🖤 As always, please pay heed to the content warnings listed below.

╰┈➤ Previous Chapters

🐚Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🐬Part 1: Master and Apprentice 🧜🏻‍♀️Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, mutual pining, afab!reader, implied smut, a/b/o dynamics, heat cycles, mating bites, courting rituals, objectification of reader, obsessive thoughts, angst, possessiveness, violence, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo, mentions of corruption, derogatory & misogynistic language used by a side-character towards the reader, ooc!Jin-woo, mildly ambiguous ending.

Word count: 12k

Summary - Autumn approaches Jindo Island and with it flourishes new love. But lingering doubts and conflicting desires threaten to cast shadows over your romance with Jin-woo. Just what terrible secret was he hiding from you?

Header artwork created by @ekkurea exclusively for this series. Please do not repost, edit, or use for your own fics, headcanons, or drabbles.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @anitalenia

At the heart of the shopping district on Jindo Island…

For the first time in his life Sung Jin-woo found himself at a loss as to what to do.

The siren nervously runs a hand through his hair as he studies his appearance in the full-length mirror. His reflection looks back at him clothed in a partially unbuttoned dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up at the forearms and a pair of tapered trousers. It was a polished look that drew attention to his athletic frame and emphasized his stormy grey eyes.

Jin-woo chuckles when he notices Iron giving him a small thumbs up from the reservoir in his shadow. His soldiers were doing an excellent job of boosting his morale but the same could not be said for him. Jin-woo couldn’t help but remain somewhat self-critical.

The siren tended to gravitate towards darker clothing while disguised as a human. This was partly due to their resemblance to his actual color scheme. Of course, this meant the only options that interested Jin-woo were those in differing shades of black. While this allowed him to retain some semblance of his true self, he worried that black may be too drab of a color for your liking. He was also starting to feel very out of his element in this stuffy little fitting room.

To make matters more complicated the sales associate at this posh boutique was quite the chatterbox, an incompatible match for the introverted siren. The older man had been particularly insistent on helping Jin-woo find an outfit that would ‘knock his little lady’s socks off’ after he mentioned needing clothes for a date. His very first date to be precise.

With you.

Jin-woo was determined to make this a memorable experience for the both of you, and the first step involved picking out the appropriate attire.

Unfortunately shopping proved to be a far more tedious task than he thought. At least dungeon raids had the benefit of being relatively straightforward.

As he idles in front of the mirror a contemptuous voice lingers in his head jeering at him.

“How much longer do you intend on playing human, Sung Jin-woo? This reckless relationship has consisted of nothing but lies and deceit on your part. Have you ever considered how your beloved omega might feel after discovering you’ve been misleading her? It’s only a matter of time before your house of cards comes tumbling down.”

It was like listening to a crude mockery of himself, tone, inflection, and delivery of speech the exact same as his.

“In the end this farce will result in nothing more than heartache and tragedy and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

The malicious words hang heavy in the air like an omen. An unwanted reminder that beneath that thick veneer of invulnerability Jin-woo was indeed malleable.

“Just because Ashborn was accepted by his human lover doesn’t mean Y/N will do the same for you. That woman has no obligation to love a monster who preys upon her own kind.”

He grits his teeth at the intrusive thoughts bidding them to disappear. To grant him a moment’s respite from the terrifying possibilities of all that could go wrong.

It’s to no avail.

“Would she look at you the same way if she knew you weren’t human? If she knew a siren wanted to fuck her like some insatiable animal? You still have the taste of her in your mouth, don’t you? So soft, sweet, and willing for her alpha. Yet you refused to claim her right when she was in the palm of your hand. You pathetic coward.”

A preternatural violet hue alights Jin-woo’s body, and his muscles draw taut. A sign that he is well and truly pissed. The entire room threatens to crumble under the suffocating pressure.

“Tell me, just how many times have you woken up in the middle of the night? Hard, desperate, and starving for her touch. You must’ve lost count by now.”

A low growl emits from his throat. “Shut up! Shut the hell up!” He silently screams at the voice as it exposes his repressed sexual urges.

“What if she lashes out at you in anger? Do you really expect her to stay civil and calm after she finds out you’ve been lying to her this entire time?”

It was for her own good! I had to lie to protect her! Jin-woo finds himself mentally pleading with his internal monologue. Begging for it to understand the reasoning behind his deceptive actions.

This only incites it to twist the knife further.

“Why not just take her then? After all that’s what you’ve always done with every obstacle in your path, every thorn in your side. You destroy and take from it until there’s nothing left. And that woman will be no different, but this time it will be a triumph greater than any other once she’s yours to possess.”

Jin-woo couldn’t form a rebuttal at this point. He was livid and positively shaking with rage.

For months he had been struggling with conflicting feelings for you. Every single aspect and idiosyncrasy about you resonated with his being. From your feistiness and fierce independence to your infectious smile and compassionate nature, Jin-woo was wholly and unconditionally in love with you.

He knew from the moment you took him into your arms on that desolate beach that you were a genuinely kind person with a good heart. Someone he’d want by his side for an eternity.

Perhaps one day you could even find it in yourself to love him the same way he loves you.

But another side of him, a primal side of him, sought nothing more than to devour you.

To corrupt you.

To desecrate you.

To free you from those worthless shackles of human morality…

And shape you into a wanton goddess capable of handling his brand of darkness.

Not even sleep would grace him with the mercy of a reprieve; Jin-woo was often plagued by vivid dreams of you. Explicit images and sensations of fleshly pleasures that elicited the worst of his bestial nature. On more than one occasion he’d awaken to his knot swelling with need and a deep-seated longing for your warmth.

He knows he should be ashamed for fantasizing about such depravity, for perverting the friendship that had gradually cultivated between the two of you.

But he can’t bring himself to care.

Jin-woo would give just about anything if he could have you in the same way as his dreams.

And he can envision you perfectly.

Your shapely thighs wrapped around his narrow waist, urging him deeper inside you. A dazed expression on your pretty face as he thrusts into you with sheer, masculine drive. Honeyed moans spilling from your lips as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck, and over your collarbones. Your supple breasts heaving with exertion when you finally topple over the edge with him. And your sated form pressed against the firm ridges of his body as he soothes you in the wake of your earth-shattering climax.

Jin-woo hisses and bites back a groan as he feels himself growing hard against the inseam of his trousers. Shit. He’s never wanted someone so badly in his entire life.

It was terrifying how easily you had him wrapped around your finger. You tempted him, left him on the brink of insanity, and you weren’t even aware of it.

How? Just how did it come to this? Meeting his comeuppance at the hands of a beautiful woman.

The siren was supposed to be a hardened warrior. An indomitable force born from the outcome of hundreds of harrowing battles. Time and time again Jin-woo overcame insurmountable odds and arose from the ashes. Ever stronger, ever colder. With Ashborn’s guidance he had rebuilt himself from the ground up and molded himself into a successor worthy of the title Shadow Monarch.

Jin-woo was not some naïve boy who believed he could woo you with flowery language and saccharine declarations of love. Nor was he some unruly beast whose restless soul could only be placated by carnal satisfaction. He was better than that, more disciplined and pragmatic…

At least he believed himself to be –

“Hey, kid! Are you alright in there? You’ve been awfully quiet for a while now.”

The sound of the sales associate’s voice instantly breaks his train of thought.

“I’m fine, I was just mulling over all my options,” he responds evenly hoping to not draw attention to himself.

“No worries kid. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Once the man’s footsteps fade Jin-woo slumps into one of the chairs in the cramped room. He then lowers his face into his hands, too disgusted to look at himself any longer.

The minutes tick by but Jin-woo doesn’t budge from his spot.

“My liege! Please, I beg of you, stop tormenting yourself!” Beru, the newest of his shadow soldiers and the only one capable of speech attempts to talk some sense into his king.

“…” the siren doesn’t provide him with a response.

Beru continues, “My liege, I cannot bear to see you so despondent. My lady is not so cruel or callous that she would cast you aside merely for being a siren.”

“I am a monster Beru. Nothing will convince her otherwise once she knows the truth.” Jinwoo replies flatly.

“My liege please forgive my impertinence, but do you truly believe she thinks so little of you? I’ve seen the way she looks at you and there is nothing but adoration in her eyes. My lady will not forsake you regardless of who or what you are.”

Jin-woo gasps at the sincerity of Beru’s words. The shadow had been more perceptive than he initially thought. He feels the beginnings of a smile form on his lips.

“You’ve been acting surprisingly obstinate today Beru. What’s gotten into you?”

The ant almost immediately bursts into a fit of tears causing Jin-woo to regret his choice of words. The weeping shadow then prostrates himself before his king.

“My liege I am so sorry! I only meant to –”

“Thank you Beru. I really needed your pep talk. My mind feels much clearer now.” Jin-woo interrupts before the ant can misinterpret him. Beru sheepishly raises his head, feelings of shame now overtaken by pride.

“I won’t falter again. You have my word, all of you do.” He addresses his entire army this time.

A collective sigh of relief spreads throughout his soldiers. Because their souls were inextricably tied to their king’s every emotion Jin-woo experienced was shared firsthand with his shadows. They felt his happiness, his sadness, his anger.

And his desire for you.

It must’ve pained them greatly to see him in such a distressed state prompting Beru to act. His loyal soldiers needed a strong and centered king to guide them.

He would not submit so easily to despair again.

Jin-woo glances at his wristwatch; it was a quarter past one o’clock. He had three more hours to spare until your agreed meeting time at four. The siren really needed to get a move on if he had any hope of being prepared for the date. And to think that he had balked at human decorum before you stepped into his life…

He changes back into his street clothes and folds his chosen outfit into a neat pile. Before stepping out Jin-woo reaches into his inventory to examine his final courtship gift to you, a lustrous necklace composed of teardrop shaped mana crystals and pearls he harvested from his latest dungeon raid.

He spent hours meticulously crafting the jewelry by hand, working feverishly to ensure it was flawless. A one-of-a-kind item that no one else could hope to replicate or exceed. Still as he thumbed the necklace in his hand, he couldn’t help but replay those twisted words spoken by the disembodied voice.

Why not just take her then?

He tightens his grip on the necklace before hurriedly stowing it away in his hidden inventory. Next to it the Holy Water of Life lay untouched, burning a hole in his pocket.

The ball may have been in his court, but you would have the final say.

He'd make sure of it.

A sense of anticipation pervades the air as glowing neon lights come into view. You stop just shy of the entrance to a large commercial building, the chosen location for your date with Jin-woo.

A quick glance at your phone tells you that it’s a quarter till four. You still had another fifteen minutes to go. Ever the punctual one you always sought to arrive well ahead of schedule. This applied to your personal life as well.

From the corner of your eye, you think you see a deliberate movement in your shadow, one that does not match your own. You blink. Once, then twice. When you stare at the sidewalk again your shadow is as it should be, nothing but an intangible effigy bound to the push and pull of your own will. Weird, you think, had it been a trick of light? Your eyes then wander back to the front of the establishment.

Despite being the middle of the day, the bookstore’s sign remained lit by garish hues of yellow. You recall how many of the locals disapproved of the business when it first opened. To those who spent much of their lives in this quaint region of the Korean archipelago it was yet another ploy of gentrification from the mainland. To you, this bookstore served as a haven during your formative years. You spent countless hours getting lost in the worlds of your favorite authors here.

From the provocative narratives of Anne Rice to the gritty prose of Stephen King, your love for reading was fostered here. It only made sense to share this special part of yourself with Jin-woo, the beguiling alpha who was starting to consume your every waking thought.

As time draws nearer to your date you ponder over your last few months on the island.

The filming of ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’ wrapped up earlier this week and your colleagues were clamoring for a congratulatory celebration, something you wanted no part of. From personal experience you knew a constantly flowing stream of alcohol did not pair well with a room full of self-serving narcissists. You also hadn’t forgotten how rude the other make-up artists and stagehands had been to you on set. The fact that your date fell on the same day as the party was just the cherry on top.

Which brings you back to your dilemma, figuring out where you stand in your relationship with Jin-woo.

Throughout the entire twelve weeks of filming, you were both meeting in secrecy. Devoting this time to strengthening your bond tête-à-tête.

You learned much about Jin-woo and he about you, but you could tell he was harboring some kind of secret. Every time the topic of his personal background came up, he would steer the conversation in a different direction. In addition to this there was an ever-piling list of excuses for why he couldn’t divulge more about himself. This had you second guessing everything he was willing to share.

You really liked Jin-woo and you had no doubt he returned your feelings but you were also becoming highly suspicious of him. If you could wear your heart on your sleeve around him then why couldn’t he do the same for you?

Guilt was eating away at your conscience for even entertaining these thoughts. It’s through this haze of turmoil that your mind wanders to the more lighthearted moments between the two of you.

You think of the all the times he joined you on your early morning treks along the beach. Both as a companion and a protector. You had teased Jin-woo about it initially asking if he intended to use his ‘scary dog privilege’ to ward off other alphas. He scoffed at this suggestion clearly nonplussed by the comparison.

Yet despite your cheeky attitude you had readily taken up his offer. Your friends’ schedules often conflicted with yours, which meant they were usually working on the days you had off. What began as a nice change of pace from walking alone transformed into a cherished part of your routine. His warm, calloused fingers interlaced with yours as dusk bled into dawn.

There was also Jin-woo’s determination to communicate with you. Unsatisfied with written words alone, he had taken it upon himself to learn sign language. Jin-woo showed up one day with a step-by-step instruction manual containing illustrations. A cute shade of vermillion dusted his cheeks when he showed the book to you. You grinned from ear-to-ear and readily agreed to teach him.

He ended up being more adept at sign language than Cha and Jinho. By the end of your first session, Jin-woo was able to grasp several simple terms and phrases, a feat that greatly impressed you. Now he was bordering on being fluent. It was astonishing just how quickly he progressed.

And then there were his many gifts to you.

First a glory-of-the-seas cone in sumptuous tones of burnt ochre and golden brown. Then a bluefin tuna, a much sought-after and rare delicacy, captured fresh from the brine. And most recently, a natural South Sea pearl that appeared almost otherworldly in its splendor. Each offering a unique and thoughtful portrayal of his devotion.

The ritualism and intimacy of these gestures was not lost on you, and it left your heart racing. No one, save for director Jinchul, was ever this attentive towards you. And the latter had only done so on a professional basis. But Jin-woo treated you with a tender affection usually reserved for lovers. A title that was not either of yours to take. Not yet at least.

But both of you were well on the way to getting there.

Everything came to a turning point three days ago when your enigmatic friend finally worked up the courage to ask you out. You remember the bashful look on his face and the endearing image of his rosy cheeks. No sooner had Jin-woo finished signing his question than you found yourself excitedly leaping into his arms. At last, at long last you were both taking the next step in your relationship. So overcome with joy you completely overlooked all your unanswered questions and concerns about him. Nothing else had mattered at that moment.

Jin-woo effortlessly caught you and brought you into a twirling hug. You felt laughter bubble up from within you. It was as if a massive weight had been taken off your shoulders.

Just a few months ago you had been virtual strangers completely inconsequential to one other. Now you embraced as two intertwining melodies coalescing into one song.

When Jin-woo placed you back on your feet he had one more favor to ask. You watched intently as he brought both hands towards his face and formed them into half circles. He then placed the tips of his fingers together before puckering his lips. It was the sign for kissing. He wanted to kiss you.

You froze stunned by the unexpected request.

Apprehension painted Jin-woo’s handsome face. He was waiting, imploring you for an answer. Without missing a beat, you brought yourself closer to him. You didn’t stop until you were in such proximity your breath intermingled with his. You lifted your head and locked eyes with Jin-woo before lowering your gaze to admire his parted lips. After a flicker of hesitation, Jin-woo closed the gap between you and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Gentle. It had been such a gentle kiss at the beginning; petal soft and languid. However, there was a palpable shift in mood the instant Jin-woo ceased his rhythmical movements to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He slid it across your teeth, coaxing you to open more of yourself to him. And you willingly surrendered, moaning into his mouth and allowing him to stroke his tongue against yours.

Jin-woo’s kiss soon devolved into a scorching clash of teeth and tongue that left you breathless. The last of his restraints snapped and he was not holding back. He fisted a hand in your hair and tilted your face at a better angle so he could deepen the kiss. He then circled your waist with his other arm pulling your pliant figure flush against him. This prompted you to grasp onto the front of Jin-woo’s shirt for purchase, pressing your breasts into his chest. You were so close to Jin-woo that you could feel the vitality of his rapidly beating heart. He nipped at your lips before parting from them to mouth at your jaw, the curve of your neck, and the cleavage exposed by your tank top.

You shivered though from fear or want you did not know. This was an animalistic side of him you had never seen or experienced before. It was electrifying.

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt one of Jin-woo’s incisors graze over the junction of your neck and shoulder, threatening to break skin.

And then, just as quickly as this act of madness had started, it came to an abrupt and sudden end. Jin-woo’s eyes regained their focus and his ministrations stopped at once. He slowly raised his head from the crook of your neck and turned to look at you. A heart wrenching expression of guilt distorted his face.

He had lost control of himself and succumbed to his baser instincts.

And if he had bitten down on you back there, he would’ve marked you as his mate for life. Because that area on your neck contained some of your scent glands.

An alpha will bite an omega’s scent glands while mating with them to stake their claim. This also mixes the alpha’s and omega’s scents together securing their bond. It was an irreversible process and Jin-woo came within an inch of forcing it upon you.

He released you from his grip and took several steps back, placing him some distance from you. Wisps of ebony hair obscured his eyes, making his face difficult to read.

You ran towards Jin-woo attempting to grab his hand, yet he pulled his arm away from your touch. But your resolve was strong, and you refused to give up. After a few more tries, Jin-woo finally acquiesced and let you come near him.

As soon as the two of you were face to face, you leant forward and cradled his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. The guilt was gone but now it had been replaced by fear. Fear of what he had almost done to you.

You were having none of it. Nothing about Sung Jin-woo scared you, not in the past and most certainly not now.

You dropped your hands, letting them fall to the side before raising them again. Then you began signing to Jin-woo, doing everything in your power to reassure him. You let him know that you were alright, you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest, and that both of you would be okay. What happened earlier was purely instinctual and would not draw a wedge between you. And most importantly you told him that you had absolutely no regrets about the kiss.

‘I wanted to kiss you,’ you signed, ‘I’ve been thinking about you as more than just a friend for a while now.’

‘So please, Jin-woo,’ you pleaded with him as your hands shook ‘let’s give this a shot. I want to be with you.’

He exhaled sharply before taking your smaller hands into his own. You really were his greatest weakness. He couldn’t resist you even if he tried.

You eventually managed to convince him to move forward with the date. The time and location were arranged shortly thereafter, although on slightly awkward terms given the circumstance.

Later that night while you were tucked away in the privacy of your bedroom, there was an unrelenting heat building between your thighs. The type of heat that set your nerves on fire and left you aching for release.

You hadn’t taken your heat suppressants in a while, and your body was paying a heavy price for it. You should’ve known better than to let yourself fall by the wayside, but you no longer cared about taking your medication anymore. It was like you were daring your heat to come, to wash over you and rid you of your inhibitions.

When the flames of your desire became unbearable, you slipped a hand underneath the waistband of your pajamas hoping it would slake your lust. However, as you stroked yourself to completion you couldn’t help but imagine it was Jin-woo’s deft fingers that were caressing your slick folds instead.

In the corner of your room an unknown presence watched you with rapt interest. It greedily drank in your sinful actions, the dips and curves of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest. And as you reached your peak tendrils of shadow danced across your skin like silk.

After you fell asleep a lone hand emerged from the darkness and gently ran its knuckles over your cheek…

“ – !?”

You’re startled from daydreaming when the familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood perfumes the air. It was the tell-tale sign that Jin-woo had just arrived. You check your phone again and are shocked to see it’s already a minute past four. You totally lost track of time while standing outside the bookstore! Embarrassed, you turn and are greeted by the sight of your alpha.

He looked incredible, like a god amongst men. You loved the color black on Jin-woo, it brought out his sharp features and contrasted wonderfully with his fair complexion. The outfit he was wearing for your date exemplified this. His dark trousers and dress shirt were perfectly molded to his body creating a sleek and streamlined appearance. You slowly dragged your eyes across the hard planes of muscle bulging underneath the tight fabric. When you reach Jin-woo’s face there’s an amused glint in his eyes. Oh crap! He noticed you were ogling him. Heat blossoms across your cheeks and you self-consciously tug at the hemline of your cable knit sweater.

Unbeknownst to you Jin-woo had also been eyeing you up albeit in a far more discrete manner. The leggings you wore clung lovingly to curves like a second skin and your high heeled ankle boots completed the look giving it a touch of elegance. You were strikingly lovely, like a flower coming into bloom.

After several seconds of silence, Jin-woo break is the one who breaks the ice.

‘You look great, Y/N,’ he signs to you, ‘I’m so happy to see you again. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.’

Jin-woo must’ve had known you’d been embarrassed about being caught red-handed, so he didn’t bring it up. Instead, he complimented you. God, how could he be so smug yet so charming at the same time?

Precious boy, you muse.

You greet the raven-haired man back with a smile before pulling him into a hug. Jin-woo returns the embrace and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. All the tension and uncertainty from the past few days had dissipated allowing you to relax and enjoy each other’s company. It signaled a return to normalcy, to better days ahead for both of you.

‘Ready to head in?’ Jin-woo signs to you with a grin on his face that matches yours.

‘Let’s go,’ you respond with a jaunty spring in your movements.

You grab his hand and lead the way, threading your fingers through his.

The next two hours are spent perusing the bookstore’s massive collection. It was one of the largest retail booksellers in Asia boasting over 100,000 different titles on its shelves. Jin-woo’s eyes widened when he walked in. He’d never seen so many books in one place before.

‘Overwhelmed?’ you ask him, nervous that you made the wrong decision on choosing this bookstore for your first date. The size of it alone could be daunting to newcomers.

‘It’s amazing,’ he answers, excitement evident in the fast motions of hands. Your chest fills with warmth at his display of enthusiasm.

You share your interests and favorite genres with Jin-woo, showing him the many novels you read over the years. Jin-woo seemed particularly drawn to the paper- and hardback books in the ‘Classics’ section. He picked up a copy of The Odyssey and leafed through its contents making you curious about his tastes.

One of your hands was clutching onto a large special edition hardback so you typed your question on your phone this time.

[“Do you like Greek mythology?”]

‘I’ve read a few stories here and there,’ he signs back after glancing at your screen.

[“I remember being assigned this book in AP literature when I was a second year. I found it rather interesting, but I loathed Odysseus. I thought he was a complete asshole for cheating on his wife. She remained faithful during his 10-year journey from Ithaca despite having over 100 suitors. But he gets a free pass for sleeping with goddesses and other women. Ugh😒”]

You huff after airing your grievances about Odysseus and his infidelity in your text message. It was silly but you’ve held a personal vendetta against the fictional man ever since you finished reading the epic poem.

Jin-woo snorts in amusement at your reaction. Looks like you both held a distaste for Odysseus although his reason for disliking him differed greatly from yours. Sirens only became weak to humanity after the epic hero found a means of circumnavigating their deadly voices. It felt good to share a common enemy with you.

‘You’re even prettier when you’re angry,’ Jin-woo smirks as he signs this to you.

Now it was your turn to snort. Really? That was a new one.

[“Flattery will get you everywhere with me! Now state your price handsome. 😉”]

He inhales before signing, ‘Will you watch the stars with me tonight?’

The tips of his ears and nape of his neck were bright red as he asked you this. It was adorable.

You answer with a fleeting kiss to his mouth, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. Of course you’d watch the stars with him tonight! You’d be willing to watch them every single night by his side if he’d let you.

The two of you continue floating through the different aisles, a copy of The Odyssey tucked underneath Jin-woo’s arm. He also picked out another book, a science fiction novel titled, The Ants, by Bernard Werber. Jin-woo had read the novel once before and he wanted to revisit it for old time’s sake.

As your book tour concludes Jin-woo comes to a halt after catching sight of an ornate hardcover. Intrigued, you scan the title. It was Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid.

‘This story always makes me so sad,’ you sign to Jin-woo with a melancholy look in your eyes.

‘Can you tell me about it?’ Jin-woo asks, his interest piqued.

You find yourself hesitating.

‘Are you sure you want me to spoil it for you?’

‘I don’t mind.’ he responds.

You decide to use your phone to relay the plot since the fairy tale is a lengthy one.

[“There once lived a beautiful and kindhearted mermaid. Having spent most of her life at sea she longed to explore the world above and learn more about humanity. When she becomes old enough to swim to the surface she falls in love at first sight with a handsome prince. After a violent storm sinks his ship, the mermaid rescues him and brings him back to land before he regains consciousness.”]

Jin-woo’s gaze is intense as he studies your phone screen. You’ve never seen someone be so invested in your storytelling. It was flattering.

You continue typing away intent on finishing what you started.

[“The mermaid’s infatuation with the prince drives her to strike up a deal with a powerful sea witch. The witch offers her a potion that can transform her into a human, but it comes at a high cost. The mermaid would never be able to return to the sea once she drank it. What’s more the potion also robs her of her voice and causes her excruciating pain whenever she walks. Despite knowing the toll it will take on her body the mermaid moves forward, blinded by love.”]

Jin-woo’s eyes narrowed after reading this passage and he signs, ‘She’s being manipulated by the witch?’ You confirm his question with a nod of your head.

Your final text ends the story on a low note.

[“The mermaid finally meets and befriends the prince but everything she sacrifices is for nothing. He falls in love with a princess from another kingdom instead and this breaks her heart. The sea witch appears once more to give an ultimatum to the mermaid: she must kill the prince and allow his blood to drip onto her feet. Only by having her revenge could she return to the sea and live as a mermaid again. But she refused. Her love for the prince prevented her from stabbing him. In the final scene the mermaid tosses herself into the sea and as daybreak approaches, she dissolves into foam.”]

You sigh once you’re done. It’s more akin to a tragedy than a fairy tale, you think.

Your next message asks:

[“So, what’s your opinion on it? Pretty sad stuff huh?”]

When you turn to Jin-woo to gauge his reaction you’re taken aback by how pale he looks. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down his face and his countenance had turned grim, a far cry from his relaxed expression at the start of your date. The ending must have disturbed him way more than you anticipated.

Crap. You should have never offered to explain the plot to Jin-woo. This version of, The Little Mermaid, made you bawl like a baby the first time you read it and you usually remained dry-eyed while reading most tearjerkers. Why did you think it was a bright idea to discuss it on a date of all things? It was time to shift into damage control mode, stat!

You struggle for words while coming up with an apology to Jin-woo. You try to keep the text casual and concise to reduce any tension between you.

[“Jin-woo, are you okay? Do you need to sit down and rest? I’m so sorry! I’ve gone and dampened the mood.😭”]

He shakes his head after looking at your message and retrieves a pen and a small notepad from his pocket, an indication that he wanted to hold a longer conversation with you. Although Jin-woo’s grasp of sign language was excellent he found written words to be suitable when the circumstance called for it. Like now for instance.

When he’s done writing with his stationery he hands the notepad to you.

[“Please don’t feel the need apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. You tried to warn me about how sad the story was, but I insisted on you telling me it anyway. I was just surprised was all. I can relate a bit to the mermaid because I’ve also made great sacrifices for the ones I love. In the mermaid’s case her love for the prince destroyed her. She gave up everything for him only for it to be in vain. It’s sobering to see love portrayed so tragically.”]

Jin-woo worries at his lower lip. He mentioned making sacrifices for his loved ones to you before but what exactly did he mean by it?

[“What sacrifices did you make if you don’t mind me asking? I’m here if you need a shoulder to lean on y’know.”]

You play coy with your response to glean more information from him. Maybe now that you’re officially dating, Jin-woo will open up to you.

Your hopes are dashed when the notepad is back in your possession.

[“Nothing I haven’t said before. Long hours, being away from home, missing my mother and sister while I’m away. Those kinds of sacrifices. Fishing at sea can be deadly if you’re not careful. I’ve had to dirty my hands on more than a few occasions while on the job.”]

Dirty his hands? Now this was something he hadn’t discussed with you before. Was Jin-woo involved in something illegal? Commercial fishing and maritime hunting were mercilessly cutthroat. A big profit can be made from harvesting seafood, fish, and other resources from the ocean. Some companies go as far as committing murder to weed out the competition.

Could this be what he meant by ‘dirtying his hands?’ That would explain why he was so flighty about his past with you. What if he was in trouble? If he was then why didn’t he ask you for help? Did he not trust you or did he not want to drag you into a mess of his own making?

Your mind’s going a mile a minute you’re so worried about Jin-woo. If he ended up injured or even dead because you decided to believe his lies and look the other way you would never forgive yourself. It was time to address the elephant in the room once and for all.

You type so fast; it’s a miracle you can come up with a message that was even coherent. Your face is hot, and you can already feel the sting of tears in your eyes.

[“Jin-woo, you need stop lying to me. I know there’s something you’re hiding, and it hurts that you can’t trust me enough to say it. If you’re in trouble just tell me. Say the words and I’ll try to help you to the best of my ability. I really like you Jin-woo but honesty should be mutual between us. I’ve spilled my guts to you, told you all about my life, my friends, and my job. Why can’t you do the same for me? I feel like I’m only falling in love with your reflection, not the real you. I just can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to lose you, but I refuse to be part of a relationship that lacks any kind of integrity!”]

Jin-woo takes on the pallor of a corpse as soon as he scans the contents of your text.

Fuck, you had done it now. There was no going back.

When he can bring himself to gaze at you there’s a devastation in his face that makes you instantly hate yourself for lambasting him. Yet you had to stand firm and conquer this hill if you had any chance of a future with him.

His little notepad is staring you in the face before you know it. Jin-woo’s handwriting looked frenzied and frayed. When you glance at him, his head is bowed, and his eyes are cloaked in shadow. He was utterly ashamed of himself. You can’t even begin to imagine what thoughts must be going running through his mind. He had to be as distraught as you were if not worse.

[“Tonight,” the scrawl reads, “I am going to tell you everything tonight. No more lies, no more excuses, I promise you. Even if you despise me for it, even if you never want to see me again, I’ll give you the truth no matter what. So please just this once trust me. I don’t want to lose you either. You’re everything to me, Y/N. I’m sorry for not being truthful to you, I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’ve only ever lied to protect you.”]

The desperation in his words makes your heart plummet. Just how terrible was this secret that it made Jin-woo think you would hate him for it? And he was scared you would be harmed if you knew? There was no doubt about it, Jin-woo absolutely was in danger. Why else would he be so disturbed about telling you?

Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely keep your phone from falling out of your grip. Jin-woo notices and steadies them by taking your hands in his own. Even at his lowest point you were his priority.

Did he ever once consider his own well-being?

How could he be so considerate of you at a time like this? You wanted to scream; to demand he be angry at you, to curse at you. Anything to justify your self-loathing. You berated Jin-woo without considering why he may be lying in the first place. For all you know his life could be on the line. Yet you only thought of your frustrations like a petulant child.

Stupid. You were so goddamn stupid!

A bookstore associate sees your distress and heads in your direction. Although your argument with Jin-woo was silent your panicked demeanor was starting to cause a scene. You really don’t want anyone to see you like this right now. Especially since you were on the brink of having a breakdown.

Jin-woo quickly acts as your shield, his protectiveness of you second nature. He pulls you to his chest, hiding your face from prying eyes. He’s warm, his heartbeat is steady, and you can feel his palms running up and down your back, consoling you. Jin-woo held you with the tenderness of a lover.

It’s in the comfort of his embrace that you let go and allow yourself to weep for him.

“Hello, ma’am is everything alri–”

“You can direct your questions to me. Can’t you tell she’s upset right now?” Jin-woo interrupts the man with clipped tone before he can finish. There’s a particularly nasty scowl on his face and the aura resonating from him is menacing at best. Did this moron not know how to read the room or was he lacking in common sense? You were vulnerable and in no position to be approached by a stranger let alone some random man.

The store associate pales and falters at Jin-woo’s display of aggression. He glances at the dark-haired alpha then back to you before his eyes widen. He had connected the dots.

“I… I… Sir, please try to understand. I didn’t mean to intrude on you and your mate, there were just some concerns from the staff and other patrons because of how scared she looked.”

Jin-woo’s hold on you tightens ever so slightly, and he levels a sneer at the frightened associate. The fucking gall of this man, of these humans, thinking they had a right to invade your own personal matters!

If you hadn’t been there with him he wouldn’t think twice about murdering every single person in this building. He’d flay the flesh from their bones, reap their misbegotten souls, and resurrect them into mindless pawns; just cogs in a machine for his army of the undead.

Jin-woo reluctantly quells his rage and spits out, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. What happens between her, and I is of no concern to you. Now go.”

His commanding baritone brooks no argument, and the man flees with all the grace of a wounded animal.

For the next few minutes, you remain in Jin-woo’s arms until your tears run dry. When you’re feeling stable enough to walk Jin-woo softly takes your hand and leads you out of the building. Your books lie forgotten and haphazardly stacked on top of one another on a random shelf.

You both walk aimlessly with no set destination in mind. Your eyes were still swollen and puffy from earlier, so you avert your gaze from Jin-woo. He merely squeezes your hand in response, a gesture of reassurance.

An unoccupied back alley with a dead end eventually comes into view. It’s here in this inconspicuous passageway that Jin-woo decides to explain the full extent of his powers.

Once you’re seated on a nearby windowsill, he activates his inventory in front of you for the first time. Jin-woo said he would show you the truth and he was a man of his word. He withdraws Kasaka’s Venom Fang, the oldest dagger in his collection, and gracefully twirls it in his hand before holding it out to you.

As expected, you’re awestruck by the sight of the weapon. However, what Jin-woo doesn’t anticipate is for you to suddenly extend a hand towards the blade, your index finger almost touching its venom-tinged edge. He snatches your wrist so nimbly you barely register what happens. Only the warmth from his body alerts you of his hold.

You gasp.

Despite the incredible velocity of his movements Jin-woo was able to rein in the force behind them, preventing you from being hurt by his grip. Even the most elite athletes struggled to find the perfect balance between speed and strength. His control of his body was beyond human capabilities.

He shoots you an apologetic look and releases your wrist.

‘That dagger can paralyze and drain your life if it cuts you,’ Jin-woo warns after returning it to storage, ‘I should have told you sooner. I’m sorr –

‘It’s beautiful.’

He raises his eyebrows. Of all the words you could use to describe such a deadly weapon ‘beautiful’ wasn’t what he had in mind. His lips quirk into a small smile.

‘You think so? It doesn’t frighten you?’ he queries, pleasantly surprised by your nonchalance.

You nod and peer at him with a soft expression.

‘I do.’ There’s a long pause before you add, ‘You’ve used that knife before, haven’t you?’

You bite your lip and clasp your hands together after you’re done signing. You knew you were backing Jin-woo into a corner with a loaded question, but he wouldn’t be lugging around such a dangerous item without having a very good reason for it.

The grin on his face vanishes, replaced by grimace. You hit the nail on the head. Jin-woo readies himself for his answer.

‘Yes, I have. I’ve used that dagger to hurt and even kill people in the past. I know I’ve told you many lies and half-truths, but I wasn’t lying when I told you I dirtied my hands.’

He expels a shaky breath before delving into all the gritty details of who he really is. Unraveling and stripping himself down to his barest form.

Through a combination of sign language, a visual demonstration of his abilities, and written words Jin-woo reveals that he is a hunter, a warrior who fights life and limb against otherworldly beasts; day in and day out.

He exposes his many skills including stealth, the power he used to manifest outside of the bookstore.

Next came his accelerated healing and immense physical prowess. Jin-woo spots a discarded cinderblock on the ground, grabs it, and shatters the hard object with his bare hands. This causes his palms to scrape and bleed. You gasp and rise to your feet, alarmed by Jin-woo’s injuries. But he lifts his arm, an unspoken order for you to stay exactly where you are.

Suddenly light eclipses the abrasions and his skin starts to mend itself. You watch in disbelief as Jin-woo splays his opened and visibly undamaged palms in the air. You had just witnessed Kandiaru’s Blessing in the flesh.

And then he unveils one of his greatest assets to you.

The shadows pooling at his feet rapidly proliferate until the entire alley is submerged in darkness. Within seconds a lone obsidian knight emerges from the void. He cuts a formidable figure on his own standing well over 240 cm with vibrant hues of amethyst accenting his heavy armor. A single red plume hangs atop his helmet and sways with every stride he takes. When he gets within five feet of you and Jin-woo he kneels in reverence.

You learn the knight’s name is Igris and that he’s one of hundreds of soldiers who serve under Jin-woo. This was only a taste of the Shadow Monarch’s full dominion.

Once finished Jin-woo issues an order for Igris to return. The knight stands tall and nods his assent to his king and much to your shock, to you as well, before he disappears into the receding shadows. Moments later the alleyway is as it always appears with nothing to indicate what transpired.

It’s at this stage that you present one more hard-hitting question to Jin-woo. A question he’d been dreading.

‘You aren’t human, are you Jin-woo?’

He clenches his fists.

‘No, I’m not.’

You study his face closely trying to scope out any signs of deception, but there are none. He was being completely honest with you. But then what else could he possibly be?

Before the weight of his answer can fully sink in the revolting stench of congealed blood assaults your senses. It reeks of decay and viscera, the potent odor violating the air like a malignancy.

This was the unmistakable scent of an alpha, one that you were unfortunately all too familiar with.

It was Kang Taeshik’s nauseating musk.

You internally panic, horrified that your assailant from months ago was somehow back in the picture. Your thoughts become a frantic mess.

No…no…no! It can’t be! Director Jinchul fired him! He should’ve been long gone by now, so what the hell was he doing back on this island!?!

You feel like the air’s been punched from your lungs. Your legs shake uncontrollably and threaten to crumble. Jin-woo quickly catches you by the waist before you can slump to the ground. He then maneuvers your body so that you’re facing him, not the unseen nightmare that was approaching. He strokes your hair, and his pheromones are released in full force to calm your nerves. The aroma of lavender and sandalwood slowly begins to supersede the miasma of death.

“Show yourself already. The bloodlust from your filthy stench’s enough of a giveaway, alpha.”

Jin-woo’s eyes narrow into a frosty glare as the sound of obnoxious clapping echoes throughout the alleyway. Taeshik had finally announced his arrival.

“Well, color me impressed! It’s not often I come across someone who isn’t intimidated by my scent. Looks like you’ve got some balls on you! I like it! You’d make a great brawler in our fighting circuit.” An unknown voice commends Jin-woo with a condescending undertone.

You begin to whimper as the odor increases in intensity. Jin-woo gently tucks your head into the crook of his neck granting you access to his scent glands. Right now, his instincts were kicking into overdrive. He was solely focused on protecting and cherishing you. Fighting could be put on the back burner. For now.

A man with a wild mane of purple hair arrogantly saunters into view. He’s accompanied by a large group of men, around ten in total and all of them alphas. Judging by the murderous intent in their eyes they were on the prowl for prey.

Taeshik’s mouth spreads into a smirk reminiscent of a Chelsea grin when notices you. He openly leers at your body; an action that causes Jin-woo to snarl and bare his fangs.

The purple haired man raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey now there’s no need for that. I was just appreciating the view, that’s all. Besides, your omega and I have a bit of a history together. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Jin-woo’s eyes go wide. How did he know your name?

His reaction seems to delight Taeshik who continues his spiel.

“Why the shock? She must’ve not told you about me. Y’see we used to be coworkers up until she got me fired. And after I was just trying to help by doing a little favor for her. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.” He breaks into a fit of disconcerting laughter at the end of his speech.

“A favor?” Jin-woo asks, no, demands Taeshik to answer. Just what had he done to you?

One of the gang members, a burly man with several scars, spiky black hair, and a five o’ clock shadow snickers and interjects.

“Isn’t it obvious, brat? That little slut went into heat right in front him. She was practically begging for it too! Taeshik here was gonna bring her to us so we could all get a piece of that fine ass. Too bad that fuckin’ director had to go and ruin our plans. But your boss isn’t here to save you this time, huh sweetheart?”

“She can’t hear or speak to you, Dongsuk. She’s deaf. I don’t know how many times I have to keep reminding you.” Taeshik drawls, annoyance lacing his voice.

“Heh, so what? A hole’s a hole. It ain’t like she’s gonna be able to talk with a mouthful of cock anywa –”

Slash!

In the blink of an eye Dongsuk’s head rolls off his shoulders leaving nothing but a bloodied stump in its wake. His body slumps to its knees like a marionette with its strings cut before flopping onto the ground.

“Wha – what the hell just happened!?!”

“Holy shit!”

“D…Dongsuk!? No!”

Confusion and panic overtake the men within seconds. Even Taeshik looks ill at ease. None of them had been able to pinpoint the exact cause or reason for the man’s untimely demise.

When the purple haired alpha redirects his attention to Jin-woo, he’s mortified by what he sees. Black eclipses the end of the alleyway submerging everything in darkness except for Jin-woo’s piercing gaze.

In that moment, Taeshik learns what pure, unadulterated terror feels like. He was staring death in the face, a face that bore nothing but apoplectic rage.

A crimson and black dagger, the Knight Killer, was wielded in one of Jin-woo’s hands. The weapon’s jagged edges were ensanguined up to the hilt; evidence of the life it had so effortlessly taken. Jin-woo’s other arm remained wrapped around you although now you were facing Taeshik, the remainder of his men, and the decapitated corpse of Hwang Dongsuk.

You tear your gaze away, unable to bear the gruesome sight any longer. Jin-woo looks at you sympathetically before hardening his expression.

He knew he was letting his anger get the better of him, but he was infuriated by these vulgar bottom feeders and the disgusting remarks they made about you. Jin-woo really couldn’t give a fuck about killing these wastes of space, but he wouldn’t let you be a spectator to the slaughter he was about to commit. You’ve been traumatized enough.

An insect-like specter suddenly manifests from the shadows and bows before you and his king.

“Beru, take her somewhere safe and far away from here. I don’t want her to see this.” Jin-woo orders, his voice dropping an octave lower.

“At once my liege.” The ant diligently obeys his master and offers a clawed hand to you.

“My lady?”

You pause at the gesture, unsure of whether you should accept it or stay by Jin-woo’s side. The dark-haired man notices your hesitation and makes the choice for you. He clasps onto your shoulder and squeezes it urging you to escape with Beru.

You reluctantly allow the ant to hoist you into his arms. As Beru prepares to launch himself into flight you turn and cast a final glance at Jin-woo.

He looks nothing at all like himself. He’s cold, menacing, inhuman.

That’s right, Jin-woo wasn’t human. He admitted as much to you. But it hadn’t changed your feelings for him in any shape or form. Your heart still yearned and bled for him all the same.

Your lids grow heavy once Beru takes to the skies, a likely side-effect of overexposure to Jin-woo’s pheromones. As you start to succumb to slumber, your last waking thoughts are filled with nothing but him.

The moon hangs high in the sky when you wake up. After gaining your bearings you perform a cursory scan of your surroundings. A vast sea cavern greets you, its atmosphere dank and foreboding. Stalactites rain down from the ceiling like arrows frozen in time, weathered rocks line the walls, and the air is so humid you struggle to breathe. The only source of light is from moonbeams drifting through a crevice at the top of the cave.

You soon realize that you’re lying on top of a sandbank in the middle of a large body of water. There didn’t appear to be any means of escape other than swimming, but you were mentally and physically exhausted. Your phone was also nowhere in sight, making it impossible to text for help. You were effectively stuck.

An undulating motion in the water’s surface catches your attention. You weren’t alone, something was in here with you and it was getting closer. However, you’re not afraid. In fact, there’s something oddly familiar about this presence...

The movements abruptly ceases, and all is still for several heart pounding seconds. Then out of nowhere a large figure surges from underneath the briny waves.

It’s a male siren, and he’s utterly magnificent. His appearance more akin to a work of art than a living, breathing being. He looks at you with a serene expression. Was this who you thought it was?

You drink him in, appreciating his beauty in its entirety.

The siren’s eyes consist of blackened sclerae with amethyst irises. A smooth layer of ebony skin partially coats his jaw, shoulders, and back. It contrasts wonderfully with the ivory coloring on his chest and face. He bore the same pattern as a killer whale; an apt comparison given that sirens were also apex predators. Webbed ear fins protrude from the sides of his head, the scales on them aglow under the faint moonlight. And luscious locks of black hair frame the siren’s stunning face.

He's simply not of this world. Words could never accurately describe his ethereal visage.

The siren is sprawled out on the edge of the sandbank. Upon closer inspection you notice that he’s highly anxious. You see his dichromatic throat bobbing, and he makes a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with you. You’d seen these nervous tics before.

‘Is that you, Jin-woo?’ You sign to the siren although you’re certain you already know the answer. You just needed his confirmation for peace of mind.

He shuts his eyes and nods, a somber admission of the truth.

You take a deep breath before exhaling. Then you present him with another question.

‘Did you kill all of them?’

The siren remains still this time. His lack of a definite response was an answer in itself.

You wet your lips. So, you were right. Jin-woo said he’s killed before to survive, but this time he did it for you. To punish those men who sought to use you for their own perverse interests. And Taeshik… his fate must’ve been worse than death for what he put you through.

Jin-woo signs to you.

‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way… this was supposed to be a special day for you, but everything went wrong. I know you’ll want no part of me in your life after this, but I’m glad I met you. I’ll have Beru take you home.’

Jin-woo turns his back to you and prepares to make his departure. So, that was it? He was going to vanish from your life just like that. You hadn’t even gotten a word in; he just assumed you didn’t want anything to do with him. That idiot!

You had to stop Jin-woo before it was too late! But what could you possibly do to prevent him from leaving…?

You have an epiphany then; what if you gave all of yourself to Jin-woo, body and soul? Only an intimate act, the consummation of your relationship, could fully bind you to Jin-woo.

A mating bite is irreversible. Once you are bonded there’s no going back on it. But you’ve wanted Jin-woo for so long. In fact, you wish he had bitten your scent glands when he first kissed you. Him being a siren, a killer of mankind and monsters, did not deter you. He was your chosen mate. You would never refuse him.

The sound of rustling of clothes stops Jin-woo in his tracks. He inhales shakily, not quite believing what was happening just feet from him.

You were disrobing yourself. You wanted to mate with him!

As you peel off each article of clothing, the sweet scent of your pheromones and slick become more pronounced. Jin-woo groans as his knot starts to swell. God, you smelt incredible! If only he could see your nude form. The things he’d make you feel, the sounds he’d drive from you…

Why was he still stopping himself? Your actions just now said all that needed to be said! You wanted him, and you were more than ready for his knot. As an alpha he’d be remiss not to tend to the needs of his omega.

His mouth curls into a wolfish grin. You really had no idea what you’d just gotten yourself into.

You feel heat pooling between your thighs at the sight of Jin-woo’s broad shoulders. The muscles of his back flex deliciously when he finally turns to relish you in all your naked glory. The smoldering gaze he sends you as his eyes sweep over every inch of your bare body looks like it’s carved in sin. You delight in his attention and crave more of it.

Unable to endure another second apart from your alpha, you rush to the edge of the sandbank fully prepared to swim to him if necessary. But you’re beaten to the punch as Jin-woo emerges from the water and pins you to the ground at a speed that’s downright demonic.

He holds both of your wrists above your head in one large hand while he rests his other arm on his elbow beside your head, trapping you beneath him.

Jin-woo looks into your eyes one last time for any sign of resistance. There’s none; you were not backing down from this. You wanted him to claim you.

Your explicit consent is all he needs to unleash himself upon you. He molds his lips against yours in a searing kiss that burns with passion. Your eyes slip shut as you lose yourself to it. Jin-woo was kissing you with abandon this time, and it was sublime. There was a clear intent and purpose in every stroke and caress of his mouth. He kissed you as if nothing else mattered.

He abruptly parts from your lips to press his forehead to yours. At last, both of you could indulge and get lost in one another. You bask in Jin-woo’s warmth and spread your legs apart allowing him to slant between them. He releases your wrists and cradles your face in his hands.

Your breath hitches when you feel his length prodding against your stomach. This was really happening! You shiver in spite of yourself. Would you be able to withstand Jin-woo’s brute strength?

The siren presses featherlight kisses to your lips, cheeks, and eyelids to quell your nerves. When he pulls back you notice his mouth is moving. You focus on his lips, carefully deciphering each word.

“Raise your head and close your eyes. I have a surprise”

You do as he asks, and something cold prickles against your décolleté and the back of your neck. You’re curious about what Jin-woo’s placed on you but you keep your head raised and your lids remain firmly shut. Moments later two taps of his fingertips on your cheek signal that you can open your eyes.

When you glance down, you’re amazed by the jewelry dangling from your neck. It’s gorgeous. Incandescent shards of crystal and delicate alabaster pearls pour from your nape down to the swell of your breasts.

Jin-woo in turn finds himself mesmerized by the image of the gemstones splayed across your dewy skin. Your complexion glows in the moonlight, making you all the more alluring.

He decides to take you right then and there.

As you wrap your arms around Jin-woo’s shoulders, he captures your lips with his and slides into your tight heat. You keen and arch into Jin-woo, baring your throat to him. His fangs lengthen, and he sinks them into the tender flesh of your neck, staking his claim.

Stars adorn the night sky as the two of you intertwine and become one.

Five days later…

Woo Jinchul was beside himself with worry.

He wearily rubs at his bloodshot eyes. A quick glance at his phone tells him it's just past three o’ clock in the morning. Yet another sleepless night had come to pass. The man contemplates grabbing more coffee but decides not to. He was already five cups deep and the caffeine was doing nothing for his exhaustion.

Jinchul knows he isn’t at his best when he’s sleep deprived but he couldn’t afford to waste another minute, not while you were still nowhere to be found. And now, based on recent developments in your case, you were classified as an endangered missing person. Sleep was the very last thing on his mind.

He looks down at his desk to examine your case file for what must’ve been the tenth time in the last hour. These classified documents contained sensitive information. Jinchul had to resort to pulling strings to obtain a copy of your records. He hated throwing his weight around to get what he wanted but bringing you back home safe and alive was far more important to him.

Lead detectives Baek Yoonho and Choi Jong-In hadn’t been too thrilled about sharing the particulars of an open investigation with some ‘big wig’ film director. It took some major convincing on Jinchul’s part for them to relent and provide him with such crucial details.

So far, it’s been almost a full week since your disappearance. During that time, an exhaustive search of the island had been performed. However, there was no sight or sound of you. And as fate would have it, another misfortune occurred on the very night you vanished. This time it was a massacre.

Kang Taeshik, a name Jinchul wishes he could just forget. The man had a propensity for violence as well as a lengthy rap sheet that was conveniently scrubbed from public records. He knew Taeshik engaged in some unsavory pastimes, namely hosting unsanctioned brawls in the underground fighting circuit. But this was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Racketeering, drug trade, and much to Jinchul’s horror, human trafficking, had been just a handful of the crimes the sick bastard had gotten away with.

If only he had known sooner, then you would’ve never been in this situation. He should’ve trusted his gut and chosen another actor for Taeshik’s role. Jinchul always despised the way that man looked at you, like you were a slab of meat. It was disgusting.

Imagine his shock when he discovered Taeshik had fallen victim to a mass murderer. Body parts and mutilated remains barely recognizable as human were found littered in an alleyway like trash. The scene had been so grizzly that dental records were required to identify the deceased. Only four out of the eleven decedents could be positively ID’d, with Taeshik being one of them.

There were no eyewitnesses, no biological evidence, no suspects. Nothing. The murders would be exceptionally difficult to solve.

And they didn’t stop there.

A large bookstore was set on fire two days after the gruesome discovery. Widespread flames and hundreds of thousands of books were a recipe for disaster. Despite the best efforts of the fire department and emergency services, over seventy people lost their lives. It was initially presumed to be an accident, likely faulty wiring or inadequate maintenance.

This theory was thrown out the window when the autopsy results of one of the store’s associates revealed some truly unsettling details.

To put it lightly the man had been decimated. Every bone in his body was shattered, his spinal cord was severed, and both his legs were torn off. The associate had undergone an excruciating death, with any one of his injuries being fatal. He’d been tortured extensively before expiring from blood loss. Whoever committed this murder must’ve wanted him to suffer. The damage to the man’s body also bore striking similarities to the injuries sustained by victims of the massacre.

When his surviving co-workers were asked by detectives if the man had any known enemies, an older woman spoke up. Apparently, there was a tall dark-haired alpha having a falling-out with his girlfriend in the store a few days prior. The associate attempted to intervene and stop the lover’s tiff, but the boyfriend had been greatly angered by this.

“It was as if he’d seen a ghost,” the woman stated, “He was absolutely spooked by the confrontation and refused to talk to us about it. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t dropped the topic so easily. That boy was such a hard worker, always so eager to help those in need… it’s awful what happened to him. I don’t know how his family is coping.”

But if a grudge was only held against the associate then why did the killer go so far as to destroy the entire building? Did he also harbor resentment towards the business? Was he trying to make an example out of them?

Unfortunately, all the surveillance cameras in the bookstore had been destroyed in the fire. Staff members were able to provide a detailed description of the alpha and his girlfriend. When Jinchul first saw the composite sketches he nearly fell out of his chair.

The girlfriend had been a dead ringer for you.

If that wasn’t enough of a smoking gun, the day the man and woman were seen together coincided with the day you went missing.

Evidence in your case was mounting but none of it made sense. How did you get involved with this man? As far as Jinchul knew you weren’t dating anyone during filming. Cha and Jinho were also certain you were single. But that didn’t exclude the possibility of you being in a secret relationship…

At this point in the investigation, all Baek and Choi had to run on was the assumption you’d been kidnapped by a highly dangerous individual. A man who just so happened to be linked to almost one hundred deaths within the last week. The resolution to your missing person’s case was becoming bleaker by the day.

Jinchul rubbed at his temples. Going days without a proper night’s rest was taking its toll on him. His head was throbbing with a killer headache. Everything’s gone to shit since you’ve been gone.

Due to the tragic events surrounding the island and the unsolved disappearance of one of their own, executive producer Go made the difficult decision of suspending production on ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ indefinitely. The movie was most likely going to be shelved.

Jinchul sighs and reaches for his phone again. He skims through his photo gallery until he comes across a picture taken on the first day of filming. You, Cha, and Jinho persuaded him to join in on a group selfie to commemorate the special occasion. The hopeful look in your eyes and the mirth in your smile causes Jinchul’s chest to feel heavy. He longs to return to happier times like this.

But those days were past and gone.

A monster came to Jindo Island, salted the earth with its rage, unleashed a burning inferno to incinerate all in its path.

And you disappeared with it in a sea of fire.

Tag list: @soft-dots @joannthebish @rokuxx6 @augurythirteen @princeizuku @vee-love @imaginarydreams @iamapotatoe @phisen @rai-xxx @ayam99920 @asylrd

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justawritterwithideas · 2 years ago

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law in pink | s.r

♡ first part | next part ♡

summary: after confronting an unsub, it leaves you with a ugly mark and Spencer decides to give you a gift to cheer you up.

warnings: mentions of physical violence, beyond that a bit of girl power from reader and a sweet spencer worried about you.

this story is spencer reid (season 7) x ssa elle woods!reader

words: 1,567 words.

a/n: by popular demand, here is part two of law in pink, and yes, I will be returning to this story in a short series with chapters from ssa woods!reader x spencer. thank you very much again and I hope you like it.

The first rule everyone should know about you is that they must never mess with your face.

Never.

Because they don't know what a process it is to get it well cared for, hydrated and with that natural glow. They also don't know how expensive your skincare products are (always the best of the best) and your sessions with your dermatologist.

So they should never, but never, mess with your face.

But clearly an unsub wasn't going to know that, a criminal accused of killing 4 women with a twisted mind was never going to think that.

Least of all when his hand punched you straight in the face, splitting your lip and leaving a mark on your cheekbone, causing the taste of iron to be savored in your mouth.

"What, is Barbie going to cry about her face? I don't understand why they sent the weakest one."

You turned to look at him as you heard his sarcastic laugh, which didn't last long as the Gucci logo on your heel was branded on his cheek and he was falling dazed after hitting a box in the process.

"Weak? Please, you messed with the wrong Barbie." You smiled proudly at the sight of him on the floor, pawing at your face and letting out a groan at the sensation of pain. "Now I'll have to make an appointment with my dermatologist and a traumatologist because of you." You sighed pulling the gun away from his body and proceeded to take his hands to cuff them.

Within minutes, you heard some voices calling out to you, so you began to signal where you were. Within seconds, you saw a concerned J.J. and Emily come down to where you were standing, pointing their guns at you.

The scene was amusing and amazing to watch, you on top of a man who was twice your size as well as weight, lying on the ground while his hands were cuffed.

"Malibu Barbie just captured the undercover toy." You motioned for the cops to take him away, noticing how Emily got a close look at your lip.

"That must hurt."

"It'll hurt more for him, these babies are from last season and has a good sole. Fresh from the mail and ready to make a mark." You commented showing your heels to your companions, hearing their laughter at your joke.

The three of you walked out behind the hoard of people, noticing Spencer and Derek getting out of the newly arrived SUV. As soon as Spencer's gaze captured your face in his field of vision, you could feel him notice right away how your wounded face was the focus of the stares.

"What happened?" Derek looked in everyone's direction, stopping your gaze on you and the clear change in your usual 'perfect' face. "Oh no, Barbie..."

"Don't even look at me, better look at him." You pointed your chin in the direction of the patrol car, where your shoe logo was visible on the criminal's ruddy cheek. "My pilates classes taught him a good lesson." You commented smiling, but immediately let out a groan from the pain it was to move the muscles in your face. "But I think it will leave me achy for a few days."

In between conversations, the others convinced you to go get attended to, so you heeded and walked away from them in the direction of the ambulance, so they could give your cheekbone and lip attention.

"Are you okay, Y/N?"

Spencer's soft voice made you forget the pain for a few seconds, turning to see his face and giving him a smile where your white teeth took center stage.

"I'm fine, it was just a tap." The paramedic walked away to leave the two of you alone. You knew it wasn't an answer that would leave Spencer satisfied about your condition, in fact, his intense stare at you was more than enough to make that clear. You let out a sigh, turning to look at the brunette. "Well, I don't think it's just a 'tap out'. I'll have to ask for a couple of days until I show up at the office decently, not with this horrible face."

One of your biggest problems was your appearance, as many may note, because, if you weren't perfect, you couldn't leave your house.

It had to be everything, head to toe, just the way you have it in your head, if not, sorry, but they'll have to wait for you.

"It's not horrible, you still look just as beautiful." Spencer's words seemed impulsive, but they made your cheeks turn pink, even though I wasn't the only one blushing at that moment, Spencer's were just the same.

"You think so?" your eyelashes fluttered softly, watching the boy.

"Y-yes, y-you always look cute, Y/N."

A kiss on his cheek was the positive response you left for Spence to understand that his words were the best choice, and helped push away those thoughts about how bad you looked with a swollen lip and bruises on your cheek.

"Thank you Spencie, your words are always the right ones. Like a good Chai Latte on a cold day." You smiled getting up from where you were, indicating to him that you would go to the SUV.

For the first time in his life, Spencer appreciated his impulsiveness.

About a week later, you reappeared at the office for a full day's work.

Your body was covered by a pink skirt and jacket ensemble, something that was no longer a problem for anyone after weeks of seeing you arrive like this.

The only thing that wasn't pink at all was your black purse, a beautiful Alexandra. K. Joy and of course, the tray full of coffees you were carrying in your hands.

"Miss Universe, you're back." Derek smiled, causing you to walk up to him and leave a short hug.

"Good things always come back, now be a cutie and help me with this, D." You passed him the tray with coffees, walking beside him as you shared a couple of words.

There was a variety of coffees for everyone according to their tastes, you had taken the time to memorize each order so that it was to their liking.

And as soon as you appeared, you heard Penelope's voice call out to you. Your hand rose to greet her, approaching her with a smile.

"My pretty Y/N." The blonde immediately caught you in a hug, causing you to do the same.

"Penny!" you said cheerfully as you passed her a butterscotch frappe with plant-based milk. "I picked out something I thought you'd like."

"Thanks, cutie. How's your lip?"

"Sore, a little damaged, but better than I thought. My dermatologist recommended a magic cream that Lindsay Lohan used, she said it worked miracles and in two weeks it would be just the way it was."

A smile tugged at your lips, starting to pass out the coffees you had bought until you reached the last one: the one for Dr. Reid.

"Spencie." Your voice snapped him out of his head, turning to see you with a smile.

"Y/N, hey. How are you doing?"

"Much, much better, look... My lip looks almost like it did before! I'll get back to my pretty face." You placed the coffee in front of his eyes, giving him another smile. "A coffee loaded with vegetable milk, I heard around that you're lactose intolerant so I took the liberty of choosing for you."

A blush of embarrassment at that secret settled on his cheeks, causing him to lower his head.

"Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate the coffee." He lifted the cup, taking a sip from it and simply gave you a look, causing you to smile and go to your table.

But it was surprise that settled on your face as you saw a box full of skincare products. Your hands went to grab the products, noticing that it was every single one you occupied and ever mentioned.

"What? Guys... Wow." You held up the little serum box, but the confusion on Emily's face turned your excitement to confusion. "It wasn't you guys?"

"I don't even remember what I did yesterday and I'm going to remember your products, cutie. You take a lot of them." Emily laughed softly, but made you look again in search of the person responsible.

"There's only one person who can remember details like that." Derek's words drew your gaze from your desk to that of a certain doctor, who was shifting his gaze back to his paperwork. "And he hides behind his work."

A soft blush settled on your cheeks, causing you to bring the little box to your chest and press it to your heart, marveling at the detail.

Your feet soon made their way to the desk of the person in charge, and catching him off guard, you left a kiss on his cheek where your pink lipstick was stamped on his skin.

"Thank you, Spencie. I'll take good care of it."

Spencer's heart stopped for a couple of seconds, you could read it.

And as soon as you left, just like a tomato the young doctor's face colored. As a plus, the comments from Morgan didn't take long to come.

"Wow pretty boy, you just won the lottery."

Spencer knew it and that caused him to smile, because boy did he win it.

♡ first part ♡

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fanfic #blurb #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x elle woods!reader #legally blonde is superior #alme was here!

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dragonbarbie · 8 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Part 1

aegon x best friend!reader ; modern!au

summary: this fic is snippets of aegon and reader's relationship as they grow up and discover new feelings. but to let himself be loved, aegon has to first do some growing up.

rating: 18+, minors dni.

tags: alcohol, substance abuse.

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

next part

A/N: i'm so excited to share my first full fic! this series is very very lowkey inspired by one day and highkey inspired by peter by taylor swift. comment if you'd like to be on the taglist for this! hope you guys like it :)

divider credit @ cafekitsune!

Age 10

“I still don't see why we had to move here." a sullen, 10 year old Y/N replied, pouting as she stared out the window from the backseat. her father couldn't help an amused smile at the little girl as he drove towards her new school. "i told you darling, daddy’s got a very important new job here in king’s landing." "yes but why did I have to move here." the older man let out a patient sigh. this had been going on weeks leading to their move. "you haven't even given the city a chance yet, kiddo. why do you hate it already?" "because..." the little girl started with an exasperated whine. ".... i don't have any friends here!" "you have me." her father offered with an assuring grin. the unamused look he got in return was not grateful in the least. "you're dad. i want friends." the seriousness with which Y/N declared her dilemma earned her a laugh from the front seat.

her father pulled into the curb by the grand iron gates of Red Keep Academy, the best private school in the city. as Y/N hopped out the backseat, looking deflated, he lowered the car window, "hey c'mon now, you can't start your first day all sad. who knows, maybe you'll come back with a hoard of friends, even more than you had back home." Y/N only looked ahead at him, unconvinced. "bye, dad."

as she made her way towards the main archway to the school, she thought of all the things she was missing about home. not the new townhouse they had in the city, her real home, back in the reach. she thought of the swing behind her house, the smell from the bakery next door, the big oak tree she saw on the way to school every morning, the fountain in the park – when suddenly someone ran past her, fast enough to knock her down.

"ouch!" she cried out from the floor, rubbing her shoulder where she had been hit. "aegon!" a woman suddenly rushed to her side, glowering at the little boy who had pushed past her. "are you okay, honey? were you hurt?" the first thing Y/N noticed was how kind the woman looked with her big brown eyes, and so very pretty. "i'm okay." she reassured in a small voice, before turning to give this 'Aegon', the dirtiest look she could muster.

the boy had to be her age, pale blonde hair that looked like someone had tried to comb it but had not been given enough time to finish the job. he wore a matching school uniform to Y/N, navy blue blazer, white shirt and dark green pants. his shirt though was untucked and seemed to already have mud stains.

she thought he seemed mostly unbothered by his own actions, but stood there attempting to look sheepish nonetheless for his mother.

"apologise to this young lady." his mother demanded. "sorry..." he mumbled almost incomprehensibly. already upset and now physically hurt, Y/N wordlessly got up and hurried away, trying to stop hot tears from spilling out.

as she walked away she heard the boy's mother scold him, "that was not an apology, Aegon. go say sorry, properly this time." she heard a childish groan in response, "do I have to?". his mother must have given him one hell of a look, Y/N thought because she heard her say nothing else but small footsteps came jogging up to her.

as the blonde boy walked next to her, she waited for him to say something while she kept walking ahead, but he seemed to just wordlessly fall in stride with her. After a minute he suddenly asked, “do you even know where you’re going?”

now that he mentioned it, she didn’t.

she suddenly stopped and looked around herself, confused. He stopped with her and studied her for a second. “I don’t know you.” He observed. “are you new?”. She decided to stay silent, hoping he would go away if she ignored him but she was wrong. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “you’re going in the wrong direction, new girl. That way –” he pointed to where she had been headed “—is the middle school building. Primary school is this way.” He started walking down a hallway, and Y/N took hurried steps to follow him.

He gave her a sideway glance, “what grade are you in anyway? Third?” he smugly asked, proudly looking down at her as a mature fifth-grader. “fifth.” She snapped at him. “oh”, he responded, surprised. “who’s class?” “Miss Reyne.” “no kidding!” he gave her a toothy grin. “so am I.”

Y/N didn’t like this Aegon, she decided. As he kept chatting away about how boring Miss Reyne was, she gave him no replies and generally walked as if she were alone and had no association with the silver haired boy beside her. As they settled into class, she was determined to avoid him for the rest of her day. Aegon though, was determined for quiet the opposite.

He took a seat next to hers, kept making comments, providing her a running, private commentary about each teacher and student. He wasn’t affected by Y/N’s lack of a response, or if he was, he didn’t let it show. Y/N had to admit though, he was funny. she couldn’t help but crack a smile when he told her about the time Jason Lannister got gum stuck in his hair, and had to suppress a giggle when Aegon impersonated Mr. Bolton falling asleep mid-way through teaching a class. At these small instances of Y/N’s guard breaking, he flashed her a bright smile, pleased with himself.

Y/N though, didn’t utter a word to him. Until Art class that was.

They had been asked to paint an animal, and when Y/N looked up from the goldfish she had been painting, she saw Aegon’s work. “a dragon isn’t a real animal.” She disproved. The boy merely shrugged, “that’s not an animal either, it’s a fish.”

“a fish is an animal.” She frowned at her work. “it’s just an animal under water.”

“oh well, let’s add some of its natural habitat then.” He smirked, grabbing the bowl of water they’d been sharing to clean their brushes. “NO! stop!” in an attempt to block him from pouring water on her work, the brush in her hand smeared some of the yellow paint on his face.

He froze in his action immediately, bringing up his fingers to feel the paint streak running down from his brow to across his nose. This time Y/N couldn’t suppress her laughter at the sight, his blinking expression making it all the more funnier. “well, if that’s how you want to do this!” he declared as he scooped some of the red paint on his two fingers before smearing it on her cheek.

Within five minutes, their respective art works had been abandoned and both sets of uniform utterly ruined. The two had to be separated by their teacher, then ordered to walk down to the washrooms and clean themselves right up.

The second she left the girls washroom though, Y/N found the silver haired boy waiting for her by the door, some green paint still visibly stuck in his pale locks. “race you to class?” he mischievously suggested. “Hmm” Y/N pretended to think about the challenge for a second, before saying “okay” and dashing towards their class.

With a self-satisfied smile at having beaten Aegon, she took her seat. Sulking at his defeat, Aegon slinked back in his chair, “you cheated, didn’t wait for the ‘go’…”

“win’s a win.” Y/N declared, grabbing golden glitter for her fish.

He didn’t stay grumpy for long though, before she knew it he was back to his talkative self, this time with Y/N chiming in with her own comments. The hours flew by with Aegon by her side, and as the day came to an end Y/N realised she’d enjoyed herself after all.

As they walked towards the school gate to leave, Aegon suddenly changed the topic. “you like video games?” “yeah…?” she hesitantly replied. “great, you’re coming over tomorrow to play some.” He beamed. At the end of the sentence Y/N observed he hadn’t actually asked her a question. “okay.” She found herself agreeing.

“cool, see you tomorrow.” Aegon had started running in the direction of one of the cars, when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “never asked your name.” he sheepishly realised.

“Y/N!” she distractedly answered as she sped up, having found her mom’s car in the parking lot.

“Y/N…” Aegon muttered to himself as he walked away, liking the way the name rolled of his tongue.

Age 15

“You’re late.” Y/N didn’t even bother to look up when she heard the window to her bedroom open, but did glance at the subsequent sound of someone falling face first onto her carpet. “have you been drinking? Its 2pm.”

Down on the ground laid her best friend of five years, with his messy platinum hair and stick-thin lanky limbs, carrying in the distinct smell of smoke when he entered her room. Though they were the same age, aegon looked more boyish still even as he had started to race towards every vice of the adult world he could get his hands on.

Aegon merely rubbed his now injured nose, as he lifted his head off the ground. “No I haven’t been drinking… still drunk from last night. Big difference.” Y/N sighed and shook her head in vexation before returning to her homework. Aegon had recently taken up drinking and despite Y/N’s repeated rebukes, he seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much to stop. He continued to wave off her concern and she was starting to tire of voicing it.

“Let’s say I believed you… you wanna tell me what made you so late, then? I do have other things to do with my day than wait around to teach you biology, y’know.” Aegon grabbed a chair and dragged it to sit next to her at her desk. “I was actually busy being taught biology as it happens… albeit of a different kind.” His smug, self-satisfied grin as he pulled a cigarette from his front pocket and placed it between his teeth, told Y/N all she needed to know. “Elinda Massey was the most enthusiastic of teachers.” Y/N couldn’t help but grit her teeth at the mention of Aegon’s latest distraction.

With a swift motion she grabbed the cigarette and threw it in the bin, ignoring his protests. “you know you’re not allowed to smoke in here, my parents would kill me if they smelled it.” Aegon snorted at the statement, “yeah but, that’s never stopped me before.” The casualness with which Aegon dismissed her, pinched Y/N. It was certainly true that Y/N usually found it hard to say no to Aegon, no matter how the consequences might harm her; but she didn’t like how he took the same for granted, as if it was a given.

“What’s got you all prissy today?”

“you. You wanna pass biology this year or not?” Y/N replied, visibly irritated. “yeah like there’s a chance in hell they’ll actually fail me. Grandfather would have the place shut within the week.” “then why do you even need a tutor? Go off with Elinda or whoever.” Y/N huffed, her eyes remaining trained so hard on her textbook that she was half certain she was going to burn holes into it, her hand clutching around the pencil in her hand.

“Elinda? That’s what you’re so annoyed about?” aegon snickered. Y/N turned to now glare directly into his blue eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks and her nostrils flaring. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to push aegon right out the window he came from so she could be alone instead of having to deal with this. “No, I just think you’re wasting your time here right now, when you could be doing…. Biology with Elinda instead.” Aegon brow furrowed at her reaction, but instead of another retort his hand reached out to gently grab her arm. “hey…” his features softened from their usual impish nature to highlight his concern “…what’s actually up with you?” in the face of such kindliness from him, she couldn’t muster any more scathing replies.

He’d seen right through her, like only he could. For weeks now she’d been stressed, but found the topic too awkward to discuss with Aegon. But she knew she’d have to open up to him sooner or later about her problem. Keeping secrets from Aegon was simply not something she did. Or even possibly could if she tried, she thought.

“promise you won’t laugh.” She first demanded in a nervous tone. Raising his three fingers, her best friend solemnly confirmed, “scouts honour.” She swallowed, her eyes looking beyond Aegon’s shoulder rather than at him as she slowly admitted. “I’ve not had my first kiss.”

Aegon merely blinked back at her, “what, is there supposed to be more to that or…?” “I’ve not had my first kiss.” She repeated as if those words were supposed to be self-explanatory. “yeah and I’ve never been to the Summer Isles, what’re you on about?” Y/N couldn’t help a groan as she momentarily hid her face behind her hands, thinking the more she would explain herself the more embarrassed she would get.

“It’s just, I’m 15, and I should have had it by now, I’ve never even been on a date.. and… and… and you’ve got Elinda and Maria before that, and Jeyne and, and…. I just can’t believe you’ve gone to third base before I’ve even had my first kiss!” her words came out rushed in the end, out of frustration and a need to just get the shameful confession over with.

She had expected Aegon to laugh it off, or worse, agree that her situation was absolutely the height of shame. Instead, he looked confused that such a thing was bothering her in the first place “what, that’s it? why didn’t you just say so before?”

nonchalantly, aegon put an arm behind Y/N’s chair. Eyes closed, he suddenly leaned in towards her, lips puckered, causing her eyes to go wide. “what the –” as a reflex response she pushed back at his shoulders, making him fall of the chair.

“the fuck was that for!” he shouted from the floor, his ego and back bruised. “why did you try to kiss me?” Y/N was shocked, horrified even, at the prospect. Aegon was her best friend, she couldn’t even imagine looking at him in that light. it was Aegon, he was simply too familiar for her.

Aegon raised his hands out as if the answer was obvious. “you said it yourself you wanted to have your first kiss!”. Y/N’s nose scrunched up, “not with you!”.

“well how was I supposed to get that! Fuck me, I’ll never understand you women”

“‘you women?’” at that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. This scene before her, this response by her best friend was too ridiculous. Yet, she noted as she offered a hand to help him back up which he grumblingly took, this was very much in character for Aegon. She knew he always wanted to help her, he might not have always understood how to go about it, but his heart was in the right place.

“I don’t need you to fix it, aegon.” She affably told him, a faint grateful smile on her face for her friend’s valiant effort nonetheless. “yeah, no-shit, because there’s nothing to fix. You’re not broken, Y/N.” Y/N didn’t know that she needed to hear those words until Aegon said it and it felt as if a burden was lifted off her shoulders.

“Don’t get me wrong. Doing all this, the kissing and the more-than-kissing, it’s fun. Honestly it’s so, so much fun, like I can’t even—” “you wanna get to your point?” “–so it’s great and all but, not doing it doesn’t mean you’re any less for it. You’re still Y/N, you’ll always still be Y/N to me.”

The anxiety she had been feeling, the fear of being left behind and the worry about other’s judgement, even her own – it all started to look so small and insignificant when Aegon told her she was still the same to him. This was her only constant in life, this bond between her and Aegon, the one person she couldn’t hide who she was from. In that moment, she felt glad to have him by her side.

“Besides if you were ever truly that desperate, you could always just try Jace. he’s had a thing for you like forever” Aegon revealed, rolling his eyes in apparent annoyance of the fact. Y/N though, couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Jace… has a thing for me?” The thought of it seemed to please her, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as a red blush started to creep onto her cheeks once more.

Aegon looked disgusted at her response, and grimaced, “yeah okay, no need to flatter yourself too much …. It’s Jace.” He stuck his tongue out at the distaste of the thought of his best friend with his nephew. Y/N didn’t pay him any attention, having taken to doodling hearts in the margins of her notebook while engrossed in thought. Aegon immediately regretted having said anything, snatching the notebook from under her hand, “alright are we going to do some biology or what?”

Age 17

Y/N had been fast asleep when the familiar sound of pebbles against her window awoke her. she looked at the time on the watch as it read 2:17 am, quickly rising from her bed. there was only one person who had to be out there, and she knew why too. her heart sank, knowing already that aegon must have had another fight with his father. she opened the window and as expected, aegon targaryen precariously balanced his steps on the tree branch just outside.

"aegon, what are you doing? It's late," she whispered-shouted, trying not to wake her parents but already held out a hand to help him in. "Needed to see you," he slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. She wanted to chide him for endangering himself by climbing up so high when he’d drunk so much, but looking at his condition she decided to stay quiet. He climbed into her room, stumbling slightly as he landed. Y/N caught his arm, steadying him. "You've been drinking again," she said, more as a statement than a question.

aegon’s normally sparkling blue eyes were unfocused, his silver hair dishevelled. He'd grown taller of late, she missed the days when she could stand shoulder to shoulder with him. she now had to look up at him, as she put one of his arms around her shoulder to guide him towards the bed as his own steps fumbled.

“He doesn’t get it, Y/N. None of them do. To him, nothing i've done or will do matters for shit. i'm just not the son he wanted. he regrets me, i can see it in his eyes, I—” a sob escaped his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence.

She gently sat him down on the edge of her bed, his weight pressing down on the soft mattress. As she looked into his sad, bloodshot eyes, she harboured such hatred for Viserys as she thought impossible for anyone else to hold. she kneeled down in front of him, her heart breaking to see him so.

"I know, i know. But you can’t keep doing this, aegon. If you keep drinking like this, you could seriously hurt yourself one of these days." and she didn't think she could survive that.

she reached out to hold his hands in her own. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you. Always." if aegon heard her, he gave no indication, instead staring at their intertwined hands.

"can I crash here tonight?" he suddenly asked, looking more innocent than she'd ever seen him as he lifted his eyes to look up at her. Gone was the bravado and arrogance that was usual of him, even expected. In that moment he looked more lost than ever, and was looking to her as if she was his only hope for shelter.

she knew her parents wouldn't be thrilled about this impromptu sleepover, but then again she'd never had the ability to deny him anything. "of course," she tenderly smiled.

he kicked off his shoes and moved back up the bed, still holding onto her hand, pulling her with him. he lied down on her pillow, refusing to let go of her hand as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. he looked so peaceful, Y/N couldn’t help but reach out her free hand to run it through his hair in admiration. She wasn’t blind, she knew how handsome he looked, causing the girls to flock to him like moths to a flame. But his looks were just an objective fact to her, she never found herself attracted to him in the same way as the girl at school. But somehow in the pale moonlight, he looked more beautiful than she’d ever seen him, and it caused her chest to swell overwhelmingly.

she looked down to notice he'd opened his eyes again. "Don't leave," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"I won't" she promised, pulling the blanket over them both. he nodded in satisfaction of her reply, nestling against the crook of her neck, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

Sleep evaded Y/N though, on the one hand she was wracked with worry over Aegon and his drinking habits, on the other.... she could feel his breath tickling her neck, as his one hand held her own while his other wrapped around her waist, his feet entangled with hers. his body pressed to her own under the covers, making the cramped space on her single bed too hot. Aegon had never been this physically close to her, this vulnerable. she thought how his safe space, the place he ran to when he wanted an escape was her, same as he was for her. it had always been this way, yet, in the darkness of the night she sensed something had shifted between them. she couldn't name it yet, though.

The next morning, when the first light of dawn seeped through the curtains, aegon stirred. He blinked, confusion clouding his eyes at his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the familiar face inches from his own "Y/N?" Y/N merely hummed in response, only now starting to stir awake. "what... how did i get here?" he asked looking around the room, startled. He lifted his head as he realised he was all but laid out on top of her, before moving away to lay on his back. He looked down to find his hand had cramped from holding onto hers all night, immediately releasing it. Y/N rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she responded, "what d'you mean?"

"i mean what am i doing in your bed at the crack of dawn." aegon looked earnestly confused, Y/N realised, which worried her. "You came here last night," she slowly replied, watching his face carefully. "You were drunk. Do you remember?"

aegon frowned, rubbing his temples. "No... I don't." he suddenly looked at Y/N, "Did I do something... did we...?" he motioned to the space between them, his brow raised. Y/N sat up from her bed in alarm, "oh, no, nothing. of course not." she reassured him. she tried not to look too wounded at his relieved expression "good, good." he nodded, staring up at the ceiling.

"you had a fight with your dad and wanted to crash here. do you not remember coming up here last night?" "I don't remember anything really. last thing I do remember is opening one of the bottles from the wine cellar and then" he shrugged. Y/N frowned at his response, "Aegon, have you started blacking out?” her stomach tied itself in knots, feeling anxiety over this new development. But she felt as if she was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation.

she searched for any fear in aegon’s eyes, but only found apathy and disinterest. he seemed unconcerned, merely rolling onto his side and closing his eyes, lazily stretching himself out to get comfortable to fall back asleep.

“do you understand what that means? it means this is getting dangerous. This is no longer all for a good time, Egg.” She attempted again, this time raising her voice to catch his attention. It seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"wake me up for lunch, yeah?" he yawned, drifting back to slumber within minutes.

A wave of anger washed over her, she wanted to knock him off her bed or hit him with a pillow in frustration over his own self-destructive ways. Did he not understand the ending he was currently headed towards? Did he not care how this going to affect him, affect her? She was tired of being the only safety harness keeping him held back when all he seemed to want to do was jump into the abyss.

“fucking… suit yourself.” She stormed off the bed to head out of her room, shutting the door behind her loudly.

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