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illyrianbitch · 25 days ago

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Are We Still Friends? — Part Two

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel are struggling with the aftermath of your heated argument. Unfortunately, you both cope in very different ways.

Warnings: angst! (with a side of some friendship fluff)

Word Count: 5.2k

Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The room reeked of stale arrogance and cold stone— like it always did.

You could handle Keir alone. Azriel knew that. You did, too. But that didn’t make it easy. Az’s presence was enough to silence Keir’s snide remarks with a single look. Without him here, Keir was running his mouth like a common court gossip, his words dripping with the kind of entitlement that made your skin crawl.

He was droning on now, his voice a low hum in your ears like the buzzing of a persistent, uncatchable fly; rattling demands, complaints, thinly veiled insults. It was always like this.

You were barely listening.

Your mind kept drifting to Az, to the conversation the night before.

Your chest simmered with a new emotion every time you replayed it. Anger, disappointment, betrayal. You weren’t sure which stung more: his sharp tone, the way he’d dismissed you, or the bitter fact that you’d never had Azriel talk to you like that before.

Where was he now, anyway? What had Selene needed so urgently that he’d decided official court matters could wait? Somewhere far more comfortable than this gods-forsaken pit, you were sure.

“…and the resources we’re requesting are more than reasonable, given the sacrifices we’ve made to maintain this arrangement.”

Keir’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts, slick, self-satisfied, and grating. He had quite the punchable features, you observed. How had he lasted this long without a good deck to the face?

“If Rhysand truly values his court,” Keir continued, a mocking edge creeping into his tone, “and not just his little city, then perhaps he should send someone who understands the importance of negotiation.”

Your mind jumped again—to Azriel, to the way he’d looked at you like you were the one who’d crossed the line. You couldn’t figure out where you’d gone wrong. Was it the mention of Elain? That small, stillness you’d felt in him? You hadn’t intended it to be a jab, hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. You were concerned. Your approach was good-natured. Or, at least you’d thought so.

Keir’s voice drifted in and out of focus as you stared at him, boredom spreading through you, a dull throb in your chest. You were ready to leave. Ready to escape the suffocating air of the room. You were annoyed at yourself, too, if you were being honest. Here you were, seething, ungrounded in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be, simply because of a five-minute argument. A spat.

Usually, during these meetings, Azriel helped you regulate your dislike for Keir. When the male’s mere existence stirred memories of his cruelty to Mor, Azriel’s presence would be a steadying hand at the small of your back, a quiet reminder to keep your temper in check.

But he wasn’t there. And your thoughts were all over the place. And Keir only wanted to talk to Azriel—why did everyone need him so suddenly?

“Your attempts at diplomacy are largely symbolic. A pretty face to soften the High Lord’s more… aggressive tactics. And, well, without the Spymaster— ”

Something snapped inside you. That diplomatic part of you, the skills you’d fought tooth and nail for, had perfected over centuries, crumbled completely.

“Shut up!”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. The two males beside him stiffened, their hands twitching toward their weapons.

“For the love of the Mother,” you said through gritted teeth, “Shut. Up.”

Keir’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second before he recovered, his features twisting with irritation— with offense, with shock. “Excuse me, girl?”

You stood slowly, your chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. You knew you should grimace, should feel some pang of guilt for letting your temper get the better of you. This wasn’t what you were here to do. This wasn’t how you tended to be.

But you didn’t care.

You were tired, irritated, and in desperate need of a drink, a joint, or someone to hit in the face.

“Do you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” you said, gesturing sharply with your hands. “Or do you enjoy the sound of your own idiocy too much to notice how pathetic you sound?”

Keir’s eyes narrowed, his smirk returning, like he enjoyed your bite. Found a worthy opponent, even. “Careful,” he said, his voice low, threatening. “You’re out of line.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You’d give Mor a tight hug this week, praise her once more for being able to survive seventeen years under the suffocating arrogance of a male like Keir.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you snapped. “You are not some untouchable ruler. You leech off the power Rhysand allows you to have. Do not forget that.”

Keir’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white where they gripped the arms of his chair. One of his soldiers shifted slightly, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. You turned your glare on him.

“Try it,” you said coldly. “I dare you. Lay a hand on me, and you’ll find out just how thin your leash really is. Do you think Rhysand wouldn’t love an excuse to raze this pathetic little agreement to the ground? You think Morrigan wouldn’t personally take that sword and shove it somewhere creative? Trust me, they’re looking for an excuse.”

Keir inhaled sharply as he stood slowly, placing his palms on the table before him and leaning forward with a snarl. The gleam in his eyes was predatory, animalistic. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.” You mirrored him, placing your palms on the table and leaning forward, still holding his gaze tight. “Would you like to see if I’m bluffing?”

Silence blanketed the room as Keir stared at you. You could see it in his eyes—the horror of recognizing that you might actually be his equal. Or worse, his superior. He was struggling with how to approach the situation, how to balance his newfound realization with the need to maintain authority in front of his males.

After a long moment, Keir shifted his gaze to his men and motioned for them to stand down. Their hands dropped, spines stiffening like statues at his sides.

You took the silence as your answer.

“That might be the smartest move you’ve ever made,” you said with an amused hum. Straightening, you brushed your hands off and smiled. “The Spymaster will be back next week to negotiate terms about resources. Pray he’s in a better mood than I am.”

A sense of satisfaction bloomed in your chest as you turned to leave. It felt good to finally tell him off—Lord knew it had been coming for centuries. You’d been biting it back at every meeting, every forced smile, every empty negotiation. It had been far more tame than you’d liked, but it was something, at least. A small victory.

The relief washed over you for a fleeting moment before it began to slip away, replaced by that familiar unease, the stirring of anger still simmering beneath the surface.

You knew why.

Keir wasn’t the male you were truly mad at.

At least, not in the way that made your heart ache.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You’d barely gotten out of the bath and dressed when there was a soft knock at your door. You let out a deep sigh, running your hands along your face before walking into the bedroom proper, feeling the slight chill of the air against your still-damp skin.

The thought of Azriel hit you almost instantly, your body tensing at the possibility. After all, it was just the two of you living in the townhome, and it was late—no one else was expected. As much as part of you wanted to see him—to curse him out, maybe, or pull an apology from him, you weren’t sure—a bigger part of you just wanted to sit alone. To wallow in the strange self-pity that had bloomed in your stomach since the meeting with Keir.

“Go away, Azriel. I don’t want to t-”

Your gaze landed on Mor instead. She stood in the doorway, hands behind her back, a small smile on her lips.

“Good thing I’m not Azriel,” she said, stepping forward. Her familiar perfume drifted through the room. “I’m much more attractive.”

You stifled a laugh despite yourself, the corners of your mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. Mor had always been infuriatingly good at that—chipping away at your mood, no matter how sour. Tonight, she looked less mischievous than usual, wearing a simpler gown—still stunning, but more comfortable.

“What are you doing here?”

Mor’s presence instantly lightened the weight on your chest, even just slightly, but a glimmer of disappointment sparkled in your chest, threaded through your ribs and refused to leave. Part of you had hoped it was Azriel at your door. Even if you’d have sent him away with biting remarks, at least he would’ve tried. At least he would’ve been there.

“I heard through the grapevine that there was a messy meeting in the Hewn City.”

Your stomach twisted. Shit. Keir had worked much faster than you’d thought. You wondered, briefly, how long it had taken for him to go run and complain— had he waited an hour? Perhaps two?

You grimaced, offering a sheepish smile. “Oh, right. That,” you drawled. “Is Rhys mad?”

“Not at you,” she replied. “He’s mad he missed it. I am, too.”

A grin tugged at her lips, and it wasn’t long before identical ones broke across both of your faces. You looked down, scuffing the carpet with your toe. “I don’t know what got into me.”

Mor snorted. “My father got into you.”

You looked up and raised a brow. She shot you an unimpressed look, the kind that would usually mean you were inconveniencing her with your childish humor. But there was amusement in her eyes, glinting like sunlight on glass. She wanted to laugh.

“You know what I meant,” Mor grumbled, lips twitching again. “Keir tends to bring out the worst in everyone.”

You nodded at that, tucking a loose stand of hair behind your ear. “I know I tell you this all the time,” you said, “But gods am I sorry you had to grow up with him.”

Mo shrugged, waving it off with a dismissive hand. The other stayed behind her back. “Character development and all that,” she said breezily. “Anyway, I have something for you.”

“If it’s wine, I think I’ll pass.”

She shook her head and brought her hand around, revealing a small to-go box. It was unmistakable—the kind used by your favorite bakery, all the way in the Day Court.

“Ta-da,” she sang.

Your chest warmed at the sight. Slowly, you took the offering, running your fingers along the box’s edges. When you looked back at her, she was watching you with a tender smile—the kind only Morrigan could give. It wasn’t the playful smirk or sharp grin she wore for the world.

“What's this for?”

Mor tilted her head. “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. I thought you could use some comfort treats. And company.”

Your heart swelled. You’d told her and Elain little of the fight with Azriel when they’d sought you out, pacing outside your door until they decided you were ready. Elain had apologized profusely, saying she hadn’t meant to spark the argument when she suggested you talk to him. You’d assured her there was no apology needed—not from her, at least. She’d only sped up the inevitable: the realization that Azriel didn’t seem to value your opinion the way you so often valued his.

Mor wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “I also did bring wine. It’s downstairs. We can sit, talk—and if Azriel comes home, I’ll make sure he doesn’t hear us. Or see us.”

You let Mor guide you downstairs, where she opened a bottle of wine and drew you into a conversation—a deliberate distraction about her and Emerie, about apartment hunting and her attempts at civility with Nesta. You listened as best as you could, grateful for the reprieve, and even forced yourself to savor the dessert she’d brought.

It was as good as you remembered. That was something, at least. Azriel hadn’t managed to ruin that, despite the bitter taste your argument had left behind.

Mor waited about half an hour before gently steering the conversation where she really wanted it to go: what happened with you and Az, how you were feeling.

The problem was, you couldn’t quite put your finger on why you were so upset. You told Mor the things you knew for certain: that it was unfair for Azriel to assume he knew what you were going to say, that he hadn’t given you—his best friend for centuries—a chance to speak or express your concern. That he hadn’t trusted you enough to even hear you out. Mor nodded along, agreeing that Azriel had been out of line, that it was unlike him to take someone else’s word over yours so easily.

But even as she agreed with you, it didn’t ease the pressure in your chest. It wasn’t just about him being unfair or dismissive. There was something deeper, something you hadn’t yet figured out how to say. Something else about it that bothered you so deeply.

Maybe it was the way he’d so easily twisted your intentions, the way he’d looked at you as if you were an inconvenience, made you feel like every word you’d spoken had been some elaborate ruse. Like your concern wasn’t genuine. Like the years you’d spent knowing him, understanding him, recognizing the subtle shifts in his behavior, didn’t matter at all. You were just finding a convenient excuse to meddle, to dig your claws into his relationship, sabotage what he had so you could steal him away in the middle of the night.

It was possible you were being a little overdramatic. And you’d definitely emphasized his words in your retelling to Mor, but it didn’t change the intent. What he’d said. What he’d believed. To imply that after everything, you couldn’t be a good friend to him. That you couldn’t care without an ulterior motive.

He hadn’t even tried to talk to you since. Not a word, not a glance. You tried to reason with yourself—it had only been a day. Maybe he needed time to cool off, to think. Maybe he was as confused as you were, unsure of how things had spiraled so fast. Maybe this silence was just him giving you space.

But a part of you didn’t think that was true. There was a possibility that his silence wasn’t for your sake—it was for his. Because he didn’t think he owed you anything.

That thought was the worst of all. That he didn’t even care.

And you were furious, too, that Azriel had tipped you so completely off balance, that these feelings had bled into your lashing out at Keir. The memory of it was already clawing at you, leaving a faint sting of embarrassment. You knew it would follow you like a stray dog, nipping at your heels. You’d gotten emotional. You—the Night Court’s ever-diplomatic emissary—had been anything but.

You were certain you’d care more about it in a few days, when you had the energy to think clearly.

“Y/n?”

You blinked, startled out of your daze, suddenly aware of how tightly your fingers had curled around the small fork in your hand.

“Hm?”

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile. “I think you should get some rest,” she said, crouching down in front of you.

You hadn’t realized you’d ended up on the floor, leaning against the table—a habit you fell into when you were upset, like grounding yourself by sinking as close to the earth as possible. Mor extended a hand, helping you up with that steady, no-nonsense kind of care only she could offer.

She started tidying up without asking, brushing away crumbs and organizing the small mess you’d both made. Her eyes flicked to the pastry box on the table. “Are you gonna finish this? Or do you want me to toss it?”

You glanced down, confused, at the small leftover piece in the box. That was strange. You usually devoured these, barely leaving crumbs, let alone a full bite. For a moment, you thought nothing of it.

And then it clicked. It was instinct, an old habit of sorts—leaving a bite for Azriel to try.

You bit back a disappointed sigh. What had once been second nature, something you did without thinking, now felt deeply embarrassing. Sickening. Too intimate, like a little girl with a crush.

“Toss it,” you said quickly, your voice tight, sharper than intended.

Mor didn’t comment, simply folded the box closed and tossed it into the trash. Before she left, she pulled you into a hug, warm and unhurried.

“It’s okay to focus on the anger right now,” she murmured into your hair. “If nothing else makes sense, you’re entitled to it. I think you’re a few centuries overdue.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah,” you replied, the word heavy on your tongue. “I think I have a few more remarks left in me.”

Mor grinned as she stepped back, smoothing her hands over your arms before heading for the door. “Atta girl. Make him miserable.”

You lingered on her words as you climbed the stairs.

A grudge sounded great. It sounded righteous. It sounded like something you could do—at least for now, until your feelings settled.

Lucien really was better than you. He’d endured so much, and somehow, he still found room for forgiveness, a way to let Azriel off the hook.

But you didn’t want to let this go. Not yet.

You’d given Azriel centuries of friendship, of loyalty and unwavering support, and he hadn’t even deemed you worthy of the benefit of the doubt. Maybe later, you could be like Lucien, could forgive Azriel for his shortcomings and his idiocy.

Not tonight.

You curled up in bed, willing yourself to embrace the cold, sharp edges of your anger. But, despite your best efforts, that wasn’t what stayed.

The sadness did.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel didn’t apologize.

Not verbally, at least. It was a habit born in the aftermath of the first war, when he’d been forced to reckon with who he’d become, the things he’d done as Spymaster.

He’d learned quickly that some things were too heavy to face, too raw to acknowledge. Easier to tuck them away, seal them behind his silence. Apologies came with a price he couldn’t play. Because if he started apologizing for those things—acts born of desperation, of blind obedience to a High Lord who demanded it—he’d never stop. He’d be drowning in it for centuries.

So he didn’t. He wouldn’t. And if he refused to apologize for the horrors of his past—if the shame and pain of it were too much—then he had to be consistent. If he didn’t do it then, he couldn’t do it now. Not even for the people he loved.

Instead, he accepted the damage he caused. Accepted that he’d make mistakes. That he’d hurt people.

He stored those moments away in the ever-growing, aching place inside him that proved how unlovable he was—how destined he was to hurt the people he cared for most. How inevitable his failures were.

On the worst days, when the silence felt unbearable, he’d reach for those memories, let them remind him of who he truly was. He’d sit with them, twist them into hatred—at himself, at his failure, at the fact he couldn’t change it. He could never seem to stop.

But Azriel loved his family. He truly did. He’d die for them. He’d commit every horrible act over and over if that was what was needed to ensure their safety. So he usually found other ways to apologize.

This time, though, Azriel felt… embarrassed. Ashamed, even. Humiliated. He’d acted like a child, reckless and unthinking, had been dismissive of someone he loved.

He valued the females in his life, respected them deeply. And usually, for them, he could set aside his twisted need to avoid apologies. Instantly.

You and him had argued before—fought, even. It was bound to happen over centuries. But it had never been like this. This felt different. Everyone knew.

He wanted to apologize the night it happened. But he couldn’t. He’d gone too far. He told himself that his apology needed to be big enough to make up for it.

All week, the memory looped in his mind, relentless and punishing. The second the accusation left his lips, regret had consumed him—an instant, choking thing. Even his shadows had recoiled, letting out a sound that might’ve been a gasp. But the worst part, the part that kept him up at night, was your face.

Your features had twisted into something he’d never seen before. Not in all the centuries you’d been by his side. Something like offense. Or maybe, Azriel thought bitterly, something worse. He’d convinced himself it was disgust. Pure, unfiltered disgust.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Azriel was used to people being upset with him. It came with the territory—his silence, his sharp edges, the anger he carried like armor. He could be difficult; he knew that. Could be impulsive, cold, quick to anger. Over centuries, he’d learned to live with it, to endure the way disappointment settled in others’ eyes when he pushed too far. But it never suffocated him like this.

He had disappointed you. You were angry, disgusted by the accusation he'd thrown your way—why had he done that?

Selene's words lingered in his mind, over and over, such meaningless, small words. They’d burrowed themselves deep, driven him borderline mad. He couldn’t figure out why.

It made him itch, made him unsettled in a way that didn’t make sense. He had assumed that itch meant the words bothered him—something about them, something he couldn't quite grasp—and that had gotten under his skin, gnawing at him.

He’d been avoiding you since that night. It was easy, despite the fact that you were the only two in the house. After all, you had been avoiding him too.

He was being a coward. He knew it. Avoiding you when he knew damn well he needed to find you, get you alone, and apologize. Profusely. Repeat it until there was some hope of undoing the damage. But avoidance was easier. Safer.

It was what he was best at.

The thought of apologizing only for you to turn him away, for you to look at him with disgust, with anger, was more than he could stomach. And he'd convinced himself that that was the most likely scenario—and it would be valid. Completely, utterly valid.

So, he did what he did best: he retreated into himself. Into Selene.

But a few days had passed, and now the ache in Azriel’s chest was gaping. Raw. Unbearable. He couldn’t breathe.

The guilt had started before the sun rose, creeping up Azriel’s spine as he pulled away from Selene’s warm embrace. She’d stirred when he slipped out of bed, her lips parted to protest, but he hadn’t stayed to hear her argument. It wasn’t comfortable—none of it. Not the weight in his chest, not the way his shadows murmured disapproval like a broken melody on repeat.

He needed to be here—at family brunch. He wanted to be here. And for the first time in days, his shadows seemed content with a decision he’d made. Thank the gods for that.

The house was full by time he arrived. He didn’t need his shadows to tell him. He could hear their laughter from the doorway, could smell the pull of a sweet feast. Rhysand was the first to notice his presence, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

“Look who decided to join after all.”

Az didn’t reply, not in the way he usually did. Instead, his gaze immediately found you, his breath stalling as he caught the subtle stiffening of your shoulders. You didn’t turn. You didn’t so much as glance back.

Mor, seated beside you, did. Her brown eyes flitted from you to him, a semi-scowl in her expression as she turned her gaze to Emerie on her left, dismissing Azriel entirely.

Another person he’d probably have to apologize to.

Az swallowed, his shadows tugging at him like restless children, desperate to curl around you, to offer something—comfort, perhaps, or a plea for forgiveness he hadn’t yet put into words. But you still didn’t move.

Clearing his throat, Azriel finally said, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

It was Feyre who responded, casting a quick glance towards you before offering Azriel a smile. “No worries, Az. We’re glad you’re here.”

That was a lie. But the chatter began once more, anyways.

Az moved forward, gaze flicking to the one empty chair at the table— the chair beside you. Just as he reached for it, your head snapped up, eyes meeting his for the first time in days.

“Are you sure you want to sit there?”

Azriel froze. “What?”

You tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing in a way he hadn’t quite seen before—a look that was, if he was being honest, downright unnerving. But then, just as quickly, the emotion fell away, replaced by something sharper, crueler, and laced with exaggerated concern. “What if I’m overcome with lust and expose myself to you?”

From across the table, Cassian choked violently on his drink, Nesta muttering something under her breath as she thumped his back.

Azriel closed his eyes for a brief second, forcing a steady inhale before lowering himself into the chair anyway. He could feel his shadows retreating reluctantly, curling tighter against him, sharing his discomfort. Only when the conversation resumed once more did Az lean closer to you, dropping his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Can we talk?”

“I don’t know, can we? Did Selene give you permission?”

Azriel clenched his jaw, willing himself to take another deep inhale. Before he could pull a response, your face shifted into something exaggerated, all false excitement and mock sweetness. “Don’t tell me I’m being considered as your third? Oh gods. Should I throw myself at you now, or—?”

“Y/n, come on,” Az murmured, his voice tight— pleading. “Please.”

For a beat, Azriel thought you were mulling it over, almost expected to see your face soften like he was used to. But it didn’t.

“Rhys,” you said, your voice carrying as you turned to the High Lord. “Would you like to tell Azriel what to expect during his meeting with Keir next week? He’d like to know.”

Az’s stomach twisted at the sound of his name—not Az, but Azriel. Cold. Formal. Foreign. He hated the way it sounded coming from you, devoid of the warmth or familiarity he’d always taken for granted, like he was a stranger. Had he truly made you that angry in the span of a few minutes?

This, Az thought bitterly, was why he opted to never speak unless it was needed.

Rhys nodded, though his gaze flickered between you and Azriel with something like caution. Before Azriel could protest, or even try to get another word in, you turned to Mor, engaging her in conversation as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all.

The rest of the meal passed in a strange limbo. It wasn’t hostile—if anything, it felt painfully normal. Conversations swirled around the table. Laughter floated between bites of food— and his shadows had danced whenever the sound of yours had reached them.

Azriel was willing to admit that, with the situation aside, he’d missed this—missed his family. The time spent with Selene lately had only highlighted how much he craved the sense of home that these moments brought. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize for his absence.

He’d been nervous to disrupt what he and Selene had, even if “alright” was the only word he could muster to describe it. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t love—but it was... something. It could develop into something. Right?

But as good as the meal could’ve been, your silence weighed on him like a stone. You ignored him completely. No more snark, no insults, not even a glance. It got to the point where he wanted a petty remark, wanted you to look at him and tell him exactly how stupid he’d been. Usually, you were vocal when you were angry. Confrontational. He’d seen it over centuries, the way your fury blazed as brightly as you. You didn’t let things stew. You didn’t let him stew.

Why were you so quiet now? Why weren’t you yelling at him, demanding answers, or throwing his mistakes back at him like daggers?

Why had you accepted him—and his stupidity—with the same quiet resignation as that night?

It was worse. It was so much worse. Your anger felt different with him. And he hated it.

When the meal ended, Azriel stayed seated, watching as the others began to leave. He watched as you leaned down to Nyx, your hand brushing the baby’s cheek with such tender care it made his chest ache. Feyre’s expression softened at the sight, and you smiled at her and Rhys, thanking them for the meal before leaving with Mor, Emerie, Cassian, and Nesta.

None of the females spared him a glance. Cassian offered him a small, apologetic smile. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Thank the gods Amren wasn’t here. Small blessings, Az supposed.

He sighed, clearing his plate and bringing it to the kitchen. He rinsed it, the sound of water doing nothing to drown out the weight in his chest, and when he turned to leave, Rhys was there, Nyx balanced on one arm.

“Good luck, brother,” Rhys said. Az didn’t bother asking what he meant. He already knew.

The wistful, pitying smile Rhys wore was infuriating. The amused gleam in his violet eyes was worse. Rhys looked almost... grateful, as if relieved it wasn’t his head on the chopping block.

“A fight with the one member of our family collectively loved by everyone else,” Rhys mused, shaking his head. “Phew. You’ve made an enemy of a pack of vicious, beautiful wolves.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Rhys shifted his attention to Nyx.

“Can you say, ‘Uncle Az is screwed?’” He cooed. Nyx babbled nonsensically, waving a tiny fist, and Rhys grinned. “Yeah, he’s gonna have to grovel, huh?”

Azriel glared, his shadows bristling as he brushed past him with an unamused glare. Rhys’s laughter followed him down the hall.

Must grovel, his shadows repeated, Grovel. Apologize. Admit.

Whatever the hell that meant.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Three

authors note:

me trying to write reader and getting sad that shes lowkey gaslighting herself and downplaying her emotions bc she cares about az: ☹️

me writing az as someone who just accepts he hurts people and doesnt realize he can like...just apologize: 😒

me knowing this angst is gonna be so fun:🥰

anyways thank you for reading!! i've already written a lot more, so expect 2-3 more parts! <3 (i have their makeup written😏) every comment or ask yall leave gets me so inspired

but until then... how long do yall think its gonna take for them to talk? tehehe

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore @m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking

@tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey

@inkedinshadows @mellowmusings @paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits

@honethatty12 @chillymountsjess @velaris-avatar-formula1 @idkitsem @kazbrkker

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre/warnings: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

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Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

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matchingbatbites · 1 month ago

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Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

#inspired by that one video of bbno$#because it's so eddie coded #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #hockey player steve harrington #joey writes

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wqnsho · 1 month ago

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resurface | kang dae-ho x gn! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. As past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive *.✧ word count: 10.1k (yeah) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, trauma, toxic relationships, cursing, fluff, angst. your number is 389. *.✧ note: dae-ho won against in-ho by just .2%! thank you all so much for the support. my in-ho fanfic reached 1K notes already, while 1k+ of you participated in my poll! I'm very thankful for the support :> i was in the middle of editing in-ho's fic when the polls finished, when i saw how close the votes were i laughed. luckily i only needed to tweak a bit in this fic for it to be done. enjoy reading!! >:) dae-ho is such a cutiee!! long italicized texts are flashbacks. masterlist | request here

“Shit, I just moved didn’t I?” Player 196 asked in a lighthearted tone after swatting the bee that landed on her. Before anyone could answer, she dropped dead to the ground, a bullet from god knows where piercing through her skull.

The area erupted in chaos as players realized the horrific truth: to be eliminated meant death. Others tried to make a desperate run for it, while some froze, paralyzed from fear, and you were one of them.

Your eyes trailed down to the corpse laying a few feet in front of you. Your heart dropped. That could’ve been you.

You should've trusted your gut. You should’ve known that whatever bullshit that shady man in a suit said was too good to be true. But here you were, paying the price of your stupid decisions.

The air was thick with panic as a bloody massacre unfolded before your eyes. People who ran got shot left and right, while those who stayed survived. Once it cleared those who moved, the mechanical doll turned around, its eerie voice rising in song. The players were too stunned to move. Only one person had the courage to act—Player 456. With unwavering resolve, they ran ahead and instructed you all to hide behind someone bigger than you.

The rest of you followed suit, moving quickly. You ended up behind Player 230—Thanos, a rapper drowning in 1.19 billion won of debt. You didn’t trust him, and your instincts proved right. As the game progressed, he shoved people ahead of him, ending their lives without hesitation. Yet, you had to give him some credit: the man could hold a pose.

One by one, players crossed the finish line. As the timer reached 0, the hellish game finally ended. You were shaking, your body trembling with the aftershock, but at least you were still alive. The guards escorted everyone back to the main area, where the survivors collapsed to their knees, begging for mercy, begging to go home. You could hear them, desperate, pleading. It was almost unbearable.

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” the square guard’s voice rang out, cutting through the despair. His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

His words did little to reassure anyone. Your eyes rolled at their response. Misunderstanding my ass! The chance of survival, of escape, felt more like a cruel joke than anything else. But before the guard could continue, a voice rose above the rest, sharp and commanding.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Player 456 called out, his voice filled with defiance.

Everyone turned to look at him, some surprised, others hopeful. You were no different. You hadn’t expected anyone to stand up in this situation. You didn’t even know what clause three was, you skipped that part and immediately signed the form, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you believe he knew more than the rest of you.

“The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, correct?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the guard.

The square guard responded without missing a beat, his tone unchanged. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 pressed, his voice firm and unyielding.

There was a brief silence before the guard spoke again, acknowledging the request with a chilling calmness. “Of course, we respect your right to freedom of choice.” He paused, and in that moment, you could feel the hope that had been buried deep inside everyone start to stir. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.”

With the press of a button, the room shifted. The cold, sterile space took on a strange new color, bathed in a soft, eerie glow. A massive piggy bank, almost comically large, descended from the ceiling, its mechanical limbs creaking with the weight. The sound of bills filling it echoed through the room, a surreal sound that only added to the strangeness of the moment. It felt like something out of a twisted casino, a game that didn’t care about the lives it destroyed, only the money it could accumulate.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard continued, as the money filled the piggy bank at a steady pace. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you choose to quit the games now, the 365 remaining players can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” Player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard answered flatly, almost as if it was an insignificant amount.

You could hear the gasps of disbelief that rippled through the crowd. It was hard to wrap your mind around it. You almost died for that? The amount seemed insignificant compared to the terror you’d experienced. You could hear others murmuring, their frustration and disbelief growing louder. What good was 24 million won when you had been pushed to the brink of death, when you had witnessed so much suffering?

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

The guard’s response was cold, calculated. “The rule was that a hundred million won would be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The answer felt hollow, like an empty promise that was meant to keep you on the hook.

“Then how much will it be if you survive until the very end?” someone asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

A hush fell over the room, as the reality of the prize set in. 45.6 billion won. It was an obscene amount of money. The sum felt impossible, unreal. But at the same time, it was exactly what so many of you needed. The temptation of that massive prize loomed in the air, a beacon in the darkness. Could you really leave with only 24 million? Was that all your life was worth?

“So, if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion won?” Player 230 asked, as if the question needed to be confirmed, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“That is correct,” the guard answered, his voice detached, like it was just another part of the game.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to breathe in unison. The weight of the prize, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on everyone. People began to murmur among themselves, the excitement in their voices unmistakable. The idea of that unimaginable sum of money—more than they had ever seen in their lives—became a tangible thing in the air. People who had been trembling in fear moments before now looked around, their eyes glinting with a new kind of hunger. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with the scent of greed and desperation.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, voice laced with uncertainty, but also with a flicker of hope.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point,” the guard confirmed. “We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

The voting began, and the room filled with tension once again. Player 456 was the first one to vote. He stepped forward, pressing X without hesitation. Others followed, some pressing X, others O. When your turn came, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, pressing O with a sense of finality, the sound of the button clicking louder in your ears than it should have been. You placed the patch on your jacket, marking your decision, and walked back to your side of the room.

You didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure when you had made up your mind, but the choice was clear. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you knew you couldn’t walk away now.

Out there, in the real world, the debt that had dragged you into this nightmare would still be waiting. The vultures would circle, just as they always had, but now you could fight back. You could take a step toward something better. The thought of going back to the crushing weight of your debts, to the life that had led you to this point, filled you with dread. There was nothing for you out there anymore.

The prize, the money, the possibility of escaping this endless cycle—this was the only chance you had left. There was no turning back now.

As much as you sympathized with those who wanted to leave, You just couldn’t. Here, at least, there was hope. A sliver of it. And if you survived, you could finally break free. You could pay it all off. You could start over. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance—one that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers.

Your gaze wandered to the others, watching as they made their decisions. Some pressed X with shaking hands, their faces filled with desperation to leave and go home. Others pressed O with grim determination, their eyes locked on the future, no matter how uncertain. And yet, the overwhelming weight of it all crashed down on you again, heavy and suffocating.

You looked up at the piggy bank hanging high above, its golden glow mocking you with promises of salvation. If you made it—if you became the lone survivor—you’d earn it all. 45.6 billion won. Enough to erase every debt. Enough to silence the loan sharks who haunted your dreams. Enough to leave it all behind and disappear.

But as you stared at it, bile rose in your throat. Was this all your life had become—fighting for money, sacrificing everything just to survive? Your stomach twisted as your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms.

Reaching for your necklace, you clutched it tightly, the familiar weight grounding you for a moment. Its warmth offered a flicker of comfort, but even that couldn’t silence the emptiness creeping in. Here, hope felt like a dangerous thing to hold onto.

Out there, you had nothing. No one. Over time, everyone had given up on you. Your friends had drifted away, unwilling to carry the weight of your problems. Your family had turned their backs, tired of the chaos and the shame. And then there was... him.

He left without a word. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as if you had never mattered at all.

When he disappeared, it felt like the last thread holding you together unraveled. You tried to move on, to make sense of it, but the truth was simple: no one stayed. Out there, you were invisible—a burden no one wanted to carry.

But here? Here, you had a purpose. As twisted and brutal as it was, the games gave you something to hold onto. Every step forward felt like proof that you could still fight, still matter, even if it was only to yourself.

You tore your gaze from the piggy bank and stared down at your shoes. It used to be white— pure. Now it’s scuffed and worn, much like you. Each scratch and stain told a story of a life lived in survival mode, clinging to scraps of hope. You couldn’t help but wonder—if you walked away now, what would be waiting for you? Nothing but the same endless cycle of despair.

At least here, you had a chance. A sick, twisted, blood-soaked chance.

And that was more than the outside world had ever given you.

In the midst of your inner turmoil, you didn’t notice someone standing beside you. They were looking at you, as if they wanted to make small talk yet didn't know how.

There was something bugging Dae-ho and he didn't know what it was. He couldn't stay still, couldn't think properly, couldn’t stay calm. He desperately needs a distraction, and he needs it now. But what could he possibly do? He can't just slap himself or shout. No way, that's too embarrassing.

The male thought deeply before an idea popped up in his head. Eureka! He could try and talk to someone! His excitement died down as fast as it came. Yeah, he could try and talk to someone but who? His eyes scanned the crowd. To his dismay, most of the people surrounding him were scary oldies, and he was not willing to take the risk. He looked to his left, spotting a full head of hair.

His gaze landed on you. You're young, he thinks— the white spots in your hair were less than those around him. He felt a little nervous, unsure of how to approach you, but he had no choice. This was his chance.

He coughed lightly, a test to see if you would notice him.

No response.

He tried again, this time a bit louder.

Still nothing.

He began to get irritated, were you deaf or something? Shaking his irrational thoughts, Dae-ho got ready to fake cough again.

Then, out of nowhere, an old man in front of him turned and glared, sending a shiver down his spine. The male stopped, his face flushing. He needed to stop being a coward. He steeled himself, like the marine he was before doing it the right way.

He then stared at your unresponsive figure with intense, wide, and bulging eyes hoping that you would feel his intense stare and finally look at him. When that didn’t work, he began chanting “Hey! Look at me!” in his head just in case you were a mind reader.

To nobody's surprise, his ‘plan’ flunked. Letting out an audible sigh, Dae-ho shook his head. He stopped being a wuss and garnered courage like a true marine. He should just approach you the right way, a single tap on the shoulder wouldn't hurt anybody right? Right.

As soon as his hand touched your shoulder, you ducked down and sneezed—an odd timing. He froze, unsure whether this was a sign to stop or if you were actually a mind reader and was avoiding him. But before he could pull his hand away, you reverted back to your original position— bumping into his outstretched hand.

He jumped back, startled. His cheeks flushed again as he realized he’d intruded on your space. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he bowed deeply— a perfect ninety degrees, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to... you see, I was feeling a little bored and wanted to talk to someone. Between you and me, I don’t want to talk to some old gray-haired people in debt. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you’re free to slap me and ignore me!”

He spoke in one long breath, the words tumbling out faster than he could control. Then, he froze, bracing himself—waiting for a slap, a harsh word, anything to tell him he had crossed a line. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to give him a sign that it was all okay. The silence that followed was suffocating, hanging between you like a heavyweight, neither of you dared to break.

When you didn’t respond, he began to doubt himself. Was this a joke? Was he imagining everything? Had he pushed too far?

And then—

“…Dae-ho…?”

The silence that was there from the beginning stretched even further as Dae-ho froze, his heart pounding. He could feel his chest tightening with every breath, his thoughts spinning in circles. Was this really happening?

He slowly lifted his head, praying, hoping that what he was thinking wasn’t true. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign that this was just some cruel illusion. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. You were still there, staring back at him, just as real as the cold walls of the room around him.

“[Name]...”

How could this be real? The years apart, the silence, the pain—it had all carved its place deep inside you, wounds that never fully healed. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a ghost dragged from the past to haunt you. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You stared at him, unable to look away, yet every second felt like a fresh wound. How could he just stand there, shaking and silent, as if you weren’t the one left to pick up the shattered pieces of your life when he walked away? Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

He looked so different, yet so heartbreakingly familiar. Those same eyes that used to meet yours with warmth now avoided your gaze like a coward. The same hands that once held yours trembled at his sides, as if they carried the weight of something unsaid.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers to the questions that had haunted you for years. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? The questions burned in your chest, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any explanation he could give—louder than the ache of the years he left you to carry alone.

And yet, some small part of you hated yourself for hoping, for wanting him to say something that would make it all make sense. But as his lips parted and nothing came, his silence was louder than any excuse could ever be.

Cheers suddenly filled the room as the two of you looked away from each other. Looking at the scoreboard, you released a sigh of relief as O won, meaning the games would still proceed.

Following the guards orders to disperse, you walked away as fast as you could. You needed to run away for a while, away from everyone, away from him. You weaved through the sea of players, ignoring the chaotic mix of relief and despair filling the room. Every step felt heavier, your mind still reeling from the sight of him. Why here? Why now?

Your chest ached. The large room offered little solace, the murmur of restless voices and distant footsteps a constant reminder of where you were. You sought refuge in the thin, scratchy blanket of your assigned bed, pulling it over yourself as if it could shield you from the weight pressing down on your chest.

Laying in a fetal position, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop the trembling in your hands. But his face—his eyes—kept flashing in your mind, a painful reminder of everything you thought you’d buried.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. You clenched your fists, an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. But no amount of control could erase the gnawing ache in your chest.

“[Name]...”

The voice froze you in place.

“Can we… talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Under the covers, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “What’s there to talk about, Dae-ho?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a cautious step closer to your bed. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I didn’t think I’d see you again at all.”

“Neither did I,” you replied curtly. “And yet, here we are.”

He flinched at your words, guilt flashing in his eyes not that you could see it. “I know I owe you an explanation.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “An explanation? After all these years? After you disappeared without a word? You think I need that now, here of all places?”

His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down, his hands gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. “I wanted to explain. I really did. But I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me you were leaving? That you were giving up on us? That you—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. You refused to let him hear you cry. Not here. Not now.

“I didn’t give up on you,” he said softly.

His words hung in the air, but they did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. You shook your head once more, your voice trembling. “You left me alone, Dae-ho. You walked away without a word, and you left me to deal with everything by myself. Don’t tell me you didn’t give up.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. You could feel his eyes on your figure under the covers, before hearing footsteps walk away. You didn’t expect much, knowing that all he does is run from his responsibilities. But why did it still hurt?

As you went to collect your dinner, you couldn’t help but overhear familiar laughter. Laughter that you used to love listening to. Silently gazing at Dae-ho’s figure, you watch in silence as he makes small talk with a group of men in the corner of the room. A small smile crept up your face, even after all those years he still has his charming laugh. You moved your gaze to the guard as they handed you your food, with a small bow you thanked them before going back to your bed.

Looking at him one more time, your eyes widened in surprise as a set of eyes clashed with yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t Dae-ho. It was 001. There was something in his stare that made you scared. Maybe Dae-ho told them about your history and now they were angry at you, either way, who were you to care? You broke eye contact first, setting your gaze elsewhere as you retreated back to your assigned bed. Little did you know Dae-ho was doing the same, looking at you with longing eyes every time you had your back turned from him.

The next day came quickly, the game even quicker. You convinced a group to let you join their team with your gonggi skills. They were reluctant at first but had no choice but to let you in as the timer was nearing its end. Your team went through the games with ease, everyone was a pro on the games— you included.

As the guard placed the table in front of you, you and your team squatted, the familiar weight of the stones in your hands grounding you. It reminded you of something, something far simpler, back when you were young.

“The slowest will have to buy the winner dinner, deal?” you said with a playful grin, your voice filled with mischievous confidence as you laid out the challenge.

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, shaking his head dramatically. “That’s unfair! You only say that because you’re a pro at gonggi!” he shot back, his voice half-laughing and half-complaining, clearly trying to defend himself.

Currently, the two of you, still in your high school uniforms, are sprawled on the floor of your room, surrounded by an amusing mess of half-done activities. The afternoon had been a carefree escape from schoolwork and responsibilities, as you had decided to skip school for the day. Your parents were away, so you had the house all to yourselves.

The floor was scattered with papers, a few textbooks left open, and snacks you’d absentmindedly snacked on while getting lost in your own little world. Dae-ho’s hair was a chaotic mess of clips, ties, and failed attempts at creating something resembling style.

Meanwhile, your face was painted with makeup. Your eyes were covered in uneven eyeshadow, and your lipstick had smudged onto your cheeks in a way that had you wondering if you'd even be able to wash it off later. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect. There was no need for perfection when you were together, just moments of unfiltered fun. You didn’t mind looking silly—it was a shared experience, after all.

You leaned back on the floor, hands resting behind your head, watching him with an amused expression. He had always been competitive, and you knew he wouldn’t let this challenge slide without giving it his all. But you also knew he wouldn’t back down.

"You're just mad because I'm about to beat you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and holding the gonggi stones in your hand. “I’ve got this in the bag."

Dae-ho let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be defeated, but his eyes betrayed him—the challenge was on. “Fine. The loser buys the winner dinner.” he said, as the fire in his eyes burned brightly.

You smiled, leaning closer and placing the stones carefully in front of both of you. “You’re on,” you replied, your voice light but determined.

The game, which was just supposed to be a simple way to pass the time, had suddenly become a full-blown competition, complete with stakes. Dae-ho didn’t like losing, and you knew that meant he would give everything he had to win, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

With that, the tension between you both shifted. You could feel the energy change as you both focused on the stones in front of you, your hands hovering over them, ready to begin the game. The silly banter was still there, but now it was mixed with a more serious undercurrent—a challenge that was both fun and a little bit intense.

Dae-ho glanced at you once more, his expression playful but competitive, and you could see the slight smirk forming on his lips. “Get ready to buy me that dinner,” he said with mock confidence, ready to show you he was the better player.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Dae-ho.”

And with that, the game began, the stones flying through the air as you both competed to see who could win the challenge, the promise of dinner hanging in the balance.

After breezing through the first rounds, you placed all the stones on top of your hand, heart racing. You nervously exhaled, forcing yourself to focus.

“I’m honestly jealous of your gonggi skills,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you sat beside Dae-ho at your favorite hotpot place, a small smile playing on your lips as you stirred your bowl of soup.

Dae-ho, who had just taken a sip from his drink, blinked at you in mock surprise. “You? Jealous of me? You’re the one who won!” he said with a playful glare, his tone lighthearted.

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “Not that part, silly! I always notice that you always catch all five stones with ease. Even if I’m fast, I still mess up once in a while.” You looked down at your half-eaten bowl, the warmth from the hotpot filling your chest, but it wasn’t just from the food—it was the company that made everything feel so right.

Dae-ho’s expression softened as he put down his chopsticks, giving you his full attention. He nodded thoughtfully, then smiled, and for a moment, you felt as if the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you, sharing this simple, quiet moment together.

“Well, my lovely [nickname],” he said, his voice taking on that playful, teasing tone you knew so well. “I can always tell you a trick,” he continued, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “But it’ll cost you. My secrets aren’t free, you know.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head, giving him a playful. “Go on, then.”

Dae-ho’s smile widened as he turned his cheek toward you, tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted. You giggled, rolling your eyes but giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his left cheek.

He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes making your heart skip a beat, and without missing a beat, he pointed to the other side, silently asking for more. You couldn’t help but smile, kissing his right cheek just as lightly.

Then, Dae-ho tilted his head again, offering his forehead with that trademark mischievous smile. “And this one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You didn’t even hesitate, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your heart fluttering in the simple affection. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the more you kissed him, the more the world around you faded away.

He stretched his hand out next, offering the back of his left hand with an expectant grin. You chuckled at how silly this game was becoming, but you still kissed it gently, your heart swelling with warmth. His grin only grew wider, and before you knew it, he was extending his right hand, offering it up for another kiss.

You kissed it too, your heart fluttering again at how effortlessly he could make everything feel so special. Each little moment, each silly gesture, you loved it all.

Finally, with that signature grin of his, Dae-ho turned fully toward you, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “And this one?” he asked, tilting his face toward yours, the question hanging in the air like an invitation.

Without even thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed his lips, a soft, lingering kiss that felt full of promise and affection. The moment was so pure, so simple, that it left you breathless in the best way. Nothing mattered but the two of you, sharing this quiet, tender connection.

Dae-ho smiled against your lips, his arms subtly drawing you closer as he pulled back just slightly, a lovestruck expression on his face. “You’re the best, [nickname].” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled you gently. His voice was soft and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with warmth.

You leaned in, your voice teasing. “So? What’s the trick?”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated but still smiling. “Can’t I have a lovely moment with you?” he asked, his tone light and affectionate.

“Dae-ho.” you said with a small laugh, nudging him playfully.

“Fine, fine! You’re a party pooper!” he joked, giving you a nudge back before getting serious. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter and showing you a more focused expression. “Alright, listen carefully.” He mimicked the motions as he spoke. “What I do is first calm myself down. Inhale... and exhale.” He demonstrated the breathing technique, his chest rising and falling slowly.

He paused before looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you copied his movement. Inhale and exhale.

Satisfied, he continued. “Once you find your peace, you put all your might in your palm so the stones don’t fall. Strong foundation.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “Got it,” you said, your gaze fixed on his hands as he continued with his instructions.

He smiled, clearly pleased by your attention. “Then you throw your hand upwards—just right. Not too low, not too high,” he said, raising one hand and showing you the perfect motion. “Count one...” He paused dramatically, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Count one,” you repeated, laughing softly at how serious he was being, yet how cute he looked while teaching you.

“Then catch!”

You threw your hand up. It felt natural. It felt right. The stones landed, and you caught them all in one smooth motion.

“Hey! I caught it on the first try!” You grinned, excitement rushing through you. You looked up, expecting to see Dae-ho’s proud smile, the one that always made your heart race.

But instead, you met the cold, expressionless face of a guard. Reality hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t Dae-ho. This wasn’t your favorite hotpot place.

Your heart twisted, the warmth you replaced by the emptiness of this place. You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The distant cheers of your teammates did nothing to drown out the silence in your mind.

You couldn’t shake the memory, his teasing smile, his quiet words, the way his lips brushed against yours. Those were moments you could never go back to. As you moved on to the next station, the sting of that memory lingered, sharp and painful. The sweetness was gone. It was just you, alone in this game, with no place for memories of simpler times.

Everything was a blur after that, your mind occupied by what happened during the second game. Gonggi was something you always bonded over, and that game brought unwanted memories back. It got to a point wherein the way you’d always made decisions, small or big, was by playing gonggi. Where to eat? Play gonggi. Who’s paying the bill? Gonggi.

But now, as you lay at your bed, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the same. Your mind wandered back to that moment, remembering his smile, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. That warmth, that sense of belonging, was gone. The past felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the memory away. Suddenly, the light went out.

The light went out? That wasn’t right.

You opened one eye and saw Dae-ho standing above you, looking down at you with that nervous, familiar expression.

“Congrats, [Name]. I knew you could do it.” he said softly.

You looked up at him, emotions swirling in your chest. “Congrats also, Dae-ho.” you replied quietly.

You stared at him as the weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you. You had so many emotions running through your veins—hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger—and yet, here he was, standing in front of you, trying to explain himself, trying to make sense of everything.

“[Name]... Please, talk to me.” he repeated, his voice soft but desperate.

You didn’t move at first. The space between you, filled with so many unspoken words. Finally, you stood up, leading him to a quiet corner between the bed frames, away from the chaos. The moment felt strangely intimate, but so far removed from anything you could have ever imagined.

Dae-ho was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking with the weight of his confession. “I didn’t want to leave, [Name]. I didn’t... but I had no choice.” He paused, his face twisted with guilt as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“My father...” His voice cracked as he spoke, his words thick with regret. “He was... always trying to control me. Pushing me into things I didn’t want. He never let me make my own decisions. But when it came to you... he saw how much I cared. He saw how soft I was because of you, and he hated it. He thought I wasn’t strong enough to survive—how I wasn't becoming a real man, so he sent me away. He made me join the Marines. He didn’t even let me choose. I tried to fight him. I tried to say no, but he didn’t care.”

You felt your heart break all over again. “But... Why didn’t you fight harder for us? Why didn’t you try harder to stay? To... tell me?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they stung more than you’d expected.

“I... I couldn’t,” he whispered. “He had me. I thought if I left, if I did what he said, it would all be over. That he’d leave me alone. But when I came back, you were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked for you everywhere, [Name], but you and your family were gone. And I thought... I thought I lost you forever. And I couldn’t fix it.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “But you didn’t even try to find me, Dae-ho. You just... disappeared. I waited for you. I thought I was worth waiting for, but you made me feel the opposite. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life without you.”

“Please don’t say that. You are worth fighting for [Name].”

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he reached out for you, but you pulled back slightly, not ready for his touch just yet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could make it right when I came back, but... it wasn’t the same. And now I’m afraid I’ve lost you for good.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. “You didn’t lose me, Dae-ho. If anything, I still think about you. Every street I walk, every place I visit. I always tried to find any sign of you. You just… you never gave me a chance to be part of your life anymore. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend everything’s okay, because it’s not.”

“I understand,” Dae-ho said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I know you’ve been through so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. Let me make it right. Please…”

He paused, swallowing hard before speaking again, as if the weight of his words was too heavy to bear. “If you just vote to go home, we can leave all this behind. We don’t have to keep playing. We can go back to the way things were. We can be free. We can live together.”

His words hit you like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was asking. He wanted you to vote to go home? That’s all it took? To end this nightmare?

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. The sudden flood of emotions was overwhelming—confusion, anger, hurt, all rolled into one. “Is that what you think this is about, Dae-ho? You think you can just tell me to vote to go home and everything will magically go back to normal? That we’ll just go back to living in some fairy tale together?”

His face faltered with guilt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The words were already tumbling out, and the anger was building with each second. “You have no idea what it’s like for me out there. I don’t have anything left. No family. No safety. No way out. If I leave without the money, I’ll be dead before I even make it out of the game. The people who own me—they’ll come for me. They’ll end me.”

You couldn’t stop the rise of panic and fury in your voice. “You think voting to go home is going to fix everything? Do you think that’ll save me from what’s out there? You think that’s going to protect me?”

You were shaking now, your words louder, sharper with each passing second. “I’m not here by choice. I didn’t sign up for this game to have some fun. I’m here because I have no other option. I need the money. I have to win. I don’t have the luxury of walking away. If I don’t make it, I’m dead. They’ll take everything I have left. They’ll take my life. And you want me to just throw that away?”

His face went pale, his hands trembling as he reached out, but you stepped back, your emotions running too high. You were drowning in your own fear, your own anger, and he was standing there, asking for something you couldn’t give. Not now. Not when your very existence was on the line.

“I’m not going to die for you to feel like you’ve done something good,” you spat, your voice cold and full of finality. “I’ll keep playing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep voting O if that’s what it takes to stay alive. Because I don’t have the luxury to just quit. I don’t have the luxury to go home. If I die here, then I die here. But at least I had a chance. A chance to keep living.”

You could see the regret flooding his face now, the guilt in his eyes clear as day. But it didn’t matter. You had already crossed the line, said everything you needed to say. The wound had already been made, and nothing would heal it now.

“They took everything from me,” you whispered, voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “I don’t have anything left. This game, this nightmare is all I have. If I leave without any money, without anything... they’ll take me. They’ll take my life.”

His expression was full of pain now. The words hit him hard, and you saw the guilt swirling inside him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. You saw the regret in his eyes, the apology he couldn’t voice—but it was too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were fighting for your life.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back from him. “You didn’t know? You never bothered to ask. You didn’t care enough to understand what I was going through. You just assumed everything would be fine, that we could go back to normal. But you didn’t ask, Dae-ho. You didn’t care.”

His face crumpled with the realization of what you were saying, and the weight of your words hit him like a ton of bricks. But you didn’t care. Not now. Not when you were holding on to the one thing that mattered to you right now—your will to survive.

“I’m sorry, Dae-ho,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but full of emotion. “But I care about surviving. I care about living. And if I have to vote O, if I have to keep playing to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

For a long moment, you stood there, facing each other in the silence, your hearts both full of unsaid things. But the anger slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness, a sorrow that neither of you could fix.

He stepped closer to you, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry... I never wanted this for you. But I’ll always be here, [Name], even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at him one last time, the weight of everything you had said sinking in. And for the first time in a long time, you let the tears fall—not from anger, but from the overwhelming fear of it all. The fear of what your life had become, of how far you’d fallen, of the choices you had to make that never felt right.

Dae-ho stared at you as you quietly wept, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Without a second thought, he reached out, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you in the comfort of his embrace, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t speak at first, just held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from the world, from everything that had happened, and everything you feared. His hand gently rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering what comfort he could in that moment.

“I’m sorry… I know I can’t take away all the pain,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m here, [Name]. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. Please... just let me be here for you.”

You clung to him, not knowing if you wanted him to fix everything, but just needing the solace, the warmth that came with knowing he was still here. Still trying. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him for the past, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel something you hadn’t in so long—comfort, even if it was fleeting.

He tightened his hold on you, letting you cry, never pushing you away. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”

You didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, the tears started to slow. The tightness in your chest eased just a little, and you found yourself breathing a bit easier. Dae-ho, still holding you gently, never let go. He simply let you rest against him, giving you space to process everything, even if that meant staying silent for the moment.

You looked at him, your chest heavy with everything you’d just let out. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. “I... I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of losing everything. But I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dae-ho shook his head softly, his fingers brushing your cheek again. “No... I deserved it. I made you carry too much, and I never gave you the chance to say how you really felt. I was so focused on my own guilt, I didn’t see how much I was hurting you.”

The weight of the words sank in, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, though this one wasn’t filled with anger—it was filled with a sadness you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. “We both messed up,” you whispered, the ache in your heart growing.

Dae-ho’s gaze softened, his hand gently squeezing yours. “But I’ll try to make it right. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep trying, [Name]. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

You took a shaky breath, finding comfort in the sincerity of his words. “I don’t know where we go from here, but... I can’t pretend like it’s all fine. I need time.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... sorry. For everything.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken apologies, regrets, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way to heal from this. You both had a long road ahead, a game to survive. But for now, the silence was no longer heavy with tension. Instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding, one that neither of you had expected to find, but one that was slowly, carefully beginning to piece things together.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

The moment the announcement was made, you felt a cold shiver run down your spine. Voting had begun. This time, you were going first—before Dae-ho. He stood beside you, his presence steady and calming, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. His hand brushed your back, the soothing gesture almost feeling out of place in this chaotic, life-or-death situation.

“Choose what you need,” Dae-ho whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be mad.”

His words settled over you like a gentle blanket, but they couldn’t remove the weight of the decision you had to make. To survive, to keep moving forward, you knew you had to vote for O. You had to keep playing if you wanted a chance at surviving, but even as you stood in front of the voting machine, you felt a sickening sense of dread.

Was it really worth it? Pushing yourself, forcing the belief that survival was your only option, knowing the outside world would swallow you whole. What was the point of living if the only person who ever made you feel truly alive has always been Dae-ho? The thought echoed in your mind, and the walls of the room suddenly felt like they were closing in around you. Dae-ho had become your anchor in this madness—your reason for pushing through.

But now, you had to choose. You needed to choose for your own survival.

Your finger hovered over the button for O, but then you thought about everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed already. At that moment, it was no longer just about survival. It was about the life you had left to live. You didn’t want to keep going without him.

You slammed your hand down on the button, your choice made in an instant. The harsh reality of it stung as you tore off the patch you had placed on your jacket earlier, replacing it with a new one. As you made your way to the X side of the room, your heart felt heavy, but there was a strange sense of finality to it. You have made your decision.

You couldn’t help but look over at Dae-ho. The surprise on his face was so pure, so raw. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, like a fish caught out of water, and the shock in his gaze hit you harder than you expected.

Despite the tension and the gravity of the moment, you found yourself quietly laughing at him, unable to hold it in. The absurdity of it all—of choosing to walk away from everything that had kept you going—made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. God, you felt like a fool. After your dramatic show earlier, how you had confidently claimed that you would continue voting O, ready to survive, ready to keep playing. Yet here you were, choosing X, choosing to stop. Choosing him.

Dae-ho just stood there for a moment, still processing, before going up the platform to vote. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to piece together what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him. The moment was so surreal, so at odds with everything you’d said before.

You watched him, heart hammering in your chest as he stood at the voting machine. His back was turned to you, but you could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. His hesitation was palpable, and you wondered if he understood. If he saw why you made the decision you did.

The sound of his vote pressing echoed in the silence, a soft click that seemed too loud for the room. He immediately walked to where you stood, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why... why did you choose X?”

The answer was too simple, too complicated, and maybe too painful to say out loud. Instead, you gave him a small smile, one that held so many unsaid things. “Dae-ho, I’ll always choose you.”

In the end, your vote didn’t matter. Since O won by a landslide, the next game was inevitable. But for the first time in days, or maybe even years, you found yourself smiling—a real, genuine smile—as you were introduced to Dae-ho’s little group. You exchanged pleasantries, introduced yourselves, and felt something warm stir inside you.

The following day came quickly, and with it, the next game. One moment, you were lying in bed, your mind running wild with the uncertainty of what was to come. Next, you were on a spinning platform, waiting for the music to stop. Your eyes immediately sought out Dae-ho, and when you met his gaze, he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, a promise in his words. “I won’t let go.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I know.”

The rounds passed, too smoothly, almost disturbingly so. You all survived the first four rounds with ease.

But everything was about to change.

“Five women, and two men. Go!” Gi-hun’s commanding voice cut through the noise, demanding attention. Without hesitation, 007 shot his hand into the air. “I’ll go with my mother!” he announced, stepping forward. Gi-hun nodded, relieved to have a volunteer. He scanned the group again, waiting for the next person to step up.

Dae-ho raised his hand, his voice strong as he called out, “We’ll go!” He pulled you closer to him, offering a small smile that was laced with worry. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, revealing the weight of what was happening. The air around you both felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation. Still, you clung to each other, walking together toward the door.

Your group of seven—007, 149, 120, 095, Jun-hee, you, and Dae-ho—ran toward the nearest empty room. The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed in the tense silence. But just as you were about to step inside, something caught your eye and made your heart drop.

Player 095, frail and struggling, was being shoved aside by a group of players. Seeing her so helpless, you couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, you yanked your hand from Dae-ho’s grasp and rushed to her side.

Dae-ho’s heart skipped a beat the moment he felt the loss of your hand. Panic surged through him. Where did you go? He scanned the chaos around him, his eyes frantic as he searched for you in the crowded room. His heart tightened when he saw you helped 095 into the room, making sure she was safe. He could see the determination in your eyes as you ensured her well-being, but once it was your turn to come into the room, to rejoin him, disaster struck.

A group of four players, each desperately fighting for their own survival, barreled into you.

The impact was brutal. Your body was slammed to the ground with overwhelming force. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow down as you hit the floor, your breath knocked from your chest in a violent rush. A sharp wave of pain shot through your body—your limbs aching, your head spinning—but strangely, you couldn't feel it all at once. The shock of the fall seemed to disconnect you from your body, like you were floating in a painful haze.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch out. You felt a sudden sense of numbness as your body tried to process the damage, and your heart raced as you struggled to breathe. Your vision blurred, and for a moment, you feared that you wouldn’t be able to get up again. But then, the rush of adrenaline kicked in.

Determination surged through you like a lightning bolt. You couldn't afford to stay down. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in your limbs, and scrambled to your feet. Gritting your teeth, you ran with every ounce of strength you had left, your focus fixed on the door. You had to get inside—it was the only chance left. The room was just a few feet away now, but each step felt like an eternity as you sprinted, your legs shaking with exertion and fear. Every part of you screamed for rest, but you couldn't stop. Not yet.

"[Name]! Let’s play Mingle!" Dae-ho’s voice rang out with excitement, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing his playful nature.

“With just the two of us?” you asked, teasing him. A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself, knowing that whatever he had planned would likely be a mix of fun and absurdity.

“Well...” Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, pretending to think deeply, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He was already scheming.

It was your third anniversary together, a day you both decided to celebrate in your usual style: by skipping class and spending it alone in your room. Both of you were still wearing your high school uniforms—uniforms that no longer felt like the serious attire they were supposed to be. The two of you had spent countless afternoons like this, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company, without a care in the world.

“I’ve got it!” Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he dashed to your bed. He scooped up a handful of stuffed toys with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Let’s use our children!” he declared, holding them up like he had just discovered the most brilliant idea.

You stared at him, your laughter bubbling up instantly. "Our children? Really, tiger?" you chuckled, wiping away the tears that had already begun to form from laughing too hard.

"Hey, don’t laugh! This is serious!" he protested, feigning offense, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes that told you he was only pretending to be upset. He adjusted the toys in his arms, a determined look on his face.

“Alright, fine,” you replied, still laughing but wiping your eyes. “Let’s play.” You were already game—who could resist when Dae-ho was this excited?

Dae-ho carefully arranged the toys in front of you both, giving each one a position with a level of care that made it clear he was taking this game very seriously. “Okay. For this round… Three!” he announced dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him like he was preparing to start a battle.

You didn’t even wait for him to finish before snatching up two of the nearest toys. His jaw dropped in mock betrayal, and he huffed loudly, feigning offense. "Not fair! You should partner with me. Always!" he said, acting like you had broken some sacred rule.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing. “Stop being a sore loser! I’m just playing by your rules.”

"Fine," he grumbled. He pouted dramatically, a little over-the-top for someone so competitive. He then scurried around the room, gathering two more toys to prepare for the next round.

The game continued in the same playful vein, with the toys being eliminated one by one. The room filled with the sound of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage as each round got more dramatic. The toys “lost” in ways that made no sense, their plush bodies being thrown to the side in exaggerated defeat.

"For this round,” Dae-ho said, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Two!” He gave you a look, as if to challenge you to keep up with him.

You smirked, ready to grab him this time. But before you could react, he swooped down and grabbed the last remaining toy, holding it close to his chest with a triumphant grin. “Hey!” you cried out in mock outrage, throwing your hands up.

"Sore loser!" he teased, clearly pleased with his victory.

You crossed your arms, pretending to sulk. “Whatever.” you muttered, rolling your eyes for effect.

Dae-ho chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He set the toy down, then knelt in front of you. “Wait, wait, don’t be mad!” he said, holding the toy up to his face like a little puppet. He moved its tiny arms in a dramatic fashion, as if it was trying to “walk” toward you.

"Eomma! Please don’t be angry at Appa! Pleaseee!” he said in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice that made you burst out laughing.

Your faux anger crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. He was ridiculous—and that was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still holding the toy, Dae-ho slowly lowered it from his face, a more tender look in his eyes. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a delicate necklace hanging from the toy’s tiny paw. Your breath hitched as he gently removed the necklace and held it out to you.

"Here," he said softly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. You could feel the warmth in his words as he looked at you with such sincerity. Without warning, he leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you. "Happy anniversary, [Name]."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat as the rush of emotion hit you unexpectedly. His gesture felt like everything—a simple, yet deeply meaningful way of showing how much he cared. You blinked back the sudden welling of emotion in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips in gratitude. You then buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, comforting hug. “Anything for you.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. There was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing a quiet, simple happiness that felt bigger than any words could express. Time seemed to slow down, and you didn’t want to think about anything else.

As you pulled back, your laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. You couldn’t resist teasing him once more. “You’re still a sore loser, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dae-ho replied, rolling his eyes but still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him with affection. “I do. Now help me with this necklace!”

Your hand stretched toward the door, the cold metal just within reach.

Then everything went silent.

#wqnsho.writes #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader #player 388 x reader #oneshot

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mariasont · 8 months ago

Text

Be So Stupid - S.R

a/n: this has been sitting in my WIPs for so long and i finally finished it! now going to reward myself with online shopping xoxo

kind of inspired by when jj and reid split up in season 2 i think? when morgan was kinda being rude to her but i picture like season 12-13 spence

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: you make a mistake while on a case nearly getting spencer killed, morgan has some choice words and spencer is ready to beat his ass over it

warnings: morgan being a little shit simply for the plot, mention of spencer almost dying, spencer being a protective king pussy boss

wc: 1.4k

How could you be so stupid?

Those were the words that had been on replay, a constant loop, for the past two days. It's because, somewhere inside, you knew Morgan was justified in what he said. How could you have been so stupid to split up with Spencer at the unsubs house?

He was taken by the unsub, a trigger pull away from death. But the team got there, and he was okay. He was alive and breathing and healthy, and you tried to focus on these facts when your chest tightened with that familiar agonizing twinge.

It was a relief not to face anyone afterward. As soon as you got home from the case, you holed yourself up in your apartment, obsessively dissecting the events until the recollections twisted your insides with a nauseating sense of dread. You had run through every potential scenario in your head, agonizing over the grim outcomes if you hadn't arrived when you did.

You would've never forgiven yourself.

So here you were, hiding out in Penelope's lair, doing your paperwork. You convinced yourself it wasn't hiding; rationalizing it as a need for more peace and quiet than the bullpen could offer. You knew it was bullshit, and so did Garcia.

"Just so you know, I'm fully prepared to kick his ass on your behalf," she announced, swiveling to face her monitors, the ribbons in her hair trailing her movement like colorful comets. "It was totally uncalled for. Everyone agrees."

"Everyone?"

"Well, okay, not Spencer, but that's only because he doesn't know," Garcia continued, her pen tapping a silent code against her cheek, followed by the clack of keys. "If he did, he'd definitely kick his ass."

"I don't know about that," you said, repeatedly stretching and releasing the hair tie around your wrist, each snap a self-inflicted reprimand.

"He called you stupid." She was shaking her head so vigorously her blonde locks tumbled into her eyes as she paused her typing to look at you. "And you, my gorgeous friend, are anything but."

"Generally speaking, sure, but this time, Pen, I really screwed up."

"Who called you stupid?"

Spencer's voice was incredibly hard to ignore, distinct—you would recognize it anywhere.

Garcia and you stopped dead, your eyes growing impossibly large as she gave you a look as if to say, Morgan is screwed.

"No one."

"Morgan."

You and Garcia blurt your words out at the same time, your voices clashing in the air. You whipped your head to Garcia, the betrayal written on your face as she only shrugged her shoulders.

"Why would he say that to you?"

Spencer's steps towards you were measured, but each one amplified your unease, you hands wringing together as you looked away. He could read you like a book, and most times that was a good thing, but today it was definitely not.

"It's really not a big deal, Spencer," you insisted, pursing you lips as you dragged your gaze up and over him. "But how about you? How are you holding up?"

You were on your feet in an instant, a little too quickly, wobbling on your heel just a tab before Spencer grabbed your elbow. You ignore his touch, or at least you try, and press the back of your hand to his forehead.

He wasn't warm, but you sure were.

"You know, I don't think you should be back at work so soon."

You weren't lying when you said that. It seemed to soon. Was he looking a little pale? You couldn't tell. He should be home.

His hand was suddenly around your wrist, soft but firm, easing you away from his forehead, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Hey, I'm alright." He was trying to be assuring, offering a faint smile that only served to make your stomach do backflips. "Really, I am."

His fingers frapped around your wrist, not quite letting go, as he directed his attention to Garcia. "Why did he say that to her?"

"I'm right here," you grumbled under your breath, but Spencer was paying you no mind.

"I'm aware," Spencer answered without looking at you as his hands found their way to your shoulders, thumbs tracing absent patterns on your skin. "But you are not providing any answers."

Garcia cut in, folding her arms over her chest as her eyes pinned you with an unspoken accusation. "He said it because you two split up on the case."

Her words seemed to thicken the air itself, snatching away the previous ease as Spencer's expression darkened. It was a new and unsettling sight--the tightness in his jaw, the faint crease in his brows, and the steely sharpness in his eyes.

Without uttering a single syllable, he spun on his heel and strode out the door. You didn't hesitate to chase after him, an inkling of his destination propelling you forward. The look on his face had planted a seed of fear about what he was going to do.

Sure enough, there he was, just as you anticipated, in the middle of the bull pit. His gaze locked on Morgan with a laser-like precision, like a hawk eyeing its prey.

"How could you say that to her?" His voice was jagged, hands thumping against Morgan's shoulders in a way that you frantically looked around for Hotch. "What? Were you trying to make her feel bad? What's the matter with you?"

"Easy, Spencer, what are you getting at?" Morgan's hands went up defensively. But when Spencer's eyes flickered to you, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Oh..."

Morgan's eyes found yours. "Come here, sugar."

Morgan was your friend, a good one at that, and you really didn't blame him for what he said. He had good intentions. But here in the bullpen being open and exposed you found yourself stalling, glancing towards Spencer.

Only after he gave you a nod did you take that tentative step forward, clammy palms running down your pants as you stood in front of Morgan.

"Look, I was out of line. Calling you stupid was stupid of me," he started, hand grabbing on your upper arm as he spoke. "We've all been in tough spots and I was an asshole for adding to the pressure instead of helping you through it."

And you knew he meant it, even if it took Spencer nearly coming to blows to bring it about.

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it, Morgan. And it was my fault really, for not staying with Spencer."

"First off, we made that call together, so if anyone's at fault, it's both of us," Spencer reminded, his hand settling on your lower back as he moved closer to you. His gaze then drilled into Morgan. "And second, Morgan, she's too nice. I say you owe her a month's work of paperwork at least."

You opened your mouth to object, but Morgan cut you off, his hand on your shoulder stopping me mid-breath. "After what I said? I'll do you one better--I'll handle your paperwork for two months."

He was gone before you could even thank him, making his way towards the break room, leaving you and Spencer.

"Hey, look at me." You did, raising your eyes to meet his. "What happened on that last case—it's not on you. We made a call, and we did it with the best intentions. It's not your fault."

He regarded you so... softly. It stirred a flutter of goosebumps across your skin, your hands rubbing up and down your arms as if to smooth away the sensation.

"Seeing you in that situation, so close to..." You paused, drawing in a ragged breath as the sickening memories came flooding back. "I can't help but feel responsible. It's a tough guilt to shake."

He rearranged a lock of hair behind your ear.

"It's a cognitive distortion to assume sole responsibility, but that's just your brain tricking you." Taking your hand he pressed it over his heart. "A human heart beats over two billion times in a lifetime. And every beat right now is telling you, I'm all good."

You could feel his heartbeat—thump, thump—against your palm. You caught yourself wanting to know what it would be like to fall asleep to the sound.

You were so close to each other now, the distance, or lack thereof, slightly overwhelming. "You're all good?"

He gave your hand a squeeze. "I'm all good."

You remained motionless, hand pressed to his chest, wondering if your heart could ever beat in sync with his.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid #dr reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic

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soaps-mohawk · 6 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Summary: Don't trust anyone. That's the advice you were left with. How much should you follow that advice? How much will you have to follow it?

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,058 words

Warnings: ANGST, heavy emotional turmoil, very detailed descriptions of depression, ANGST, panic attacks, lots of thoughts of death and crisis, distrust, anxiety, ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, ANGST, betrayal, weapons, guns, blood (barely), brief violence at the end, drugging (more sedation than anything), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, incorrect medical stuff again, oh and ANGST

A/N: Sorry

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The world is painted in grey as you stare at the wall. Your eyes trace over the pencil lines on the paper as if it might bring you some sort of comfort, as if it might bring them back to you.

Johnny put the drawings up after your heat, ones he'd done while watching over you as you slept the days away. Strawberries, rolling hills, you asleep in a field of flowers. Visages of the outside world, a place that seems almost foreign to you.

Despite their absence you're still a prisoner, still locked in your tower. Dr. Keller is your guard now, dutifully watching over you as she had promised Simon and Johnny she would. She’s done it successfully before, or at least she was as successful as you allowed her to be, as you had kept her in the dark just as much as your pack. Obviously they trusted that she hadn’t known, otherwise they wouldn’t have left you here with her.

It’s not like they had much of a choice.

She's moved into the spare room temporarily so you're not alone. Your pack's barracks are far more spacious than her own room in the barracks with the rest of the medical staff. You almost wish you'd gone to stay with her. Anything would be better than your grey prison.

You get to leave now, only long enough to walk to the mess and back, and occasionally to the med center. You don’t get to eat in the mess, staying just long enough to grab food before you’re ushered back to your grey prison. You've gone to Dr. Keller's office twice, but even then it had been a short stop so she could grab some paperwork before you returned to the barracks.

The grey and white of your home has never affected you in such a way before. You've been able to look past the sterile halls and prison grey walls of the rooms until now, until you’ve become a bit stir-crazy. You’re afraid you might actually go crazy, driven to insanity in your isolation.

There's been no word on when your pack might return. There's been no word at all from them.

For all you know, they’re dead.

You've gone numb to that thought, the tears not even stinging at your eyes at the idea. You're empty, the only thing you're capable of feeling is the steady churning of your stomach. It's been two months since you revealed the cameras and you're still sick, still in pain.

What if they don't come back because they hate you? What if they've abandoned you here?

You're not sure you could even react to that if it does happen. You can’t even react to the thought of it happening. There’s no drive to, no instinct to be upset by the idea of being abandoned. For all you know it’s already happened.

You turn over onto your other side, facing the room. It’s Johnny’s room you’re in, the most welcome place in the barracks. It’s the place you spent the most time before they left, isolated just to Johnny’s arms by Simon’s anger at your betrayal. He’d only cared for you out of necessity, the progress you made with him all wiped out because of your own stupidity.

Those thoughts don’t even bring a tear to your eye anymore. He never wanted you, he wouldn’t have chosen you.

So why did it hurt so much?

Dr. Keller is worried, but it's her job to be worried. You've shut down, shut out everything. You're not capable of much more than laying around numb and depressed. The scents are fading, quickly disappearing and being replaced by the bitter scent of your depression.

Depression. That's what Dr. Keller said. Not surprising given the circumstances. You're not surprised either. Then again, you can't feel much of anything anymore. There’s no hope left, the memories of them fading as fast as their scents. They’ve moved on, or they’ve died. Regardless, they’re not coming back.

You’re alone again, abandoned by those you loved, those supposed to take care of you.

You can only count leaves on the plant hanging from the ceiling of Dr. Keller’s office so many times. You’ve given up sitting, instead curled up in a ball as you stare at the plant, counting leaves up and down the vines. Dr. Keller is at her desk, writing and shuffling papers, doing what she normally does during the day. Doing what she had last time you had been left alone.

She had the idea that leaving the barracks might be good for you. A change of scenery, a more comfortable and warm setting, might help your depression. Escaping the oppressive grey walls of your prison for some fresh air might aid in her efforts to help you wallow less in your misery. Being free of the suffocating walls of the barracks might help free you from the constant memories of what was, what might have been, what’s left you behind.

Your stomach still hurts. The ache had intensified as soon as they told you they were leaving too, that John and Kyle were so desperate for backup they had to call everyone in. It had made you uneasy, the idea of being alone so soon after everything, the idea that things might be going so badly that they need help. The memory of what had transpired while you were alone the first time makes you nervous.

What if it happens again?

What if something worse happens?

You won’t be stupid this time, you told yourself. If anything is off, you’ll notify Dr. Keller immediately. You’re not making that mistake again. If you did make that mistake, the consequences wouldn’t just be dealt out by whoever is so desperate to get to you, to watch you. Your pack will leave you, will mark you as untrustworthy and give you up, or worse, throw you in a cell until you can be sent back home, back to the institute. Maybe they would be merciful and send you back to the CIA. What would the CIA do though? They couldn’t send you to another pack, not in the initiative, not with you already having been claimed. They wouldn’t take that risk when the severing of those bonds would destroy you and everything that you are.

Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll kill you. Save you from the pain and mental anguish after the severing of a bond.

“Hungry?” Dr. Keller asks. It’s close to lunch, you think. Time is meaningless, the only routine you have left the necessary mealtimes Dr. Keller insists on keeping. Even then, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t know when those were supposed to be.

“No.” You murmur, still staring at the plant. The leaves have begun to blur, blending together as your eyes unfocus.

“You should eat.” She says.

“Not hungry.” You say. “Stomach hurts.”

She sighs softly, pushing her chair back before walking over to you. She drops to a knee in front of the couch, staring at you. “How long has it been hurting?”

“Weeks.” You say, still not looking at her.

“Weeks?” She sounds surprised. “You didn’t say anything. Nausea? Any headaches?” She asks.

“Uh huh.” You nod.

“Any fever, body aches, congestion, dizziness?” She asks.

“Body aches.” You say, finally looking up at her.

She hums, staring at you for a moment. Her face is the usual clinical mask she wears when she’s in doctor mode, but you can make out the slight furrow of her brow as she thinks. She puts a hand on your forehead, your skin cold instead of the warmth it would usually have. Even you’ve noticed it in your numb state, your fingers and toes aching constantly from how cold they are.

She removes her hand, letting out a quiet breath. “Well, my dear.” She says, staring down at you. “I’m diagnosing you with stress.” She says, resting her arms on her knee. “It’s been a long few weeks, and then with your alpha leaving on top of it, I’m not surprised by your symptoms. I know you may not feel like it, but eating will help. You’ll be no good to your pack when they return if you’re wasting away.”

“If they return.” You say, not even able to sound worried like you did last time. There’s no tears, no panic, not even a hint of worry.

“They will.” She says, pushing herself up to stand. “They know what they’re doing and all we can do is trust their skills.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You murmur, taking her offered hand to get yourself up off the couch. You’ve heard it a thousand times. “I know.”

“Come on,” She says, giving you a smile. “Let’s get some lunch and then we can eat in the barracks again. Watch some dumb daytime TV show for a while.”

“Yeah.” You say, trying to sound excited as you follow her out the door. It’s been your routine for weeks. You’re growing sick of it, but what else is there to do? Read? Sleep? Lay numbly in bed staring at the ceiling until it blurs together or until you inevitably pass out from exhaustion?

Your life has become sad and pathetic, and it’s all your fault.

The days continue to drag on, every one without a single word of your pack driving you deeper and deeper into the hole you’ve already sunk into. You’re not drowning anymore, not clawing desperately to the surface, praying you can cling to hope long enough to drag yourself out of the depression. Now you’re just sinking, letting the weight of your numbness drag you down until the pressure becomes too much and you implode.

You miss them so badly it hurts.

Do they miss you? Do they think about you? Have they even thought about you? Did John and Kyle ask about you when Johnny and Simon arrived? What did they ask about? What did they say?

Or perhaps they just mutually agreed this was the opportunity to leave you, the chance to move on and make the job 100% of their lives again. No more worry, no more stress, no more distraction, no more needy omega clinging to them every minute of every day.

Maybe you should have been less needy, less reliant. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so close. It would at least have been easier on you. The job comes first. Why couldn’t you have kept yourself under that rule, distanced yourself to make this pain less severe?

Why didn’t you just tell them right away?

“How are you doing over there?” Dr. Keller’s voice breaks through the endless haze of thoughts.

You’re in the rec room with her, your most frequented place over the last few weeks. You might as well have moved in there. It would almost be better than the four places that only serve as constant reminders of what is gone. You could sleep in your room, but it’s been tainted, ruined. It’s not safe anymore. Even with your pack you hadn’t felt comfortable to be in there longer than it took to grab clothes.

“They left me.” You say quietly, voice muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into. You’re on your stomach on the couch, a blanket thrown over your back.

“Not by any choice of theirs.” She says. She’s sitting in the chair, Simon’s chair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell her. He’s gone. It’s not his place anymore.

“They’re not coming back.” You say, fingers digging into the front of your sweatshirt where they’re tucked under you.

“You don’t know that.” Dr. Keller says, closing her book. “Those men would fight from the brink of death to make it back to you.”

“They hate me.” You say, nails digging into your palms from how tightly you’re gripping the fabric.

“They don’t hate you.” She says softly. “They may have been a bit upset, but they’d never hate you.”

“Simon does.”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “Lieutenant Riley is his own beast.” She pushes herself up to stand, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to you. “He’s in his head just as much as you are. In my professional opinion, he could use some therapy as well. Some extensive therapy.” Her hand comes to rest on your back, rubbing it gently.

You’re thrown back to the times you were sick when your mother would rub your back, almost as if she was trying to ease the sickness away. You are sick. Sick in your own grief and disappointment and anger with yourself. The depression is its own sickness eating away at you. You’re not even sure your pack’s return could cure it now. You might be too far gone, your brain too convinced that they’re not coming back that you won’t believe it when they do. They won’t return for you, they won’t be happy to see you. They won’t be real.

Dr. Keller lets out a quiet sigh. “I don’t think any of them are capable of hating you. Even Lieutenant Riley. They love you too much to abandon you like that. I don’t think they’re capable of abandoning you at all. I’m sure they’re just as worried, just as eager to get back here.”

She pats your back before holding her hand still. It’s warm through the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s almost comforting, almost seeping through the chill that’s taken over you despite the warm summer air outside.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.” She continues, her voice soft and laced with emotion. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it. It’s not good for you mentally or physically. It’s downright cruel. I thought maybe at first that you’d be taken care of, that you’d be taken into consideration as much as they are.” She scoffs. “I was stupid to think they’d ever give an omega the decency of being considered a human being.”

Her voice is determined, almost angry. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the program, at the initiative, at those above you making the decision, pulling the strings, controlling every part of your pack. You can almost feel it, the passion, the compassion for omegas that she carries. She knows firsthand what it’s like. Even before she became a specialist she knew. She could have presented as an omega herself. Instead she was blessed with presenting as a beta, able to be seen as a human being, able to have rights and make decisions for herself.

“I’m not going to give up on you.” She pats your back gently. “Once your pack returns, I think we need to have a long discussion about the future of this initiative.”

“Are they going to take me away?” You ask.

“No.” Dr. Keller says. “Your pack will fight for you. I will fight for you. But this isn’t good for you. It’s making you sick. I’m worried about what might happen if it continues.”

You slide your arms up, wrapping them around your pillow. “They’re not going to give it up, their jobs. They won’t. I hate it.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them. “I hate that they don’t put me first. I hate that they have to hide things from me, keep things from me. Why is it fair that they can keep things that might put me in danger hidden, but I can’t do it without them getting mad at me? I hate that they have to leave, that they can just leave so easily. I hate their job, I hate what they do when they’re away. I hate them sometimes because they don’t even think twice about hurting me.” The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to rise again. “It hurts a-and t’s not fair!”

Dr. Keller shushes you gently as you press your face down into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes for the first time in almost two weeks. “I know. The CIA should have had an omega expert in on this from the start. There should have been someone that could advocate for the omegas they want to throw into these positions. I hate this too, what they do to you, what they put you through,” Her voice goes quiet, so quiet you almost can’t hear it. “What they will put you through.” She runs a hand over the back of your head, trying to soothe you. “All we can do is cling to the hope that word will come in soon that your pack is on their way home.”

You want to believe her. You want to believe she’s telling the truth, that they will be coming home. You want to have that hope, but hope has long faded from your mind. You don’t have hope anymore, as much as she tries to instill it in you.

The days continue to drag on. There’s been no word on their status, no calls, not even a text. Dr. Keller has tried to get ahold of Kate, but she’s been unsuccessful. It hurts. You feel abandoned, even by those that were supposed to be available, those that were supposed to help you. It all feels wrong. There’s something happening. You can feel it.

Something is changing, something is ticking at the back of your neck. It could just be the paranoia, the fear, the unease brought on by the isolation and the separation from your pack. It’s not normal. Johnny and Simon promised they’d do everything in their power to get a hold of you when they can.

Unless they can’t.

What if they’ve been trying but no messages are getting through? What if there’s something along the line blocking them? What if there’s someone purposefully keeping those messages from coming through? Purposefully isolating you from your pack.

The thought has a chill running down your spine. There’s things happening behind the scenes you can’t even fathom. Things beyond you, things beyond Dr. Keller and even John. Someone had those cameras put up. Someone was watching you, even after you found them and hid them. Someone wanted to see you, wanted to watch you with your pack.

Why?

It all seems too coincidental. John and Kyle being called away and then Johnny and Simon weeks later, isolating you from your pack. No word has been coming through, possibly no word from anyone getting to them. They won’t know what state you’re in, they won’t know something is wrong. If anything happened to you, they wouldn’t know. They’d have no idea until it was possibly too late.

You’ve been isolated on purpose.

All five of you.

What if it’s Kate?

You don’t want to believe it. You don’t want to even think about it. Who has contact with them during their missions, though? Who has been in control of relaying messages back and forth to everyone? Would she do it? Was she capable of such betrayal? John trusts her more than anyone besides the members of your pack. They’ve known each other for a long time, why would she betray them like this?

You can’t trust anyone.

The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to choke you for a different reason this time. You’re beginning to panic, and while it’s nice to finally feel something, this is almost worse. You’d prefer the numbing depression, the emptiness, the inability to think. This is worse. It’s so much worse.

So many thoughts are flying around in your head, your stomach aching as you begin to panic. You’re not safe. You’re not safe here alone, not even with Dr. Keller. There’s too many chances. You’re too open and exposed.

You can’t trust anyone.

What if your pack is in on it? What if they were responsible for all of this? What if they knew Shepherd was coming and hid it from you on purpose? What if they had the cameras put up to watch what you do when they’re away? What if they’ve been surveying you to report to the higher ups about your progress and the initiative?

What if they pretended they didn’t know to see how long you’d hide it, how you’d take it if they were upset at you, how far they could push you before you’d crumble?

What if they left on purpose to make you crumble?

You can’t verify it. You can’t even know if those orders were real, if they ever came in. You’ll never know because you can’t because they have to keep you safe. What if Kate doesn’t even know they’re gone? What if they’re sitting in a pub in Hereford watching you fall apart at the seams? You want to leave, you want to run there, comb every inch of town just to find them and scream at them. What if they’re too cowardly to force you out themselves? What if they want you to leave, and they’re pushing you to the point you want to?

“Hey,” Dr. Keller kneels in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me.”

You stare at her face, the furrow of her brow, the worry in her kind eyes. You feel sick, your stomach churning. You want to vomit, you want to puke up all the worry and the depression and the stress. You want it all to be over with, you want it all to end.

“Come on.” She says, squeezing your shoulders tighter. “In and out, nice and slow.”

You can’t. You can’t breathe. The world is falling apart around you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your breaths catch in your throat, stuttering as your lungs spasm. You’re beginning to tense, your joints locking into place. It’s not all that different from a few weeks ago in the rec room with Simon as you panicked.

Only there’s no alpha to help you this time.

“Come on.” Dr. Keller says, hauling you to your feet. It’s like trying to move a mannequin, your joints locked into place, dead weight as she half drags you down the hall and into one of the exam rooms. She manages it, stronger than you thought as she moves you easily into the private room. It’s the one you spent your heat in, still set up just like it had been then.

She gets you into a chair, wheeling over the oxygen. It’s cold as it hits your face, a clammy sweat covering your skin. Your hands close around the arms of the chair, fingers clenching until they pop and ache, shaking from the force but you can’t let go. You cling to the chair like it’s the last thing keeping you sane, keeping you in place, keeping you from floating away.

Maybe then they’ll come back. Maybe then they’ll feel guilty for doing this to you.

Dr. Keller approaches with a syringe, wheeling the tray closer before setting it on top. You stare at it, tears slipping around the mask before dripping onto your chest. “It’s a sedative.” She says, putting a damp paper towel on the back of your neck. It’s cold, still dripping water. “If you go into distress, our only option is to put you under and hope it calms your brain fast enough that you’re not going to lose yourself to your omega.”

You almost wish she’d let you. It would be an easier end than finding out your pack was involved in all of this. You’d fade away, let your omega take over until the toll was too great on your body and you died before you even knew what happened.

It almost sounds blissful right now.

“Easy.” Dr. Keller says, cupping your face. “Don’t think too much. That’s just going to send you spiraling even more.”

If only it was that easy.

She gently peels your fingers from the arms of the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. Your hands close around your arms, squeezing until it hurts, until you’re sure you’re going to have bruises. It’s a comforting position though, even without anything pressed against your chest.

You miss your bear. You miss having John wrapped around you, offering you comfort only he can. You want him back, you want to be in his arms again. You want your safe space back, your nest, your pillows and stuffed animals. You want your alpha no matter what. Even if he is behind this or not, if he’s involved, you don’t care. You need your alpha again.

The air in your lungs rattles as Dr. Keller replaces the paper towel on your neck. It drips down your back, sliding down your spine. Goosebumps rise on your skin but it begins to calm you, shocking your system out of the edges of distress it had been rapidly falling towards. It makes you miss being numb. Numbness was at least better than the dangerously high panic of distress.

You can’t even be stressed without being in danger of your own body.

The churning in your stomach intensifies and you rip the oxygen mask off, bending forward as you take deep breaths. You don’t want to vomit, especially not on Dr. Keller’s nice shoes. Your hands grip the arms of the chair again, eyes squeezing closed as you breathe.

“Good.” She says, rubbing your back. “Keep breathing like that.”

She steps away for a moment to grab another wet paper towel as you continue to focus on your breathing, in and out. You pretend John is there, breathing with you slow and even. You can hear it in his chest, feel the rise and fall as he inhales and exhales with you. The steadiness of his heartbeat that never seems to raise, even when he’s stressed, thumps under your ear. He’s always so calm, always so aware, always so capable of acting even in the most stressful situation.

A strength he possesses thanks to his job.

“I miss my alpha.” You whimper as your joints begin to unlock, muscles relaxing.

“I know.” She says, replacing the cold paper towel. She squeezes the back of your neck gently for a moment, sending a cascade of cold water that soaks into your shirt before she releases you. Something prickles in the back of your mind as she moves her hand, the back of your neck tingling and not from the cold.

You continue to breathe deeply, the hitch in your lungs slowly lessening until it's gone, the air flowing in and out evenly. The air in the room is cold, only made worse by the sweat on your skin. You’re trembling, the effects of the almost distress coming down, leaving you a mess. More of a mess than you had just been.

“I just want him back.” You croak out, the tears still falling.

“I know.” She repeats, easing you back so you’re reclined back in the chair. She stares at you for a moment, chewing on her lip before she nods. “I’m going to make a few calls.”

The days continue to go by in a haze. You’re not sure what to think anymore, the numbness and stress battling in your brain for control. The near distress you went into has left you exhausted and burnt out, yet your thoughts won’t let you relax. You just want your alpha, the need sinking deep into your bones, nearly consuming you now.

It’s getting colder, Fall making its rapid approach. A couple short months and it’ll mark a year since your arrival, a year since this entire thing started, since you joined your new pack. To think it might not even last a year. That was the point, though, to test if it would work and how long it would work.

Less than a year. Hope you’re happy with those results.

It’s windy today, blowing hard enough you can hear it inside the barracks. The whooshing as the air hits the side of the building, being forced over the top of the immovable object in its path. It’s grey outside too, the sky cloudy. It might rain, though it’s hard to tell. It’s been grey for the last couple days, the weather always seeming to be in tune with your emotions.

You’re seated on Johnny’s bed, knees pulled up to your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve seen your packmates, since you’ve seen your alpha. They almost feel like a distant memory, thoughts of them floating around the empty barracks like a ghost, haunting your mind. All of them seem like ghosts now. You’re scared you’ll forget what they look like, what they smell like, what they sound like. Your brain is being clouded by your own roiling emotions, slamming up against the sides of your brain like the wind outside.

It’s confusing, the violent rocking of your mind between numbness and stress in the storm that’s raging in your amygdala. It would be nice if it could pick one, choose a direction and send you head on into the storm or the doldrums. You want the numbness back, the clouding of your thoughts, the slowing of your body to a crawl. It would be a relief over the alternative point where you risk distress every minute.

There’s no help for you.

“Ready?” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door as she knocks quietly. It’s lunch, the usual time the two of you go. Early enough the mess isn’t as crowded. The last thing you need is a confrontation, or for you to panic like you did the day you revealed the cameras to Simon.

Dr. Keller could help you, would know how to help you through that, but you’re not sure you could handle that stress, that embarrassment of falling apart in front of the soldiers that already send judgemental looks your way. Falling apart again.

Not when you can’t trust anyone.

The words still float through your mind, one of the last things John had said to you before he left. Before he abandoned you.

Don’t trust anyone.

Anyone could be a threat.

Dr. Keller knocks again, calling out your name softly.

You force yourself off of Johnny’s bed, your joints cracking as you stand. You’ve been in that position far too long. Your body has stiffened, losing the flexibility you once had in the weeks since John left. You’re not even sure you could run as fast as you used to. There’s no space to do it in the barracks, and with how numb you’ve been, you have no drive to even reach down and touch your toes anymore. For all you know you’ll fall forward onto your face and break your nose if you try.

You open the door with a sigh, looking up at Dr. Keller. You’re sure you look like death...you have probably looked like death for a while. The constant rocking between stress and numbness has made you feel that way, and has likely made it worse. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not even sure you remember what you look like.

You don’t care anymore.

There’s no one to impress here.

The less alive, the less enticing you look, the more likely it is to keep audacious alphas away.

“Ready?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowed slightly as she looks down at you.

You nod, knowing you have no choice. “Yeah.”

She nods. “Okay, I-” She’s cut off as her phone begins to ring, the loud ringtone slicing through the air. She keeps it on at all hours in case someone calls about your pack.

For just a moment you feel hope, something coming back to life inside of you as her phone rings. Could it be Kate? Could it be someone with word of the status of your pack? Maybe it is your pack, calling just to let you hear their voice.

Maybe for the last time.

That hope fades as Dr. Keller frowns. “One second.” She steps down the hallway to answer, leaving just enough space between you, you can’t hear what’s being said on the other end.

You don’t really care to hear, leaning against the wall as you wait. It’s not about your pack, obviously. The thought stings. Still there’s been no word, not even a text. The drop of excitement is almost worse than the numbness, the acceptance that you’re not getting any word, that had begun to form in your mind.

Dr. Keller walks back up to you, the frown on her face deeper than it had been. It had been a short call, most of the talking done by the person on the other side, you assume. Her answers had been short and simple. Whoever it was...it must not have been good judging by her face.

“I have to run to my office.” She says. “I need you to stay here.”

Your heart rate picks up at her words. She’s leaving you alone? You’ve gone back and forth with her so many times, why does she have to go alone now? Maybe whoever had called wanted to continue the conversation without the risk of anyone listening in.

Who called her, and what did they say to get her to break her promises to your pack?

“I’ll be right back.” She says, sounding anxious to get to her office. “You’ll be okay here? I won’t be gone long.”

You nod. You’re not sure you have much of a choice but to agree, but you’re also not about to argue. It’ll be the first time you’ve been alone since the day you confessed to your pack. You’re itching for it now, just a second to be truly alone. Just a second to breathe.

“Don’t leave the barracks.” She says pointedly. “John will have my hide if he finds out.

You shrug. “Don’t know where I’d go anyway.”

She nods, accepting your answer. It is the truth. You wouldn’t have left anyway. “You call me immediately if anything happens. I’ll be just a couple minutes.”

You nod in understanding. “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” She seems satisfied by your answer as she turns to jog down the hallway.

Good thing she’s wearing comfortable shoes compared to the ones she normally does.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as the door closes. You stand there in the silence of the barracks for a moment. You’re finally alone, the oppressive feeling of being watched, of being held prisoner lifting just a bit. Sure you can’t leave, but you couldn’t do that before anyway. You head for the rec room, walking as silently as you can, almost as if one of your pack members will jump out from around the corner and reprimand you for being alone. It’s not your fault. Dr. Keller was the one who left you.

You try not to think about what that phone call had been about as you grab a snack, tiding yourself over before Dr. Keller returns. She said she’d only be a minute, but you’re not sure how long it really will take. You’re silently glad for the break, silently glad for the ability to rest in silence, even if it is only for a couple of minutes.

You’re not sure what to do with your newfound freedom. It’s not like you didn’t have freedom before, but at least now you feel like you normally do, free to wander around and go to the bathroom by yourself.

You’re going to do just that.

It’s instinctual that you choose Simon’s room. You’ve been using his shower still, comforted by the routine you picked up during the time he and Johnny were still with you. It’s comforting, so much so you’ve made sure you hang your towel where it’s supposed to go, and put your soap and shampoo back in place with his. He’d be angry if he came back to find his room a mess, the order he exists in disrupted.

More angry than he already is with you.

You let out a sigh as you leave the bathroom, eyeing the books on his dresser. You’ve read all of yours already, and there’s nothing new in the rec room. You haven’t felt like reading much, and you’ve already read all of yours. Now, though, as life begins to fill you again, you feel the urge to do something.

The spines of the books are slightly dusty as you run your fingers across them. You’ll need to clean again soon. You’d forced yourself to do all of their laundry once their shirts lost their scent. It was beginning to stink and after being gone so long, you doubt they’ll want to come back to stinky dirty clothes.

Maybe you should clean their rooms too. Dr. Keller has been saying it might be helpful to do something productive.

And this way it might help in case they do return. Omegas are supposed to keep house. It’s what you’ve been taught to do. The last thing you want is for them to be upset with you for not doing your duties.

You grab one of the books randomly before slipping back out of the room, closing the door behind you. Your steps are still instinctively quiet as you make your way down the hallway. Until you freeze mid-step. There’s a sound ahead near the rec room, the wind outside getting louder for a moment before it quiets again.

Someone opened the door. Someone is inside.

Your breathing hitches as you take a step back, then another moving backwards down the hallway. Dr. Keller did say she’d be back soon, but why would she go through that door? She knows your pack always uses the door at the front, the door behind you to enter. That door only gets used when the guys smoke outside, or when Simon and Johnny have to leave during your heats.

Whoever entered wouldn’t know that.

Dr. Keller doesn’t smoke.

You stumble back to the nearest door, fumbling with the handle for a second before slipping inside. You close the door quietly, clicking the lock before pushing the dresser in front of the door. It’s your room you’ve taken refuge in. There’s dust coating everything, floating around you as you disturb the stale air. You hold your breath, fighting the urge to cough as you wait, hoping the air filters hide your scent before they make it down the hallway.

Your hands are shaking, gripping the book tightly in your hand. If nothing else, you can use it as a weapon. Simon would be proud of that, improvising a weapon to protect yourself. The panic is rising in you as you wait, the silence of the barracks the only thing allowing you to hear the quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. There’s a nervous fluttering in your chest as you wait, trying to keep your breathing under control. If it’s Dr. Keller she’ll knock, she’ll say something to let you know it’s her. She wouldn’t sneak around the barracks. She knows how much stress you’ve been under. She wouldn’t try to scare you like this.

A scream dies in your throat as the door handle starts to jiggle, forced back by your own panic. Whoever it is on the other side is trying to get in. You're thrown back into the terror of your first time alone, when someone tried to enter your room in the middle of the night.

You’re not going to be stupid this time. You’re not going to face this alone. Your fingers fumble around your phone, barely able to unlock it as the jiggling of the handle gets more aggressive. Whoever it is, they’re determined to get in.

You press Dr. Keller’s number, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you lift it to your ear. It rings in your ear, the sound echoing outside the door. Your stomach drops, following your phone as it slips out of your hand, still calling Dr. Keller. The ringtone echoes in the empty hallway, quickly drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

The sudden phone call, leaving you alone for the first time in weeks to run to her office, entering through the wrong door...

No...it can’t be.

The door shudders as something rams against it. You have to hide, you have to get out. You can’t hide in the closet or under the bed. Even the bathroom wouldn’t be smart. It’ll leave you too vulnerable. If whoever it is can break through your door, they’ll get through the bathroom easily. You turn to look at the window. You have to get out. You have to get help.

There could be others out there, waiting for you to try.

You have no other choice. Better to try and fight than to stand there and let it happen. That’s what Simon always says.

You can defend yourself. You can fight until you get a chance to run. You can run. You’re an omega. Running is what you do.

You barely remember to pick up your phone before you climb onto your desk, not caring as you knock things off. You have to move fast. Whoever it is on the other side of the door probably heard that, probably has figured out you’re going for the window. You have to get out. You have to run. The window slides open slowly, the adrenaline pumping through you, giving you strength you didn’t know you were capable of. You’re not sure you’ve ever opened the window in the time you’ve been here. You squeeze through the opening just big enough to fit you through. You don’t waste time looking back as you take off running, heading in the direction of the trees.

You’re alone, kicking up gravel as you run to the road. You have to find someone to help you before whoever it was catches up to you. Would they be that brave to attack you in the middle of the base? Would they try something with witnesses around?

You can’t trust anyone.

Would they even believe you if you did try? Or would they take advantage of your state, tricking you into believing them before dragging you into a dark corner? Even if you try to go to the higher ups on base, who would you tell? How would you even find them?

You can’t trust anyone.

Instead you choose the trees, racing down the road you had followed Price down not long after your arrival. You thank the CIA for making you run, you thank the guys for letting you run laps to keep your strength and stamina as you tear down the road, getting glances as you go. You haven’t lost much of your ability, not even in the weeks you’ve been almost completely sedentary. It’s partially the adrenaline, partially your own fear, partially your instincts to escape from danger helping you sprint down the road.

It’s lunch time, most of the soldiers probably in the mess by now. Maybe you should have run there. Someone would help you. Someone would help you.

You’ve passed a few on your way down the road, only getting passing glances. If they really cared, they would have followed you, tried to intercept you to ask what was going on.

None of them stop you as you reach the trailhead, breaking through the brush. Don’t follow the trail. Weave through the trees and double back. Confuse them so they can’t follow. Price’s advice rings loud in your ears as you rush through the forest. Confuse them, and then make for the tower. You can hide there, call Laswell, get help. You’re not sure how much help she can provide from across the ocean, but if nothing else, she’ll at least know.

If she answers.

If she’s not behind all of this.

She might rat you out.

Maybe going for the tower is a bad idea. Maybe you should double back and head for base again. If you can make it to the gate maybe you can convince one of them to help you, or if nothing else you can force your way through and get off of base. You recognize landmarks well enough you can hike to Hereford, find the police, find anyone that might help you.

You can’t trust anyone.

Your chest hurts as you run, tears burning in your eyes, making the trees around you blur. You can’t cry now. You can’t let the ache of betrayal settle in yet. You really can’t trust anyone. John had been wrong. But why now? Why wait this long?

Something has happened to your pack.

The whole thing has been organized.

You trusted her.

You dart across the trail, a sharp pain biting through your calf before you can reach the other side. You yelp as you fall into the dirt, your leg giving out from under you. You push yourself up to look, a roughly half inch wide hole cutting through your jeans. Blood is starting to seep into the fabric, darkening it around the edges of the hole.

You’ve been shot.

“You’re a quick little thing.” A voice says, stepping out from the brush next to the trail. “Though, I suppose with all the running they made you do, you would be.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at the gun pointed right at you. Will it go off again? Will it rip through your chest, giving you a slow painful death out here where no one will find you until it’s too late? Or will it go through your head, giving you a quick death before you even know it’s happened?

“Why?” You choke out, your heart pounding in fear. You can feel it, the edges of your vision darkening as you begin to panic. You’re going to distress, you’re going to die no matter what happens next.

“Money.” The gun shifts with the accompanying shrug. “Sure the pay in these positions is decent, but it’s never quite enough. And, you know, I’m all for helping with experiments.”

The gun lowers, but that does little to ease the panic flooding through you. You turn your upper body, trying to claw through the dirt away from your assailant, trying to escape the shoes getting closer and closer. They’re tennis shoes, practical and easy for running if need be. Your mouth has gone dry as you gasp for breath, your heart thudding in your ears. It’s getting dangerously high, the dark edges in your vision continuing to get bigger and bigger. Your muscles are tensing, ready to tighten painfully, joints locking into place. It’ll be too late to do anything, but then again, it’s too late now to do anything.

You can’t run. If you try, you’ll get shot again, and maybe this time it will be fatal.

One of the shoes lifts, stepping down on your leg. You scream as pain ripples all the way up to your hip, stopping your movements. Tears slide down your face, dripping down your nose and onto the dirt.

A hand reaches out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look straight again. Fingers dig into your jaw, making you whimper with pain. “I always hate when omegas cry.” The hand releases you as their right hand rears back.

Pain erupts across your cheek, your body being thrown to the side. You fall into the dirt, your ears ringing as the entire left side of your face throbs. You can taste blood, the coppery tang making you want to gag.

“That was for fucking up the cameras and making me do more work.”

You’re forced onto your stomach in the dirt, a knee digging into your back painfully.

“You’re going to go to sleep now.” You can barely make out the words over the ringing in your ears. “When you wake up, you’re going to wish you had never been picked for this initiative in the first place.”

A stinging pain bites into the skin of your neck, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing in your cheek and the burning ache in your leg. Tears continue to slide down your cheeks as you lay there, your vision going blurry as the sedative kicks in. There’s no help coming.

No one even knows you’re out here.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #captain price x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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msgexymunson · 1 year ago

Text

Benefits

Description: Your best friend Eddie starts to look very appealing to you, but if you suggest a dynamic change, will he go for it?

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, AFAB reader, weed smoking, virgin Eddie x virgin reader, grinding, fingering, fem oral receiving.

A/N: I just wanted to write a little goofy, not so confident Eddie and this poured out of my brain hole. Enjoy! Reblogs and comments keep me alive so please for the love of all that is smutty reblog if you enjoy it!

5k words

Masterlist

“All I'm saying is…” you take a big pull of the joint Eddie wiggles at you, his rough fingers brushing your lips. Your voice comes out croaky as hell when you speak, holding the smoke in, “...you can't do the voice.”

The film plays quietly in the background as you both hang out on his couch, paying little attention to it.

Eddie scoffs at you, taking the smoke back, and takes a big lug of it himself, hand coming to rest on your bare ankle that was thrown casually over his lap.

“What you trying to say? You know I can do voices. I could totally do Vader.”

Giggling, you wiggle your feet as he lightly drags his fingers over them.

“Don't do that, you know it tickles!”

Holding his hands up and away from you, you almost miss the contact. Which was insane. This is Eddie, for fucks sake. Your best friend. The asshole who made you nearly piss your pants in seventh grade from tickling too hard, who does stupid shit to get you to smile when you're sad.

Recently though, the little lingering touches he gives you make your toes curl. Those glances that last a little too long for best friends, the drag of his hand on your back when you move through a crowd. It was crazy, but a part of you couldn't help but think he was feeling the same way. It wasn't like you were in love with the guy, at least not like that. He was almost family. Which made the feelings that you were having sinful in a way that made your thighs clench.

The flirting didn't help. Eddie flirted as naturally as breathing. He was just so goddamn charming; he had chemistry with everyone. Which made it even more awkward. What if your salacious thoughts weren't reciprocated? Maybe it was just your raging hormones and you needed to keep them in check before you lose your best friend.

“You're wrong you know.”

Eddie's words bring you out of the daze you've been falling into; you blink at him, confused.

“Huh?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and flashes you a smirk that does nothing to quench the fire inside, right when his large hands move to your waist and tickle you relentlessly. You're gasping giggles as he pins your hands over your head, full weight pressing into you. Somehow, he's got his narrow hips in between your thighs, which is definitely not helping the situation.

“I can totally do the voice, see?” He drops it two octaves, letting a deep bass voice flow out of him, “Luke, I am your father.”

Fuck, that shouldn't turn you on, but it did. That, and his forced proximity has you feeling uncomfortably wet. It's embarrassingly seeping into your panties; so much so that you cringe at your body's betrayal.

He's just so damn close. So close, that you see something fluttering behind those brandy wine eyes of his. Or, was it merely your imagination?

Only one way to find out.

Biting your lip, you flutter your eyelashes softly and speak in the sexiest voice you can.

“Does that mean I should call you Daddy?”

Eddie's mouth drops open in a perfect O, eyebrows knitted.

“You can't- you just- fuck!”

He clambers off of you in an attempt to put some space between you, crossing his legs on the couch. Eddie looks flustered, cheeks burning red as he looks at you like you just grew an extra head.

“I can't what, Eddie? Can't tease you like you tease me?”

“Huh? I don't tease you! When did I-”

“Oh, pinning me down don't count, huh?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watch as he blows air out, grabbing a cushion and ramming it in his lap.

“I didn't mean it like that, it's just, I dunno.”

Looking down at his hands, he fiddles with his rings. The sheepishness he's showing is adorable, and so unlike him that it stops you in your tracks. Maybe you should just go easy on him, just a little.

“Don't worry about it Eds, I'm just fucking around.”

There's a bit of tension released from his shoulders, but he's still not looking at you.

Fuck, you need another smoke.

“You want me to roll?”

“Hell no, I've seen you roll.”

Scrunching your nose in fake anger, he laughs at you.

“Look like a little chipmunk when you do that.”

“All I hear is that you think I'm adorable.” You giggle as he mockingly rolls his eyes.

“OK, you roll, I'll grab some sodas.”

Getting up, you smooth your skirt down and walk over to the fridge. The cans are on the lower shelf, so you bend to grab two, making a mental note to tell Eddie to buy some more.

When you look back, Eddie's slid to the floor, rolling paraphernalia spread out in front of him. It would be a normal scene, if he didn't still have the cushion wedged in his lap and his face wasn't glowing redder than your underwear.

Underwear… underwear that he might have seen, since you just bent over. And the only reason why he'd keep that cushion in his lap is if he…

Oh.

Wordlessly, you put the soda next to his elbow and scoot up on the couch, entirely unsure about what you're supposed to do in a situation like this. The furthest you've ever gone is some over the clothes stuff.

Plus, this is Eddie. Your stupid, asshole, mean, tormenting, breathtakingly gorgeous best friend. You curse, wriggling a little in your seat. Your panties are so damp they're practically glued to your privates, a heat emanating from you that's making your insides burn.

“Milady.”

Eddie holds the joint to you, perfectly rolled and more surprisingly, unlit.

“Eddie, you always take the first toke. Rollers rights, remember?”

He shrugs and passes it anyway, giving you the lighter too, as he lifts himself onto the couch with both hands, letting his cushion shield drop briefly. Long enough to see the tightness in the crotch of his pants.

Now the feel of your slick is dampening your thighs. Pushing them together as tight as you can, willing the feeling to dissipate, you light it with trembling hands. One puff, two puffs, pass. As his fingers graze yours, he looks at you appraisingly.

“You alright there sweetheart? Not comfy?”

Nothings gonna happen if you just sit here and whine like a bitch in your head. Take the leap.

“It's a little, er, embarrassing.”

Knees squeezing together so hard it's bordering on painful, you look up at him through your lashes. Eddie's eyes are wide and warm, a light smile wrinkling them at the corners softly.

“It's only me, come on. You can tell me anything.”

Huffing and wriggling some more, you watch him inhale smoke, and blow it out, a slight pout to his mouth that makes you want to pepper it with soft kisses. Then hard kisses. Then, other stuff. Fuck.

“It's not- we don't, talk about this kinda stuff. I don't wanna… cross a line, you know?”

“Hey, it's alright.” His thick fingers shakily touch your knee, thumb rubbing back and forth. You're not sure if it calms you or makes you worse. It could be both.

“Fine. Just, don't look at me when I tell you this, ‘kay?”

There's a little laugh from him, then he rests his head on the back of the couch, eyes staring resolutely to the ceiling.

“Alright weirdo I'm not looking. Shoot.”

Tightening your knuckles, your face creases with the effort as you let fly the words that may well end your friendship.

“I'm uncomfortable, I'm just- fuck, I'm really wet, OK?”

Of all the things you could say, you know Eddie was not expecting you to say that. Especially when he blushes profusely and his grip tightens hard on the cushion in his lap. True to his word, his gaze is directed firmly on the ceiling.

“That's really-” His voice is broken; squeaky and boyish. He coughs and it comes out much lower, almost comically so. “That's, er, interesting.”

You can't help it. A crazy laugh shoots out of your throat. An insane laugh. A mental institution laugh. It seems fitting for the situation. Here you are, on Eddie fucking Munson’s couch, telling him how wet you are? You've finally lost it.

He laughs with you, helping to diffuse some of the awkward energy filling the room.

“Sorry Eddie. It just feels a bit, surreal, you know?”

Eddie risks a look at you when he hands the joint back. You both stare at each other, each wishing to read the other's mind.

Remember who you're talking to. This is Eddie. You can talk to him about anything.

“Listen, Eddie, this is way out of fucking left field but I'm gonna say it. Have you like, done stuff, before?”

Taking the biggest inhale you can risk without swallowing the roach, you pass the smoke back. There's a very slight shake to Eddie's hand. For some reason it gives you a bit more confidence. His voice wobbles more dramatically than you've ever heard.

“You mean like, sexual, stuff?”

He finishes the smoke and stubs it out, glancing at you. There's a heat in his eyes that you're not used to seeing.

“Y-yeah, I mean, honest truth? I've only done over the clothes stuff. Nothing more than that. And you?”

Eddie coughs, puffing his chest out a little in full man-mode.

“I mean, yeah sure, a bit more than that, you know.”

You do know. You know by the way he worded that, he's at least not gotten past third base.

“You're a virgin too then.”

“Hey!” He huffs, turning to you, “I'm like, way less of a virgin than you are!”

You laugh loudly, knocking his arm with your fist.

“Doesn't make you less of a virgin, you idiot.”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Suppose you're right. Some hook-ups ‘round the back of The Hideout don't count for much.”

Reaching for his hand, you brush his knuckles with tentative fingers.

“Eddie, what I'm trying to say is, well maybe- we could help each other out? I'm a bit… frustrated, and so are you. You know?”

He squirms a little, recoiling from your touch.

“What makes you think I'm frustrated?”

“Eddie, I'm not a fucking idiot. I know why you're grabbing that cushion.”

He laughs, his special fake laugh he reserves for awkward occasions. That is, until you grab the cushion from his lap and throw it across the room.

He's hard, almost painfully so. It's pressing against his zipper in such a way that you know it must be uncomfortable. You take in a harsh breath as you look at his face. So many emotions seem to be fighting for dominance. Clear arousal, some confusion, a little bit of pity, maybe? Which is the last thing you want to see.

Maybe you were wrong.

“I'm saying that we can help each other. I'm attracted to you. I'm not declaring my love for you or anything. It's not like, some crazy confession. I'm just saying we could… relieve each other.”

“Oh.” His whole demeanour has shifted at your words, “so you don't like, love me, or anything?”

“Eddie, you are so fucking stupid. Of course I love you, you're my best friend. Just not like that. I mean, I kinda want you to… touch me places, don't mean I want your hand in marriage!”

His chuckle rings against the tinny walls of the trailer. Then, he looks at you, really looks at you. Biting his lip, he walks his hands toward you, stopping just shy of your constricted knees.

“Glad you said that. I didn't know how to say that I kinda… well, that I like you, that way, but not like… man, you said it better.”

And just like that, your Eddie was back. It wasn't weird, far from it. After the way you'd been acting around each other for years, it just made sense.

You both smile at each other. A genuine, familiar smile. One that hurts your cheeks, that makes your chest fill with warmth.

“I know this is like, super weird, but it might help, you know?”

Eddie crawls further towards you, palms splayed on your knees. The simple touch has you quivering.

“What if it's too weird? I don't want this to ruin our friendship.”

You smile softly, and unclench your thighs slightly, knees spreading. Enough to make his eyes dart down to your core and back up, laced with want.

“Tell you what Eds. Kiss me.”

“And how is that gonna help?”

You laugh, beckoning him forwards. As if on a string, he leans toward you, his rough hands grazing the tops of your thighs. You try to disguise the gasp it elicits from you, but it doesn't seem necessary. Eddie's breathing hard, hard enough to hide any impromptu noises from you.

“Just kiss me Eddie. If it's weird and gross, we'll laugh about it. If it's, erm, better than that… well, then we can maybe take it a little further.”

Eddie leans in more, hovering over you as your head rests naturally into the armrest. But he stops, inches from your face, hesitating.

“I don't- shit, I don't know what to do!”

Laughing loud, you reach out and twirl a section of his hair in your soft hands, adding definition to a curl.

“Just, use a move on me. You know? Like I'm one of those girls at The Hideout. Come on.”

He laughs, knuckles dragging over your cheek.

“That's… this isn't the same. You're not like that ”

“Fine, just- come on to me. Hit me with your best shot. Just, I dunno, just-”

The rest of your sentence dies on your tongue as he cradles your jaw and presses his full lips softly to yours. You don't know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. He holds your face almost delicately, tongue lapping gently at your lip until you allow him to slip it inside.

It's a slow, deliberate thing, as if he's mapping out your mouth in case you never agree to do this again. Not that that's a danger to you. His tongue is burning hot; a slippery warm need, igniting the fire that was already smouldering within you.

His form relaxes slightly, allowing his weight to drop. His chest falls onto yours, no doubt telling him of the heaving gasps you're taking. You couldn't find it in you to mind, not whilst he's prising your legs open with one knee, his thigh pressing against just where you need it most.

A moan races out of your mouth and into his, muffled into his chasing tongue. The warmth between your legs is just getting worse, stoked by the pressure of his searching knee. Suddenly there's tension exactly where you need it, the coarse denim of his thigh rubbing hard against your throbbing nub.

“Eddie, fuck!”

He smiles into your mouth as he pushes his leg harder, groans overtaking his mouth as you use it to chase your pleasure.

His perfect mouth traces down your jaw, nipping and sucking at your flesh. His thick tongue lathing over your taut muscles, your tiny fingers grasping onto his arms almost pathetically.

When he breaks away to look at you, eyes searching for doubts, you can't help but think how beautiful he looks. His hair's a little messier than usual, cheeks flushed pink, and those full lips look even plumper than before.

“Sorry, should have checked in. Was that, alright? Not too weird?”

You try to slow your breathing, but it's no use. It usually takes you a while to get there on your own, but you were so close to coming on Eddie's leg after a couple of minutes of making out it was almost shameful.

“I'll say, jeez. I nearly- er, got carried away.”

“Really?” Eddie's eyes seem to brighten as the corners of his mouth twitch up into a cheeky grin.

“Don't let that get to your head! I'm just really… needy right now.”

“Fuck,” he replies, adjusting his bulge, “right, carried away, you say?”

Before you can process what he's said he leaps up, grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder. Your giggling squeals echo through the trailer, ringing out like the peals of a bell as he barges into his room and throws you on the bed. Laughing and red faced, with your skirt rucked up around your hips and your arms flung above your head, you notice Eddie's gaze shamelessly skimming to your panties.

Shaking out of his bare faced revelry he jumps onto the bed next to you, eager as a kid at Christmas. He's on his side, a large hand roaming over your stomach, across your waist, down to your hips and skimming just under your thin sweater.

“You want me to take this off?” You ask, tugging at the hem.

“Oh, er- yeah, I-I mean if you- do you want to take it off?”

Eddie bumbles through his words as you giggle at him, his usual confident demeanour evaporated at the thought of your body.

“Eddie you dingus, you've literally seen me in my underwear before!”

“Well, yeah… but that was before you, er, filled out.”

It was a long time ago. A hot Summer spent running around the trailer park hitting each other with water balloons. You'd almost forgotten how far back it was.

“You don't have to be scared of my boobs ya know.”

Eddie scoffs, hitting you playfully with a flick of his finger on the tip of your nose. You grab it, trying to bite it but he's pulling it away and you follow. It turns into yet another wrestling match as laughter rings from the pair of you. He tries to hold his hand up high but then you straddle him.

Suddenly, his arm goes limp and you pull the offending digit into your mouth triumphantly, nibbling softly. It's then you realise you're straddling his stomach and he's completely lost, staring at the way your skirt is wrinkled.

Play fight discarded, you shimmy down his body and revel in the little shaking breath Eddie makes as you sit gently on his crotch, the hardened bulge pressing into your clothed heat.

“Fuck, you're so warm.”

You blush as his fingers dig into your hips as if afraid you'll disappear.

“You can feel that, through your jeans?”

He chuckles low in his throat and the sound travels straight to your tummy, letting loose a cascade of butterflies.

“Feel it? It's like a freaking furnace. Bet it'll feel amazing inside you.”

It's just Eddie, running his mouth; in fact it seems he didn't mean to say that out loud judging by the look on his face. He always has an issue separating outside thoughts and inside thoughts. It was so casually spoken though, you don't think he realised just how dirty it sounded.

Your fingers smooth up his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under the contact, pulling his shirt up with them.

“Really hot when you say stuff like that.”

You're embarrassed admitting it, but you're so turned on that he needs to know how much his words affect you. Mostly so he'll keep using them.

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

You're dragging nails over his abdomen, tugging his t-shirt higher and higher. He doesn't seem to mind, firm hands pulling your hips slowly back and forth. So you take a shot, and yank it up high. He gets the message, lifting his arms over his head so you can fling it off and away.

There's no subtlety to the way he pulls at your top, sitting up to wrench it off you. He's panting, eyes raking over your red cotton bra as if you were in the finest lingerie. Then your lips crash together, desperately exploring each other's mouths, teeth clashing in urgency. You collapse on top of him as he holds your hip with one hand, guiding you over his hardness as the other palms your breast over your bra.

That feeling is back, the burning tingling mass of arousal clutching your insides, growing and growing quicker than ever. You rut against him, each pass sending a zip of sensation all the way from your clit to the tips of your toes.

Moaning in his mouth, you break away and he nips at your neck, rough fingers snaking into your bra to clumsily rub your nipple. You cling to his waist tightly as the feeling mounts, and mounts, and finally-

“Eddie! Oh- oh fuckin’ hell!”

It happens. The thing that had never happened to you outside of your own late night desperate fumblings. It flows like liquid fire through your veins, buzzing across your skin in a wild burning sensation that takes you utterly by surprise. Your sounds are feral; incoherent and needy, as your thighs grasp him firmly as if in fear of him moving away.

After a loaded silence, whilst you both breathe, and breathe, you finally unclasp your legs around him, falling to the side in an ungainly heap of arms and legs.

“Well. Holy fucking shit.” you laugh nervously, legs shaking with the after effects.

“So, not too weird?” He smiles, taking the opportunity to get on top of you, arms either side of your head.

“It's a little weird. Only ever, you know, came, on my own, so yeah.”

“Yeah?” The cocky look is back, a hand trailing down your shoulder to rest on your breast.

“Can I take this off, please?”

You smile and lift your back up so he can slide his hand behind you, fumbling around to try and get the clasp, swearing under his breath.

“I don't know, can you?” You question, stifling giggles.

“You could just help me, you know, you-you devil woman- Oh wait I did it!”

The clasp springs free and Eddie's proud smile nearly splits his face apart as he eagerly pulls down the straps.

“You're such a goofball.”

“You've got amazing tits, Jesus Christ.”

Heat flushes your chest and before you can retort he's kneeling between your legs, hot mouth sucking roughly on a nipple. Words fail you, your body the only thing talking as you arch your back and push toward his greedy lips. Letting go with a loud pop, he sucks a hickey right in the middle of your sternum, running his thumb over the wet mark after.

“I wanna go down on you.” He blurts it out, spill words tugging out of his lips before he can stop them.

“You wanna what?” You respond, dazed as he looks up at you, eyes full of fire.

“I wanna use my mouth on you. Down here.”

He drags his fingers low, pressing one just to the top of your mound.

“You really want to?” As far as you're aware, that's not a thing guys tend to want to do. At least that's what you've heard. Eddie seems to be an exception.

“More than anything.” He's brutally honest, eyes wide and begging.

“I mean, if you want to, sure.”

“OK, shit, just wait a sec.”

Getting up so fast it must make his head spin, he unbuttons his jeans and wrestles them down his legs, tossing them away. The tent in his boxers makes your eyes widen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he climbs back on the bed.

“Sorry, just so fuckin’ hard it hurts.”

Nothing can stop the whimper that shoots out of your mouth at his words. Again, he's just being honest, but he doesn't seem to understand how sexy it is.

Moving to unzip your skirt, he bats your hand away to do it himself. Before he pulls it off, he looks at you nervously.

“Just, let me know if you don't like something. Or if you do. I've er, I've not done this before so lower your expectations.” He laughs it out, embarrassment coating each word.

“I thought you had a bunch of hook ups at The Hideout?” You tease, smirking at him.

“Right, full disclosure, I've erm, used my fingers before, a few times. And once- once some girl tried to give me head and I busted in like three seconds, OK?”

He grabs a bunch of his hair and hides behind it while you chuckle.

“Eddie, it's fine, I'm glad you told me. It's just me. I'm not gonna judge you, you know that.”

“Yeah, of course.” The breath he lets out is loud, tension melting from his body, and he bends to pull your skirt down and off. Your panties are next; they cling to your core so much it makes you cringe, but he doesn't seem to mind.

“Can you, spread your legs a little sweetheart?” His voice is husky, eyes staring straight at your pussy. Feeling exposed, you do as he asks, fighting the urge to pull away from his gaze.

“Look at you. Beautiful.”

Smiling at his words, it turns into an open mouthed gasp as he strokes his fingers softly through your folds.

“Fuck me, you're soaked.”

Then his tongue is slipping across you, feeling tentatively as he keeps your legs wide with his rough palms. It's different; wet and messy, but it's incredible. The pleasure increases tenfold as his wandering mouth finds your clit.

“Eddie, right there, right there!”

He groans, pushing his face into you so hard you can feel the vibrations from the noise. He's moving his tongue up and around it, making an absolute mess of spit and slick over you. Suddenly he tries sucking and your back leaves the bed, hands coming to clutch at his hair.

“Oh my God, do that again, please please, oh fuck!”

He does it again, and again, smoothing each suckle with a flat lick from his tongue. Fingers graze your hole suddenly, making you jump. As you look down you see Eddie's entirely consumed by what he's doing, rutting himself into the mattress like an animal. One finger breaches you, feeling around, pumping slowly in and out. It's good, but it's not great.

You feel ashamed even trying to guide him but you attempt to shake it off.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He looks up, an almost dazed expression in his eyes.

“Can you- can you curl your finger upward?”

“Like this?”

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips rucking up to his touch.

“Fuuuck.”

“Yeah? That good, sweetheart?”

That smugness is back but it isn't in you to care. There's no words, just little whimpers and moans as you grab him by the hair and push his mouth back where you need it.

When he adds another finger, you're gone. Your walls are clenching around him, sucking him in as the feeling of his thick digits stretching you fills your entire being. Dots dance in your vision as your whole body feels fuzzy, tingles whispering over your skin. You cry out as the feeling escalates, bubbling through you until you can't see, can't think, clawing at Eddie's head until you reach an impossible precipice. Then, it explodes, showering you in waves, over and over.

“Oh my God that was amazing, fuck Eddie, you're incredible, I never came that hard in all my life, Jesus Christ!”

You're babbling, you know, bubbles of platitudes popping out of your mouth in almost nonsensical sounds as your legs twitch like crazy.

Eddie scoots up a little, face pressed into the plush of your stomach. He mumbles something incomprehensible. Leaning up on your elbows, you pull his hair a little making him look at you.

“You alright there? What'd you say?”

Eddie laughs, kissing your tummy, face flushed pink.

“I said I fuckin’ came in my pants.”

Then he hides again, as if your skin can cover his embarrassment.

“Eddie, come here you dope.”

He climbs up you, leaning on quivering arms. The front of his boxers pushes on your sticky core.

“Don't worry about it, that's kinda hot.”

“Yeah? You're hot. That was, wow. I think I found my favourite place.”

You giggle, pressing kisses to his lips. There's still traces of you on him but you don't care.

“Can you tell me what you said again?” He asks, grin fighting to envelop his whole face.

“Huh?”

“You know, how I'm the most incredible lover in existence.” Waggling his eyebrows at you, he strokes a wayward hair off of your sweaty forehead.

“I did not say that!”

“I'm paraphrasing, it was pretty close.”

You hit him on the chest playfully and he falls to the side in a terrible act of mock pain. Crawling on top of him, you continue to smack him, fake punches thrown at his ribs.

“OK, you win, I cannot best you!”

Grabbing your hand, he kisses your knuckles and you melt against him, pressing soft kisses to his mouth. They turn harder, tongues massaging each other as he runs his hands down your back.

You break away to plant a single kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Maybe in a bit, you know, when you've… recovered…”

Dragging your nails down his lean chest you look up at him, biting your lip.

“We can… go all the way?”

Eddie's face lights up. He grabs you and flings you down so he's on top, kissing your neck and jaw sloppily as you squeal at the sudden onslaught.

“Yes, fuck yes, gimme like two minutes, five tops.”

Taglist (if you want to be added please send me a PM so I don't lose the request, thank you)

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #virgin!eddie #virgin eddie x virgin reader #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things fan fiction

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chastiefoul · 1 year ago

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when he says "please."

ft. genshin characters

characters: neuvilette, wriothesley, diluc, xiao genre: fluff and a smidge of angst in diluc's. just a little one i promise!! a/n: will be making more from this prompt any character request perhaps??

neuvilette

he pulled you close, eager to be pressed against you after having to be away from you for hours because of work. you smiled at the proximity, the longing was in fact mutual. he eyed your lips so attentively; such delight after a hard day of labor, surely you’d grant him that? he leaned it and stopped an inch before your lips met his, his breath tickled your right cheek. “may i?” he whispered, if there’s a time where he’d stop asking permission to steal a kiss, it was not that day. and that fact made your stomach go all crazy. you indulged in his eagerness for a minute, teasing your lover who had the patience as wide as the sea. “...please?” he mumbled, sounding a little desperate. you put your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, pressing a sweet kiss on his lips. “i’m all yours, neuvilette.”

wriothesley

“should i remind you that this is still work hour and i needed to be out of this fortress like an hour ago?” you scolded him, yet it did nothing to the tightness of his grip around your waist as you went to get up from his lap. “baby you honestly had too much faith in me if you think i could resist letting you go when you came in all pretty like this to visit me,” he continued to rest his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes with no worry in the world. “wriothesley.” you sighed, your tone reprimanding. “five more minutes for the special meal from the coupon cafeteria?” he tried. “are you bribing me...?” you asked, fighting a smile that’s dangerously close to invading your lips. “is it working? i could throw something else in there, like three of sigewinne’s rare stickers maybe?” he asked playfully, planting kisses all over your cheek and you couldn’t hold the grin. “cute that you believe she gave the rare stickers to you.” you smiled mischievously, wriothesley’s face immediately understood the unsaid words. “no,” he said at the betrayal. “mhm, she gave me the full limited collection too so your bribe means nothing now,” you said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. he just chuckled, “figures.” you tried once more to get off his lap thinking that you caught him off guard but of course he didn’t budge. “wrio,” you whine. “five more minute. please baby, you can give me that at least, right? i’ll be good i promise.” he pleaded, and you rarely see him do that. you sighed, knowing you’re defeated way before he begged for you to stay. “five minutes it is.”

you end up staying there the whole day.

diluc

the life of an adventurer kept you busy, going to all sort of places and meet all kinds of creatures and that bounds to give you wounds and injury both physically and mentally. and of course diluc was the one to be concerned over you more than yourself. he never offered any complaints about the path you chose, as he gave you his full support instead. although a little part of his heart sometimes slipped away after seeing you home with another cut added to the barely healed skin from the wound before.

on a somewhat quiet night as he knelt in front of you as he tend to the injury on your knee he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “can you try to be more careful?” he pressed the cotton on the wound with alcohol, earning a little hiss from your mouth. “i am being careful, you should see what happens to the other guy.” you smiled, offering a joke but when you didn’t see even an ounce of amusement on your lover’s face you know this time it’s serious. his hand stopped moving, he took a deep breath. “please, love. i can’t.. i don’t know if i can handle more of you falling into my arms out of exhaustion, and you’re barely conscious.” his voice incredibly weak, his eyes glassy as he gazed the floor. your heart felt like it’s being ripped into a new one as you saw him. you pulled him into his chest. “i’m sorry. diluc i’m sorry. i promise i’ll be more careful. no more taking commission until i’m fully healed. i’m sorry, love.” he just nodded, basking in your touch. as long as you come back to him alive and well, it’s all good.

xiao

“here comes a thought,” you said out of nowhere. xiao just hummed, letting you to proceed with the said thought as he’s sure it didn’t even matter what’s his response was. “you’re too demanding, at times,” you boldly claimed, as the sentence left him speechless. demanding? “how so?” he asked quietly, clearly bothered by what you said. “i was kidding. demanding isn’t the right word, it’s just, sometimes i wanna hear you say please, you know?” you reassured his doubt. xiao just stared at you blankly, face clearly telling you that he’s in fact does not know. “alright, that’s not a hard request.” he complied almost immediately. “okay, then say it?” you asked.

“now? but i am not currently asking for anything,” xiao said rationally, and that’s not what you’re looking for. “okay, pretend you’re asking for a kiss,” you said, smiling playfully, “what?!” the yaksha quickly became flustered. you took his hand, and he let you. “i’ll even give you one for real-“

“y/n, please.” he covered his face with his free hand, bashful beyond belief that he begged for you to stop talking because he’s not currently functioning properly. for someone who lived through two thousand years, he’s just not quite immune to your teasing and never will be, it seemed. you smiled happily, “that’s not so hard, was it?” xiao who just looked at you who’s all smiley just couldn’t help but mirror your expression with a little smile of his own.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #xiao x reader #neuvilette x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x reader #diluc x you #diluc x reader #xiao fluff #xiao x you

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stars-obsession-pit · 7 months ago

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The ghost of a past regret

The tome hidden under Damian’s mattress continued to burn in the back of his mind. He knows he shouldn’t have kept it. Magic is dangerous, that of the Infinite Realms especially so. And there was no guarantee the book was even accurate; he’d never given the cultists a chance to make use of its contents.

But a single section from it refused to leave his mind. He couldn’t just throw out the opportunity it offered.

‘Danyal…’

–––

Damian had hated to admit it, but his twin brother could be cannier than him at times. Danyal had caught on to the harm of the League long before he ever had.

And he had tried to get out. To get them both out.

Damn him. Why couldn’t Danyal have been selfish for once in his life…

But Damian had still been caught up in it all. He was the perfect heir. He was loyal. He would not betray his family in the League.

And yet he’d been so quick to betray his brother…

Danyal’s shocked gasp as Damian’s knife slipped between his ribs still echoed in his ears when he awoke from nightmares. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he would swear he could still feel the blood dripping down his hands, and amount of scrubbing ever made the sensation go away.

He was sure Alfred at least had noticed the redness of his hands, but he never pushed for answers. Damian was thankful for that, even as he felt undeserving of the comfort. It had all been his fault.

At the time of the betrayal, Damian had felt little of the emotional weight. He was disappointed in his brother, but he was just doing his duty to the League. It would only be later that it set in, and the regrets continued to eat at him long after his family forbid all discussion of the traitor his twin.

What if he hadn’t fought? Would they have succeeded at escaping? Would they have met their father sooner? Would he still be able to see Danyal’s smile?

It was pointless to wonder. Danyal was gone.

–––

But perhaps not completely.

The siren song of the spellbook continued to call to him. The first thing to ever offer even the faintest glimmer of hope for finding closure.

For it contained a ritual to summon the ghosts of the betrayed.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. Regardless of the book’s accuracy, he’d never done anything like it before and wouldn’t be using the spell for its intended purpose. It was described for use in combat, tearing apart enemies with the specters of the vengeful dead, not for seeking atonement. Was changing the context even possible without entirely restructuring the ritual? He didn’t know.

And it wasn’t like he could ask the magicians of the Justice League Dark for help—even the most unscrupulous among them would still try to dissuade him and likely inform his father.

But how could he not try?

It might be wishful thinking to hope he would ever forgive him. But even if Danyal rejects the apology, it would still be worth it just to see his brother just one more time…

He grit his teeth and clamped his eyes shut as emotions warred against logic inside him. It was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t.

‘Damn it.’

The tome felt impossibly heavy as he pulled it from under the mattress with unsteady hands.

He had a ritual to set up.

#i’ll leave it up to you if Danny actually died there or survived until the portal incident #surviving would put him closer to DP’s canon #but he could still become Amity Park’s ghostly protector and make a new life there either way #demon twins au #bruce wayne is danny’s bio father #betrayal (in the past)#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny phantom x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp prompt #danny and damian are brothers #danny and damian are twins #danyal al ghul au

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hisfavegirl · 1 month ago

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Eternal Flame - Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

Summary : Your love for Aegon is enough to make you a bridge between the differences of your family, you are also a valuable asset that your family has in this peace.

Aegon Masterlist.

You stood silently in front of your mother’s chambers, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. From within, you could hear the familiar sound of raised voices—your mother, Rhaenyra, and your father, Daemon, locked in yet another argument. It wasn’t the first time, and you doubted it would be the last. Their words were muffled by the thick wooden door, but you didn’t need to strain to know what they were fighting about.

The topic was you.

More specifically, your mother’s decision to marry you to Aegon—a decision you had agreed to without hesitation because, despite everything, you and Aegon loved each other. But your father did not see it that way. To him, it was a betrayal, a dangerous political move that tied you to the Hightowers—a family he had no trust or love for.

“Do you not see what you’ve done?” you heard your father’s voice, sharp and accusing. “Marrying her to him binds her to them, to Alicent, to everything that divides us!”

“She loves him,” your mother’s voice countered, firm and resolute. “And he loves her. I will not stand in the way of their happiness because of your hatred, Daemon.”

There was a pause, heavy and tense, and then your father’s voice cut through again, quieter but no less furious. “It is not hatred—it is survival. Do you think love will matter when war comes? When the Hightowers seek to take everything from us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at his words. You knew your father’s concerns were not without merit. The tension between your family and the Hightowers had long before you're born. But your love for Aegon wasn’t about politics, about alliances or power plays. It was real, and it was yours.

Gathering your courage, you raised your hand and knocked on the door. The voices inside immediately went silent, and a moment later, your mother called out, “Come in.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. Both your parents turned to look at you, their expressions tense and conflicted.

“I can hear you from the hallway,” you said softly, meeting their gazes. “And I know what you’re arguing about.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened, guilt flickering in her eyes. “My love, I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly. “You don’t need to apologize. I know why Father is angry, and I understand his reasons. But this is my choice. I love Aegon, and he loves me. That should be enough.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Love is a fleeting thing, daughter. It cannot protect you from what is to come.”

“And neither can fear,” you replied, your voice steady. “I am not afraid of loving him, just as I am not afraid of standing by my family. I am a Targaryen, and I will not be divided by anyone.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Rhaenyra stepped forward and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You are stronger than I ever was,” she said quietly, her voice filled with pride.

Daemon said nothing, but the flicker of approval in his gaze was enough. You knew he would never stop worrying, never stop protecting you in his own way. But for now, at least, the storm had passed.

You strolled through the garden, the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of blooming flowers surrounding you. The tranquility of the moment was soothing, a brief escape from the weight of palace life. Yet, as you rounded a corner, the sound of familiar laughter reached your ears—a voice you knew better than your own.

Aegon.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned your head toward the source of the sound. There he was, leaning casually against a tree, his silver hair catching the sunlight like molten silver. He looked at ease, a rare sight for someone so often burdened by expectation and excess.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, lost in conversation with a servant or perhaps just musing aloud. But when his eyes finally met yours, his expression softened, a genuine smile curving his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you like a gentle flame. Despite everything—the politics, the whispers, the shadows that lingered over your family—he had always had this effect on you. He made the world feel smaller, simpler, as though nothing else mattered when he was near.

“Aegon,” you called softly, stepping closer.

His smile widened as he straightened, his arms opening slightly in an unspoken invitation. “Wandering the gardens alone, my love? Were you looking for me, or have I just been blessed with your presence by chance?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

Aegon chuckled, the sound rich and full of life. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, and his gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

“In a garden full of beauty, you are still the most captivating thing here,” he murmured, his tone teasing yet sincere.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics but couldn’t suppress the blush that crept to your cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his grin mischievous.

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by the vibrant colors of the garden, the world seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden hues over the garden as you and Aegon shared quiet laughter. His jokes, though often ridiculous, always had a way of lightening your heart. It was moments like these—free from the weight of duty and expectation—that you cherished the most.

Now, the two of you sat beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, the soft grass cushioning your seat. Aegon had decided, in his typical fashion, to make himself comfortable by resting his head in your lap. His silver hair spilled across your dress like threads of moonlight, and he looked up at you with a lazy grin.

“You spoil me, you know,” he said, his voice light with amusement.

“And how exactly do I do that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow but smiling down at him.

“By letting me lie here,” he teased, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the moment. “By laughing at my jokes, even when they’re terrible. By not scolding me when I steal too many sweets from the kitchens.”

You laughed, gently brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re impossible, Aegon.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, opening one eye to look at you.

You didn’t answer right away, instead letting your fingers trace absentmindedly through his hair. The truth of his words was unspoken but undeniable. Despite everything—the chaos, the complications—you loved him deeply.

“You’re right,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he reached up to take your free hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I know I don’t deserve it,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, more serious. “But I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability, and you squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t have to be perfect, Aegon. You just have to be you.”

He closed his eyes again, a content sigh escaping him as he relaxed into your touch. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you beneath the tree, wrapped in a moment of peace and love that felt as though it could last forever.

Your fingers continued to glide through Aegon’s silver hair, occasionally brushing against his cheek. His soft, relaxed expression made you smile—a rare sight from someone so often burdened by the expectations of his title and lineage.

He was calm, even content, as his head rested on your lap. You felt a sense of peace that you had been longing for amidst the chaos of your family’s complicated world. But that peace was shattered when you heard voices nearby.

You turned your head, your heart sinking as you recognized the approaching figures—your mother, Rhaenyra, and Aegon’s mother, Alicent. The two mother walked side by side, their expressions calm but tense. It was clear from their determined strides and hushed conversation that they were coming with a purpose.

Aegon, noticing your distraction, opened his eyes and followed your gaze. His relaxed demeanor shifted slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he muttered, “And here come the dragons.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, though you quickly composed yourself as they approached. When they reached you, Alicent’s gaze flickered between you and Aegon, her expression disapproving but restrained. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, softened slightly when her eyes landed on you, though there was a firmness in her stance that told you this was no casual visit.

“Aegon,” Alicent said, her tone sharp but quiet, “is this how you choose to spend your time? Lounging in the gardens while matters of your marriage remain unresolved?”

Aegon sighed, sitting up but remaining close to you. “Mother,” he replied lazily, “can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace with his wife-to-be?”

“A moment, perhaps,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone gentler than Alicent’s but no less serious. “But there are matters that must be addressed. The wedding is fast approaching, and there are arrangements to finalize.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Aegon, who rolled his eyes slightly before standing and helping you to your feet. “Very well,” he said, brushing off his tunic. “Let’s discuss this ‘urgent matter’ of a wedding that we’re already committed to.”

Alicent’s lips thinned, clearly unimpressed with his attitude, while Rhaenyra gave you a small, reassuring smile. You felt torn between the two women—your mother’s quiet encouragement and Alicent’s intense scrutiny—but you nodded and stepped forward.

“Shall we sit and discuss everything here in the garden?” you suggested, hoping to keep the conversation calm.

Rhaenyra nodded, gesturing for everyone to settle under the shade of the tree. As Aegon plopped back down beside you, his hand finding yours, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anxiety. The two most formidable women in your life were about to negotiate the details of your future—a future you hoped would bring peace, not more division.

The four of you sat at the far end of the garden under the shade of a large tree. The servants moved swiftly and quietly, setting down trays of small pastries, fruits, steaming tea, and wine. The atmosphere was pleasant enough, though there was a certain tension lingering in the air.

Alicent was the first to speak, her voice steady and deliberate. “The gown,” she began, glancing at you briefly before shifting her gaze to Rhaenyra. “It must be fitting of her station. The finest Myrish silk, perhaps trimmed with gold or silver. Something elegant, yet modest.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at the word “modest,” a faint smile tugging at her lips. “My daughter will shine on her wedding day,” she replied calmly. “Aegon deserves nothing less than a bride befitting a queen. If silver and gold are what you wish, then so be it. But I will ensure the gown captures her strength as well as her beauty.”

Aegon, lounging casually beside you, took a sip of his wine and murmured, “I think she looks perfect in anything.”

The comment made you smile, though Alicent shot him a quick, disapproving glance. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, seemed faintly amused.

“The gown can be decided later,” Rhaenyra said, waving her hand slightly. “Let us discuss the ceremony. I suggest the Great Sept—though I imagine you, Alicent, may have a different opinion.”

Alicent’s posture stiffened slightly, but she kept her tone measured. “The Great Sept is a fine choice, but the royal wedding of my son and your daughter must also honor the traditions of the Faith. The ceremony should reflect the values of both our houses.”

Aegon sighed dramatically, setting his goblet down. “The Faith, the dragons, the banners… Must we weigh down our wedding with every tradition imaginable?”

“You speak as though tradition is a burden,” Alicent said sharply, her gaze narrowing. “It is what binds us together as a people, Aegon.”

Rhaenyra interjected smoothly, her tone almost playful. “Perhaps we can find a compromise. A traditional ceremony in the Sept, but with elements that honor House Targaryen’s roots. Fire and blood, as they say.”

Alicent hesitated, clearly uneasy with the idea, but she gave a curt nod. “As long as it does not overshadow the sanctity of the Faith, I will agree.”

The conversation continued, moving from the guest list to the feast and even the matter of who would speak during the ceremony. You sat quietly for much of it, feeling like a spectator at times, though Aegon occasionally squeezed your hand under the table, a silent reassurance that you were in this together.

Despite the occasional clash of opinions, both Alicent and Rhaenyra seemed determined to ensure the wedding went smoothly. Their mutual efforts, however reluctant, gave you a glimmer of hope that this union might bring some measure of peace to your fractured family.

Aegon let out a low growl of frustration, setting his goblet down with a sharp clink against the table. His usually laid-back demeanor shifted as he straightened in his seat, his expression a mix of defiance and determination.

“If we are to discuss the ceremony yet again,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of irritation, “then let me make one thing clear: I want our wedding to honor our heritage—Old Valyria. That is our blood, our legacy, and I won’t have it drowned in customs that mean little to us.”

The air grew tense, and Alicent’s eyes widened slightly as she regarded her son. “Aegon,” she began, her tone cautious but firm, “the traditions of Old Valyria are… not aligned with the Faith. Such a ceremony could be seen as—”

“Blasphemy?” Aegon interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “We are Targaryens, Mother. Our house was forged in fire and blood long before we ever set foot in Westeros. Why should we not honor that?”

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a faint smile, clearly intrigued by Aegon’s rare display of conviction. “I agree with Aegon,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “A union of fire and blood—a traditional Valyrian ceremony—would be fitting for our houses, wouldn’t you say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s hands tightened around her goblet, her lips pressing into a thin line. “The people of the realm will not understand such a ceremony,” she said carefully. “It will sow doubt and unease among those who already question the Targaryen legacy.”

“The people will understand what I tell them to understand,” Aegon retorted, his tone sharp. “I am their prince, am I not?”

You glanced at him, surprised by his sudden assertiveness, but there was a fire in his eyes that you rarely saw. He turned to you then, his expression softening.

“What do you think, my love?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “This is your wedding too. Would you stand with me beneath the fire of our ancestors, as it was always meant to be?”

All eyes turned to you, the weight of the decision suddenly resting on your shoulders. You hesitated, glancing between your mother and Alicent. Rhaenyra’s gaze was steady, encouraging, while Alicent’s held a flicker of concern.

Finally, you looked back at Aegon and nodded. “Yes,” you said softly but firmly. “A Valyrian ceremony. It feels… right.”

Aegon’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile, and he reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Then it’s decided,” he said, looking back at the two mothers. “Our wedding will honor the blood of the dragon.”

Alicent sighed deeply, clearly displeased but knowing she would not win this argument. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, looked almost triumphant, a glint of pride in her eyes as she raised her goblet.

“To fire and blood,” she said, her voice ringing with finality.

Alicent took a deep breath, her face calm but resolute as she placed her goblet gently on the table. “If this is how it must be,” she began, her voice even, though there was an edge of determination, “then I propose a compromise. You will have your Valyrian ceremony, Aegon. But there will also be a traditional ceremony under the Faith of the Seven. Two ceremonies, as a symbol of unity—between the past and the present, between our heritage and the realm.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening at the suggestion. “Two ceremonies?” he repeated, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Why should we need to cater to the Faith when this is our wedding?”

“It is not just your wedding, Aegon,” Alicent countered sharply, her gaze unwavering. “You are the Prince. This union is as much about the realm as it is about the two of you. The lords and people will look to this wedding as a reflection of the crown commitment to the Faith.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the exchange. “Aegon is right, Alicent,” she said smoothly, the title slipping from her lips with faint sarcasm. “This is their day. Why weigh it down with obligations to the Faith?”

Alicent’s gaze flicked to Rhaenyra, her calm demeanor barely concealing her irritation. “Because the Faith holds great power in this realm, Rhaenyra. Alienating them by favoring Valyrian customs alone would be foolish.”

Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache. Then he turned to you, his expression softening. “What do you think?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “Do you truly want two ceremonies?”

You hesitated, glancing between your husband-to-be, your mother, and Alicent. The weight of expectation pressed down on you, but you knew your decision could shape not just your wedding day but the fragile peace between these two powerful women.

“I think…” you began carefully, your voice steady but thoughtful. “If having two ceremonies will ease the tensions and unite both sides, then so be it. We can honor both our Valyrian heritage and the Faith of the Seven.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, a trace of disappointment crossing his face, but he said nothing. Rhaenyra’s expression grew thoughtful, her lips pressing together in a thin line, while Alicent gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Then it is settled,” Alicent said firmly. “The first ceremony will take place under the Faith of the Seven, in the Great Sept. The second will be the Valyrian ceremony you both desire. A compromise.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “A compromise,” he repeated with a hint of sarcasm. He turned to you, his lips curving into a faint smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’ll endure it.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently. Though the path ahead seemed complicated, you knew that with Aegon by your side, you could face whatever challenges came your way.

The discussion about your wedding had finally come to an end, though traces of tension still lingered in the air. You stood, smoothing your dress as you exchanged a final glance with Aegon, his reassuring smile giving you a small sense of comfort. Your mother gestured for you to follow her, and together, you began walking toward her private solar.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, save for the soft echo of your footsteps. Rhaenyra glanced at you occasionally, her expression thoughtful. She finally broke the silence as you neared the solar.

“You handled yourself well back there,” she said, her tone both proud and encouraging. “Navigating between Alicent and Aegon is no small feat. You showed strength and wisdom.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you replied, though a part of you felt the weight of the decisions that had been made.

When you entered her solar, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminated the familiar space. Your father, Daemon, was seated near the hearth, his ever-present smirk hinting at his mood. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, were standing nearby, their postures casual yet attentive.

Daemon’s sharp eyes flicked to you as you entered. “So,” he began, his voice low and edged with curiosity, “has the Queen finally finished her sermon about the Faith?”

“Father,” Jace murmured with a faint laugh, though his expression was still serious.

Rhaenyra shot her husband a warning look before addressing him. “The matter has been resolved. There will be two ceremonies—one for the Faith, and one for Old Valyria.”

Daemon’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Two ceremonies? How… diplomatic of you.” His gaze shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “And what do you think of all this, daughter?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I think it’s the best way to honor both our traditions and keep the peace.”

Daemon’s expression darkened slightly, but he nodded. “Aegon is lucky you are the one keeping the peace for him. Without you, he’d likely stumble his way into chaos.”

Jace stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Do you trust him?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Aegon, I mean.”

You looked at your brother, sensing his worry. “I do,” you said firmly, though the question lingered in your mind. “He has flaws, but I believe we understand each other.”

Luke grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s hope he doesn’t drink too much before either ceremony.”

Daemon chuckled at that, but Rhaenyra silenced him with a sharp look. “Enough,” she said firmly. “This is an important moment for our house. We must remain united.”

Her words carried weight, and you nodded, feeling a sense of purpose despite the challenges ahead. With your family’s support, you felt ready to face whatever lay before you.

The conversation shifted, the clinking of silverware and soft murmurs of your family creating a quiet hum in the room. Your mother’s gaze, which had often flickered to your younger brother, now settled on you, her expression contemplative. For a moment, she said nothing, merely observing you with an unreadable look.

Then, breaking the silence, Rhaenyra’s voice was soft but clear. “You know, after your wedding… I think you will be the one to carry on our house’s legacy,” she said, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. “Perhaps soon, you’ll give me a grandchild.”

Her words were gentle but direct, and they landed on you like a heavy weight. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, the thought of children so soon after marriage feeling overwhelming, yet somehow inevitable. The idea of becoming a mother was something you had imagined, but now that it was spoken aloud, it felt like the future was suddenly pressing in on you.

You flushed, unable to form an immediate response, unsure of how to handle the sudden shift in the conversation. Your mind raced with the thought of what marriage and the responsibility it would bring meant for you, for Aegon, and for your family.

But before you could gather your thoughts, the sound of Daemon’s voice cut through the moment. He had been sipping his wine, but the mention of grandchildren clearly took him by surprise. He sputtered slightly, quickly coughing and sitting up straighter in his chair, trying to regain composure. “Seven hells, Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and mild horror, “I do not want my daughter to be… used for such purposes so soon.”

His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the earlier conversation. Rhaenyra’s expression softened slightly, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, as if she had expected such a reaction.

“You misunderstand, Daemon,” she said with a smile, but her voice was firm. “It’s natural, of course. Aegon will take care of her as his wife, and they will fulfill their duties. A grandchild would be a blessing, not something to fear.”

Daemon gave a dismissive grunt but did not argue further, though his disapproval was evident. His intense gaze shifted back to you, and there was a rare softness in his eyes. “Just… be careful, daughter,” he muttered, his voice a little more gravelly now. “Marriage is not all it seems. The world does not turn easily for women.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of both your parents’ concerns. Your mother’s desire for grandchildren and your father’s protective instincts blended into something that left you feeling uncertain about your own desires. You were caught between these expectations and the life you were about to begin with Aegon—an uncertain future where love, responsibility, and family would collide.

For a brief moment, you found yourself lost in thought, the heavy gaze of both your parents weighing on you. You wondered what the future would truly hold, and if you were truly ready for it.

The day of your wedding finally arrived, and the preparations seemed endless. Your chambers were filled with the soft rustle of silk and the quiet murmurs of your mother’s attendants as they adjusted the delicate wedding gown that clung to your frame. The fabric was exquisite, crafted from the finest silk in Westeros, its ivory hue shimmering under the warm glow of the room’s candles.

You stood before the tall mirror, staring at your reflection. The gown hugged your figure perfectly, its intricate embroidery glinting like stars scattered across the heavens. You tilted your head slightly, taking in every detail—the flowing train, the delicate lace sleeves, and the silver-threaded accents that reflected your Targaryen heritage.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood behind you, her hands gently smoothing the fabric over your shoulders. Her eyes, filled with a rare softness, met yours in the mirror. “You look perfect,” she said quietly, her voice steady but filled with pride. “You carry our legacy with grace, my daughter. This day will mark the beginning of a new chapter for you.”

Before you could respond, the door to your chambers opened. The sudden sound drew your attention, and you turned to see Alicent standing in the doorway. Her green dress, elegant yet simple, contrasted sharply against the pale tones of your gown. Her expression was carefully composed, though there was a flicker of something—perhaps nostalgia or longing—in her eyes as she looked at you.

“You’ll be a vision,” Alicent said, stepping further into the room. “The Realm will marvel at you."

Her words, though kind, carried a weight that was hard to ignore. You felt the tension between your mother and Alicent rise, subtle but palpable, as they exchanged brief glances. Alicent’s gaze then softened as it shifted to you, and she took a step closer.

“You remind me of myself on my wedding day,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. “So full of hope and dreams for the future.”

Your mother, standing protectively by your side, raised her chin slightly. “My daughter is stronger than you think,” she said evenly, her tone calm but firm. “She will make her own way, just as I have.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, choosing instead to step closer to examine the embroidery on your gown. “It’s a beautiful piece,” she remarked, her voice neutral once more. “It suits you.”

You nodded politely, feeling the subtle clash between the two women like a current in the air. Yet, in that moment, all you could focus on was the weight of the gown, the weight of their expectations, and the life that awaited you after this day.

As the attendants continued their careful adjustments to your gown, the door to your chambers opened once more. This time, it was your father, Daemon, who entered. His presence was commanding as always, though his expression was unusually soft. His violet eyes swept over you, taking in the sight of you in your wedding dress.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply standing there, his gaze lingering. Then, he stepped closer, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “My little girl,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but filled with emotion. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman… and now, you’re about to marry.”

His words caught you off guard, and your heart tightened at the emotion behind them. Daemon was rarely one to openly express his feelings, but now, there was no mistaking the pride—and the melancholy—in his tone.

He approached slowly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he looked at you in the mirror. “It feels like just yesterday you were running around the Red Keep, challenging everyone with your fiery spirit,” he continued, his voice laced with a touch of wistfulness. “And now… you stand here, ready to step into a new chapter of your life.”

You turned slightly to face him, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Father…” you began, your voice soft.

Daemon shook his head gently, as if to stop you from saying anything that might break the fragile moment. “You’ll make a formidable wife,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “And gods help Aegon if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is to have you.”

Behind you, your mother, Rhaenyra, watched the exchange with a quiet smile, though there was a glimmer of emotion in her eyes. Even Alicent, standing nearby, seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, her hands clasped before her as she watched father and daughter.

Daemon leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. ��No matter how much the world changes.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you met his gaze. “Thank you, Father,” you said quietly.

He straightened, his usual composure returning, and he stepped back with a small, approving nod. “Now,” he said, his tone lighter, “let’s ensure the Realm remembers this wedding for years to come.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, and you turned back to the mirror, feeling a mix of emotions—love, pride, and the bittersweet realization that your life was about to change forever.

The final touches had been made. The maids carefully adjusted the veil cascading over your hair, ensuring every detail was perfect. The soft fabric framed your face beautifully, the delicate embroidery glinting faintly in the sunlight streaming through the window.

You took a steadying breath as you turned to the door. Standing there, waiting patiently, was your father, Daemon. His silver hair gleamed, and his expression was a mix of pride and bittersweet emotion.

As you stepped toward him, he took a moment to look at you, his violet eyes sweeping over your appearance. A rare, genuine smile curved his lips. “You look radiant,” he said quietly, his voice filled with warmth.

“Thank you, Father,” you replied softly, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Daemon extended his arm to you, and you slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. His grip was reassuring, grounding you as you began the walk toward the front courtyard where the carriage awaited.

The sun was bright in the clear sky as you emerged into the open air, the sounds of the castle bustling with preparations. The ornate carriage stood ready, its silver and black accents bearing the unmistakable marks of House Targaryen. The dragons emblazoned on its side seemed to gleam in the sunlight.

Daemon paused before helping you into the carriage, his hand lingering on yours. “This is the beginning of a new chapter,” he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you. “But remember, no matter what lies ahead, you are a Targaryen. You are my daughter. And you are strong.”

His words filled you with a sense of purpose, and you nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I won’t forget, Father.”

He smiled once more, helping you step into the carriage before following to take his seat beside you. The horses snorted, their hooves clattering against the cobblestones as the driver signaled for the procession to begin.

As the carriage began to roll toward the Great Sept, you felt the weight of the moment settle upon you. This was your wedding day, the day you would pledge yourself to Aegon in the sight of the Seven—and the beginning of a future you had long awaited.

The carriage came to a gentle stop, and the door was opened by one of the attendants. Your father stepped out first, his regal posture commanding attention as always. He turned to you, extending his hand to help you descend. His grip was firm yet tender as he steadied you.

The Great Sept loomed ahead, its grand arches and towering spires radiating sanctity and significance. The air was thick with the murmur of gathered nobles and the faint scent of incense.

Daemon tucked your hand securely into the crook of his arm, guiding you toward the altar. The grand doors of the Sept swung open, revealing the interior bathed in golden light from the towering stained glass windows. The faint melody of a harp accompanied your steps as you began your walk down the aisle.

Your heart raced as your gaze met Aegon’s. He stood at the altar, dressed in his finest, the golden crown of the Targaryens resting on his head. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn, though his eyes softened as they found yours.

The walk felt both eternal and fleeting, each step bringing you closer to him, to your future. When you reached the altar, Daemon paused, turning to face you fully.

With a rare gentleness, he lifted the veil from your face, letting it fall back over your shoulders. His violet eyes, so similar to your own, searched your face for a moment, and then he smiled—a small, genuine smile filled with pride and love.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just a moment. “You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of his emotion.

He stepped back, placing your hand in Aegon’s. His touch lingered for a brief moment, a silent reminder that no matter what, he would always be there for you.

Daemon gave Aegon a pointed look, a silent but clear warning: take care of her. Then, with a nod, he stepped aside, leaving you standing beside your soon-to-be husband as the ceremony began.

The Septon’s voice echoed through the grand hall, steady and solemn, as he began reciting the sacred vows of the Seven. The gathered lords and ladies fell silent, their gazes fixed on you and Aegon as the moment unfolded.

You stood across from Aegon, your hands joined as the Septon laid a length of braided ribbon across them, symbolizing the binding of your lives. The golden light streaming through the stained glass illuminated his face, softening the usual sharpness of his features.

As the Septon’s voice continued, you lifted your eyes to meet Aegon’s. His violet gaze held yours, filled with an unspoken mix of emotions—nervousness, tenderness, and something that resembled quiet determination.

The world seemed to fade away, the grandeur of the Sept and the weight of the audience blurring into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of you, bound by the vows you were about to take.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." your voices carried the weight of conviction and devotion.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Aegon vowed, his voice filled with unwavering commitment.

"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," your voice echoed. your voices intertwined, your souls merging in that sacred space.

The ribbon was removed as the Septon pronounced the union blessed by the Seven. Aegon’s smile was small but genuine as he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips to seal the vows.

The hall erupted into applause and cheers, but all you could hear was the soft echo of your heartbeat as you looked into his eyes, knowing this was the start of your shared journey.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets. The celebration of your marriage was in full swing, the lords and ladies of Westeros gathered to honor the union. The throne room had been transformed, the usual solemnity replaced with joy and grandeur.

You sat beside Aegon at the high table, your hand resting lightly on his arm. He leaned closer occasionally, his voice low as he murmured words only meant for you. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, though your attention was soon pulled away when your father, Daemon, stood from his seat.

His sharp, commanding presence drew the attention of the room. He stepped forward, his violet eyes locking onto you. A faint smirk played on his lips as he extended his hand toward you.

“Come, my daughter,” Daemon said, his voice smooth and confident, “Let us show them how a Targaryen dances.”

The room fell silent for a brief moment, anticipation crackling in the air. You glanced at Aegon, who gave you a small nod, and then you took your father’s hand. He helped you rise, leading you toward the center of the hall where the musicians struck up a lively tune.

Daemon’s hand settled on your waist as the two of you began to move, your steps graceful and in perfect sync with his. The rhythm of the music swirled around you, the eyes of the court watching in awe.

“You look radiant tonight,” Daemon said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Thank you, Father,” you replied, a touch of warmth in your tone.

As the music picked up, Daemon twirled you effortlessly, the hem of your gown sweeping across the polished floor. The crowd clapped in time with the music, their cheers rising as you moved with an elegance befitting a Targaryen princess.

When the dance came to an end, Daemon bowed to you with exaggerated flourish, drawing laughter from the crowd. You curtsied in return, your cheeks flushed from the exhilaration.

Daemon led you back to Aegon, placing your hand in his. “Your turn, boy,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes before retreating to the sidelines.

Aegon stood and took your hand, pulling you close as the music shifted to a softer melody. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Shall we show them how it’s really done?”

With a smile, you nodded, letting him lead you onto the floor, the crowd parting to give you both space. Together, you danced, the bond between you growing with every step.

The music swirled around you, the rhythm pulsing through your body as Aegon led you across the floor. The eyes of the court were upon you, but in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away. All that existed was you and him, dancing in perfect harmony. His smile, his eyes—there was a lightness in his gaze that made your heart flutter with every glance.

Aegon leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered playful words, his breath warm against your skin. Each whisper sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of the moment. The laughter from his jokes echoed softly in your mind as the music seemed to slow, the final notes drawing nearer.

As the music reached its peak, Aegon twirled you, the fabric of your gown swirling around you as he spun you gracefully. The world seemed to blur for a moment, the movement so fluid, so natural, until he pulled you back into his arms with a gentle yet firm grip. Your heart raced as his hands settled on your waist, and in that moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Aegon looked at you with a softness that contrasted the strength in his stance. The distance between you closed, and without a word, he kissed you—slow and deep, a kiss that carried the weight of the vows you had just made, of the journey ahead of you. The kiss lingered for a moment, soft yet filled with a promise of everything to come.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, the room erupted into applause, the cheers mingling with the fading notes of the music. But all you could hear, all you could feel, was Aegon’s presence, his touch, the steady beat of your hearts in sync.

The night was still young, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

As the music continued to fade, a loud voice rang out from one of the guests, calling for a bedding ceremony to be held. The declaration echoed through the hall, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air. The traditional custom was infamous for its brazen display of intimacy, something that, under the wrong circumstances, could become a source of embarrassment rather than celebration.

Your heart sank at the mention of it, but before you could react, Daemon, stood tall and imposing, his voice cutting through the room. “That will not be happening,” he said, his tone firm and resolute, a hint of annoyance lacing his words. “My daughter is not an animal to be put on display for your amusement.”

There was a tense moment of stillness as the room waited for the next move. Aegon, standing beside you, immediately took your hand with a reassuring squeeze, his voice calm but equally firm. “I agree with Daemon,” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd, filled with a quiet, dangerous intensity. “The bedding ceremony is a disgrace, and it has no place at our wedding. You will not demand it here.”

The crowd fell silent, the tension palpable. It was clear that both Daemon and Aegon stood united in rejecting the idea, their authority and influence silencing any further protests. Aegon’s hand tightened around yours, the bond between you both growing stronger in the face of such a ridiculous demand.

Your father glanced at you, a silent gesture of protection in his eyes, and then turned to the rest of the guests with a final, imperious look. “The night is to celebrate their union, not to satisfy your vulgar curiosities,” he declared. The room, now aware of the boundaries being set, fell into a respectful quiet, some guests murmuring but ultimately understanding the stance.

The tension began to dissipate, and the focus shifted back to you and Aegon, your hands still joined. The weight of the moment lifted as you stood there together, united not just in vows, but also in defiance of the petty customs that had no place in your lives.

Aegon leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Let them gossip,” he whispered with a grin. “We have each other, and that’s all that matters.”

The evening air was cool as you and Aegon walked back to your chambers, the sounds of the celebration fading behind you. You could still feel the warmth of the dance and the weight of the guests’ gaze, but now, with the room finally quiet, you could let the tension slip away.

As you entered your chamber, the door closing softly behind you, the two of you exchanged a glance. The weight of the upcoming journey to Dragonstone loomed, but there was a strange sense of peace now that the night’s events had passed. The quiet was a welcome respite before the next steps, before the second ceremony, which would take place with the traditions of Old Valyria, a world away from the pomp and ceremony you’d just endured.

Aegon moved to the window, looking out toward the horizon where the sun would soon set, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. He turned to you, his gaze softer now, the earlier intensity replaced with something quieter. “I know you’ve had enough for today,” he said, his voice low, “But I think we both need to rest before we face what comes next.”

You nodded, your tired eyes meeting his. The day had been full of emotion, and there was something calming about being in this space, just the two of you. You moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Aegon joined you, his presence always warm and grounding.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the peaceful stillness of your shared space allowing the chaos of the day to slowly fade away. The wedding on Dragonstone would be different, more intimate, yet filled with its own expectations. You would both face that challenge together, but for now, you could simply be.

Aegon reached out to gently take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “After Dragonstone,” he murmured, “We will make this marriage our own. All the traditions, the customs… they won’t define us. Only what we choose to build together will.”

You squeezed his hand in return, a quiet agreement passing between you both. There would be more ceremonies, more battles with tradition, but what mattered most was the life you would create together—united by your love, not the expectations of others.

With a soft sigh, you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the day finally begin to lift. The journey ahead was uncertain, but as long as you had Aegon by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next. And for now, that was enough.

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and freedom as the ship gently docked at Dragonstone. The journey had felt swift, perhaps because your mind had been preoccupied with the thought of the second ceremony—the one that truly mattered to both you and Aegon. His hand remained firmly in yours as you stepped off the ship, the volcanic island’s jagged cliffs and ancient castle rising before you.

Aegon’s grip tightened slightly, a silent reassurance as you descended the gangplank. The two of you exchanged a brief smile, the bond between you strong and unspoken. Alicent was already waiting, her expression calm but watchful, while your mother, Rhaenyra, stood with a regal air beside her. The contrast between the two women was stark, but for once, they seemed united in purpose: ensuring the ceremony later that evening would be perfect.

“Come,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile, motioning for you to follow. “There is much to do before the sun sets.”

Alicent nodded, stepping forward. “We’ll have you ready in time,” she added, her tone softer than usual, though her hands betrayed her tension as they clasped tightly before her.

You glanced back at Aegon as your mother and Alicent ushered you toward the castle, his reassuring smile lingering even as the distance between you grew. The ancient halls of Dragonstone felt almost alive, the walls whispering secrets of the Targaryen legacy. It was fitting, you thought, that the Valyrian ceremony would take place here, surrounded by the echoes of your ancestors.

Inside the castle, you were taken to a chamber overlooking the sea. The sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting golden hues over the intricate gown that awaited you. The fabric shimmered like dragon scales, the traditional marital robes of Valyria which is a pale white with red dyed edges. The deep red of House Targaryen woven into the design. It was a stark contrast to the Seven Kingdoms’ traditional wedding attire but felt infinitely more like home.

As the maids began to help you prepare, your mother stood by, her gaze soft yet proud. “This is how it should be,” she said, her voice carrying a sense of finality. “A union bound not just by words, but by blood, fire, and history.”

Alicent, standing beside her, added, “It may not be my tradition, but I see its beauty. And I see how much this means to both of you.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with anticipation. This ceremony wasn’t just for tradition—it was for you and Aegon, a chance to start your lives together in a way that truly reflected who you were. As the preparations continued, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below seemed to echo your growing excitement.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you stood with Aegon again, this time to pledge yourselves to each other in the ancient Valyrian way.

The cool wind of Dragonstone whipped around you as you stood on the edge of the cliff, the sea roaring below, a testament to the raw, untamed power of this sacred place. The setting sun cast hues of gold and crimson across the sky, mirroring the colors of House Targaryen, as you faced Aegon. His violet eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of reverence and love, a stark contrast to the usual playful smirk he wore.

Daemon, ever the keeper of tradition, had brought a septon who was well-versed in the ancient rites of Old Valyria. The man stood between you and Aegon, his presence almost dwarfed by the magnitude of the ceremony about to unfold. Around you, your family bore witness, their faces solemn and proud. Rhaenyra stood with Alicent, an unspoken truce in their shared pride. Your father’s piercing gaze watched every movement, while your siblings looked on, their expressions ranging from awe to curiosity.

The septon began to chant in High Valyrian, the ancient words flowing like a song. He held a chalice of Valyrian steel, filled with dragonbone ash and seawater, symbols of your shared heritage and the unbreakable bond you were about to forge.

Aegon stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, steady and unwavering. The septon handed you both small daggers, their blades gleaming in the fading light. “With blood, we bind,” he intoned, his voice carrying over the waves.

You felt the weight of the dagger in your hand as you pressed the blade against your palm, mirroring Aegon. A sharp sting, and then the warmth of blood pooled in your hand. Aegon extended his hand to you, his blood mingling with yours as you clasped hands, sealing your union in the way of your ancestors.

The septon’s chant grew louder, his words resonating with the power of the old ways. “Fire and blood unite, unbroken by time, unyielding as stone.”

Aegon leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “From this moment, you are mine, as I am yours. Always.”

The flames from nearby torches danced in his eyes, and you could feel the truth in his words, the promise that bound you to him in body, mind, and soul.

The septon poured the ash and seawater mixture over your joined hands, finalizing the ritual. “May the blood of the dragon burn bright and eternal,” he declared, his voice a proclamation to the gods and the world.

As the ceremony concluded, Aegon cupped your face with his free hand, pulling you into a kiss that felt as fiery and unyielding as the bond you had just forged. The cheers of your family echoed around you, but in that moment, there was only the two of you, standing united against the world.

A year had passed since your union with Aegon, and the days had grown into a steady rhythm of love and understanding. The tension that once lingered in the air had dissolved, replaced by a calm happiness that surrounded you both like a warm embrace.

As you stood before the mirror in your chambers, your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly. The sight filled you with a sense of pride and anticipation. This was the fruit of your love, a child born not just of duty but of genuine affection. You smiled softly, feeling the faint flutter of movement beneath your hand, a gentle reminder that the little life inside you was almost ready to meet the world.

Behind you, Aegon approached, his reflection appearing in the mirror as he stepped closer. His hands slid around your waist, resting protectively over yours on your belly. “You look radiant,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and adoration.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, your smile widening. “And you look nervous,” you teased lightly, though you could see the excitement in his eyes.

“I am,” he admitted with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “But I’m also ready. I’ve been ready since the day you told me.”

The memory brought warmth to your chest. You had been hesitant to share the news at first, unsure of how he would react. But the way he had embraced you, his joy uncontainable, had reassured you in ways words never could.

Aegon gently turned you to face him, his hands still cradling your growing belly. “You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for,” he said softly. “This child, this family… You’ve made me better, stronger.”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “And you’ve given me a home, Aegon. A place where I belong, with you.”

The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. One of the maids entered cautiously, bowing her head. “The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra have arrived to see you, Your Graces.”

You exchanged a glance with Aegon before nodding. “Let them in,” you said, your tone warm.

As the two women entered, Alicent’s expression softened at the sight of you, her eyes lingering on your belly. Rhaenyra, too, smiled, her gaze filled with a mixture of pride and nostalgia.

“It won’t be long now,” Alicent said gently, stepping closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Eager,” you admitted, glancing at Aegon. “We both are.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly. “The waiting is always the hardest part. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

As the four of you spoke, the weight of history and tradition seemed to fade into the background. In its place was a shared hope for the future, a future shaped by love, family, and the new life soon to join your world.

The warm sun bathed the gardens in golden light as you strolled alongside your mothers, Rhaenyra and Alicent. The cool breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers, a welcome reprieve from the walls of the Red Keep. Your hand rested lightly on your rounded belly, a small smile gracing your lips as you relished the freedom of walking on your own—something you had fought hard to reclaim.

Aegon walked just a step behind you, his protective gaze following your every move. Ever since the announcement of your pregnancy, he had taken it upon himself to ensure your safety at all costs. It was endearing, but at times, overwhelming. Your father, Daemon, had been no better, his fierce protectiveness rivaling even Aegon’s. Between the two of them, you had scarcely been allowed to lift a finger, let alone take a step without someone hovering nearby.

It had taken both Rhaenyra and Alicent to intervene on your behalf, convincing the men to allow you some independence. “She is carrying a child, not a dragon egg,” Rhaenyra had remarked with a smirk, while Alicent’s soothing words had managed to calm their protests.

“You see, I’m perfectly fine,” you said over your shoulder to Aegon, your tone teasing. “No need to hover.”

Aegon huffed, crossing his arms but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You say that now, but if anything happens—”

“Nothing will happen,” Alicent interjected gently, placing a hand on Aegon’s arm. “Let her enjoy this moment. She deserves it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, her arm looping through yours as she guided you toward a shaded bench beneath a sprawling tree. “You’ve been walking for all of five minutes, and he’s already ready to carry you back inside,” she teased, earning a glare from Aegon.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, it’s not as though I’m running laps around the courtyard.”

As you settled onto the bench, Aegon took a seat beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours. Despite his overprotectiveness, you couldn’t deny the comfort his presence brought.

“I just want you to be safe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“And I will be,” you reassured him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But you have to let me breathe, Aegon. I’m not as fragile as you think.”

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles soft. As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. For the first time in weeks, you were surrounded by the people who mattered most, their love and support enveloping you like a warm embrace.

The sound of your father’s voice calling your name startled you, drawing your attention toward him as he strode purposefully into the garden. His sharp eyes immediately fixed on you, narrowing as they took in your relaxed posture on the bench.

“Why are you out of your chambers?” Daemon asked, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. His hand rested on the hilt of Dark Sister, as though he expected danger to leap out of the bushes at any moment.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his protectiveness settle heavily over you once again. Turning your gaze to your mother, Rhaenyra, you silently pleaded with her to step in. She met your eyes with an amused smirk, clearly enjoying your predicament, but eventually, she relented.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra began, her voice calm yet firm, “she’s perfectly fine. The maesters have assured us that walking is good for her and the child. Let her breathe, for the gods’ sake.”

Daemon’s lips thinned as he looked between the two of you. “I don’t trust maesters or their assurances,” he muttered. “She’s carrying my grandchild, and I won’t risk anything happening to either of them.”

Alicent, ever the diplomat, stepped forward with a soft smile. “Daemon, she’s surrounded by her family and has been careful. Surely, you can see there’s no harm in her enjoying the fresh air for a short while?”

Daemon huffed, crossing his arms but not arguing further. Instead, he turned his attention back to you. “If you feel even the slightest discomfort, you’re to return to your chambers immediately,” he said sternly.

You smiled at his concern, even if it was overbearing. “Yes, Father,” you replied, your tone laced with gentle amusement. “But I promise, I’m fine.”

Aegon, who had remained quiet until now, chuckled softly. “You see, my prince, your daughter is as stubborn as you are. There’s no point in arguing with her.”

Daemon shot him a pointed look but said nothing, instead walking over to place a protective hand on your shoulder. “I only want you safe,” he murmured, his voice softening.

“I know,” you replied, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”

With that, the tension eased, and the conversation shifted once more, leaving you to enjoy the moment surrounded by those who cared for you deeply—even if they did have a tendency to hover.

As Daemon and Aegon engaged in conversation a few steps away, their tones alternating between casual remarks and the occasional chuckle, your mothers turned their attention fully to you.

Rhaenyra, seated beside you, gently ran her fingers through your hair, her touch soothing. “You’ve always been so strong,” she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Even now, you handle everything with such grace. I’m proud of you.”

You glanced up at her, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Mother,” you said softly. “It’s not always easy, but having all of you here makes it better.”

Meanwhile, Alicent busied herself with selecting a small plate of fruit from the table nearby. She handed it to you, her eyes filled with motherly concern. “You must eat, dear. The baby needs nourishment, and so do you,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm.

You accepted the plate with a grateful nod, plucking a piece of sweet melon and taking a bite. “Thank you, Mother,” you said with a smile.

Alicent returned your smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “You’re glowing,” she said softly. “This child will be blessed with so much love, I’m sure of it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled lightly, still running her fingers through your hair. “Blessed and spoiled, no doubt,” she teased, her gaze flickering toward Daemon and Aegon. “With those two vying for the title of most protective, this child will have an army of guardians.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “It’s already starting,” you said, glancing toward your husband and father.

As if sensing your gaze, Aegon turned his head, flashing you a smile that made your heart flutter. Daemon, too, glanced your way, his expression softening for a brief moment before he resumed his conversation with Aegon.

Surrounded by the love and care of your family, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Though they could be overbearing at times, their presence was a constant reminder of how deeply they cared for you—and for the life growing within you.

Rhaenyra’s fingers stilled in your hair for a moment as she looked at you, her violet eyes filled with a deep, maternal pride. “You know,” she began softly, her voice steady and filled with emotion, “you’re the one who holds this family together. You’re our bridge, the reason we’ve found peace after so much strife.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. “Mother, I’m not sure that’s true…” you murmured, glancing down at your hands resting on your rounded belly.

Rhaenyra leaned closer, cupping your cheek with a hand warm and reassuring. “It is true,” she said firmly. “Without you, this would still be a house divided. You’ve brought us together, made us see what’s most important—family. You are the heart of this house.”

Alicent, seated nearby, nodded in agreement, her green eyes glistening. “She’s right,” Alicent said softly. “You’ve done what I thought was impossible. You’ve made us see past old wounds and find a way forward. And for that, I will always be grateful.”

Your chest tightened with emotion as their words sank in. You glanced toward Daemon and Aegon, who were deep in conversation, their differences seemingly forgotten in the shared joy of the life you were bringing into the world.

“I never set out to do that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… wanted us to be a family.”

“And that’s exactly why it worked,” Rhaenyra said, her voice filled with warmth. “You remind us of what truly matters. You’ve shown us all that love and unity are stronger than any quarrel.”

Alicent placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch light yet filled with affection. “This child will be the symbol of that unity,” she said. “Born of love, surrounded by a family who, despite everything, has come together for you—for all of us.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. They were from the overwhelming gratitude and pride you felt to be part of something bigger, to know that, in your own way, you had helped mend the rifts that had once torn your family apart.

The golden hues of the setting sun were fading, replaced by the soft glow of torches lining the corridors of the Red Keep. The cool breeze of the evening whispered through the open windows as you walked alongside Aegon, your mothers following close behind.

Viserys’s summons had been clear—he wanted the family to dine together every night, starting from the day of your marriage. It was his way of fostering unity and ensuring the bonds between you all grew stronger.

When you arrived at his private solar, the door was opened by a servant, revealing a cozy and intimate dining space. The table was already set with a feast of roasted meats, fresh bread, and rich wines, the scents wafting invitingly through the room.

Seated at the table were Aemond and Helaena, both turning their heads as you entered. Aemond’s sharp gaze lingered on you briefly before shifting to Aegon, while Helaena offered you a warm smile, her ever-gentle demeanor bringing a sense of calm to the room.

At the head of the table sat Viserys himself, his frailty apparent in his thin frame and tired eyes, but his expression held a warmth reserved only for his family. “Ah, there you are,” he said, his voice rasping yet full of affection. “Come, sit. Let us enjoy this evening together.”

Aegon guided you to your seat beside him, pulling the chair out for you before settling in. Alicent and Rhaenyra took their places on either side of the table, their shared glances a quiet acknowledgment of the fragile peace between them.

As the servants poured wine and began to serve the meal, Viserys’s gaze swept over everyone, a glimmer of satisfaction lighting his weary face. “It brings me joy to see all of you here,” he said, his tone earnest. “This family has endured much, but tonight, let us set aside the past and simply enjoy one another’s company.”

You felt Aegon’s hand brush against yours under the table, a subtle gesture of reassurance. You glanced at him, and he smiled, his usual mischief replaced by something softer, more genuine.

As the evening unfolded, the conversation shifted from light banter to shared stories, laughter occasionally echoing through the room. For a moment, it felt as though the tensions that often loomed over the Targaryen family had dissipated, replaced by a fragile yet comforting sense of unity.

The sharp pangs in your abdomen stirred you from sleep, leaving you breathless for a moment. You instinctively placed a hand on your swollen belly, trying to calm the ache that radiated from within. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the moon, its light filtering through the window. Aegon lay beside you, his breathing deep and even, completely unaware of your discomfort.

You glanced toward the window, noting the darkness outside; dawn was still far off. Carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet touching the cool stone floor. Each movement was deliberate and quiet as you didn’t want to disturb Aegon.

Once you were standing, you exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against your lower back to ease the tension there. The pain wasn’t constant, but it came in waves, enough to make you restless. You paced the length of your chamber, hoping the movement would help.

As you walked, your mind raced. Was this it? Was the baby coming early? Or was it simply the usual discomfort of pregnancy? You weren’t sure, but you wanted to be certain before raising any alarm.

Leaning against the edge of a chair, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale. The pain subsided briefly, giving you a moment of relief, but it returned shortly after, sharper this time.

A soft groan escaped your lips, and you stifled it quickly, glancing toward Aegon to ensure he hadn’t woken. His form remained unmoving under the covers, his face peaceful in sleep. You hesitated, wondering if you should wake him or call for the midwives, but the thought of disturbing him unnecessarily held you back.

You clutched the armrest tightly, bracing yourself as another wave of pain hit. Something told you that tonight was going to be a long one.

The night had felt endless, your pacing a desperate attempt to endure the relentless waves of pain that coursed through you. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon you. Sweat dampened your hair, clinging to your skin as you continued to walk, unable to find relief.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow, you heard the faint rustle of movement from behind. Turning slightly, you saw Aegon stir, his sleepy eyes blinking against the light.

When his gaze landed on you—your disheveled appearance, the sweat on your brow, and the way you clutched your belly—concern instantly replaced the grogginess in his expression.

“Love,” he called out, his voice rough with sleep but heavy with worry. “What’s wrong?”

You paused, gripping the back of a chair to steady yourself, and tried to offer him a reassuring smile, though it faltered under the strain of another sharp pain. “It’s… nothing,” you managed to say between breaths, though the lie was thin.

Aegon was already out of bed, his worry growing as he closed the distance between you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the strands of damp hair clinging to your forehead. “This isn’t nothing,” he said firmly, his voice laced with panic. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I didn’t want to—” you began, but another wave of pain cut you off, forcing you to clutch his arm for support.

“That’s it,” Aegon declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re calling the maester. Now.”

Before you could protest, Aegon was already moving, shouting orders to the guards outside the door. His protective nature had fully taken over, and for once, you were grateful for his assertiveness. As you sank into the nearest chair, your heart pounded not only from the pain but also from the realization that the moment you had been waiting for was finally here.

The door to your chamber burst open, and the maester entered first, followed closely by several midwives carrying linens and basins. Behind them, your mothers, Alicent and Rhaenyra, hurried in with expressions of alarm and worry etched across their faces. Their hair was slightly disheveled, and their gowns bore the telltale signs of haste, as though they had barely managed to dress before rushing to your side.

Aegon stepped aside to give them space but remained close, his hand gripping yours tightly as the maester approached. Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to you, taking in your pale face and the way you clutched your belly. She knelt beside you instantly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

“My dear,” Rhaenyra murmured softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “You should have sent for us sooner. How long have you been enduring this pain?”

Alicent was not far behind, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on you. “You’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice carried a mix of reassurance and command, as if willing you to stay strong. “The maester and midwives are here now.”

The maester stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully before addressing you. “Princess, may I examine you?”

You nodded weakly, leaning back as the midwives helped you into a more comfortable position. Rhaenyra held one of your hands, her face pale but composed, while Alicent stood at your other side, her hand resting gently on your shoulder for support.

Aegon hovered nearby, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on you. “Is she going to be alright?” he demanded, his voice taut with worry.

The maester glanced at Aegon briefly before focusing on his task. “The labor has begun, Your Grace. It’s progressing steadily, though it may take some time.”

Hearing those words, the tension in the room grew. Rhaenyra tightened her grip on your hand, and Alicent exchanged a glance with Aegon. Both women, despite their differences, seemed united in their concern for you.

“You’re strong,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ll get through this, my sweet girl.”

Alicent added, her tone firm, “We’re here. You’re not alone.”

The labor had only just begun, but with your husband and both your mothers at your side, you felt a spark of courage amid the pain.

The door creaked open, and all eyes turned to see your father, Daemon, standing in the doorway. His usual composed and commanding demeanor was absent; instead, his face betrayed something you had never seen before—fear.

He stepped into the room slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. The sight of you, pale and sweating, gripping your belly in pain, seemed to unnerve him in a way no battlefield ever could. For a moment, he hesitated, as though unsure whether to approach, before his gaze softened, and he took a step closer.

“Sweetling,” he said, his voice unusually quiet, almost tentative.

The room fell silent save for your labored breaths. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra glanced at each other, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in the presence of his uncharacteristic vulnerability.

Daemon knelt beside you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to brush the sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner?” he asked, his voice strained, barely masking the panic underneath.

You managed a faint smile despite the pain. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me?” he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You’re my child. How could I not be worried?” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat to steady himself.

Aegon stood nearby, watching the exchange closely. He seemed surprised by the raw emotion in Daemon’s voice, as if he, too, had never seen this side of him.

Rhaenyra stepped forward and placed a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, grounding him. “She’s strong,” she said softly, glancing at you. “She’ll get through this, just as I did. You remember.”

Daemon exhaled deeply, his expression conflicted. He nodded, though his hand still lingered near yours, as if afraid to let go. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly, looking at the maester and midwives. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Aegon moved to your other side, taking your hand again. “Neither am I,” he said, his voice steady with determination.

Surrounded by the people who loved you most, you felt a small surge of comfort amidst the pain. Whatever lay ahead, you knew you would face it together.A sharp wave of pain tore through you, and the tears spilled freely down your cheeks. You shook your head, clutching at Aegon’s hand with trembling fingers. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you tried to steady your breathing.

Aegon leaned closer, his other hand gently brushing your hair back. “Yes, you can,” he said softly, though his voice carried a firm conviction. “You’re the strongest person I know. You can do this.”

Rhaenyra knelt beside you, her hand resting over yours. “Listen to me, sweet girl,” she said, her voice steady and soothing. “I’ve been where you are now, and I know how it feels like it’s impossible, but you’re stronger than you know. Trust yourself.”

Alicent stood just behind her, her hands clasped tightly as if in silent prayer. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but full of encouragement. “You’ve come this far, and soon you’ll hold your child in your arms. Focus on that—on your strength and your love for them.”

Another contraction hit, and you cried out, your body tense with the effort. Daemon stepped closer, his face a mask of both worry and determination. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “You are my daughter,” he said, his tone unyielding. “There is fire in your blood. You will see this through.”

Surrounded by their words of comfort and unwavering belief in you, something inside you began to shift. You took a deep, shaky breath, leaning into Aegon’s touch as you found a sliver of strength within the storm of pain.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

“And we’ll be right here with you,” Aegon promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead as another contraction built. Together, they steadied you, their love becoming the anchor you needed to face what was ahead.

The maester’s voice was calm yet firm as he instructed, “It’s time, princess. On the next contraction, you need to push with all your strength.”

You gripped Aegon’s hand tightly, your knuckles white as another wave of pain surged through you. With a deep breath, you pushed, every fiber of your being straining as you fought to bring your child into the world.

“That’s it,” Rhaenyra encouraged, her voice steady by your ear. “You’re doing so well, my love. Just a little more.”

Alicent stood near the maester, her hands clasped tightly together in silent support. “You can do this,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Stay strong, dear.”

Aegon’s other hand brushed the damp hair from your face as he whispered soothing words, his voice filled with both awe and worry. “I’m here, love. You’re doing amazing.”

Another contraction hit, and you cried out, the effort draining every ounce of strength from you. “I can’t… I can’t…” you gasped, shaking your head as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you.

“Yes, you can,” Daemon said firmly from where he stood nearby, his eyes fierce yet glistening with emotion. “Keep going, my love. You’re almost there.”

With their encouragement surrounding you like a shield, you drew on reserves of strength you didn’t know you had. You pushed again, and the room filled with the maester’s voice. “I see the head! One more, Princess. One more push.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave it everything you had, a guttural cry escaping your lips. And then, suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first cry—a sound so pure and powerful that it seemed to silence everything else.

The maester held up the tiny, wriggling baby, a look of relief and joy on his face. “It’s a boy,” he announced.

Aegon’s breath caught, and his eyes filled with tears as he looked at his son. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You did it, love.”

The maester placed the baby in your arms, and all the pain, fear, and exhaustion faded away as you gazed down at him. His tiny fingers curled instinctively, and his cries softened as he felt the warmth of your skin.

Rhaenyra and Alicent both leaned closer, their faces shining with pride and joy. Daemon, for once, was silent, his eyes fixed on you and the child you held.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, tears streaming as you looked at Aegon, who leaned down to press a kiss to both your forehead and the baby’s. “He’s perfect.”

The peace of holding your son in your arms was short-lived. A sharp, familiar pain tore through you once more, causing you to gasp. Your grip on the baby tightened briefly before Aegon gently took him from your arms, his face etched with concern.

“What is it?” Aegon asked, his voice trembling as he looked between you and the maester.

One of the midwives checked quickly, her hands moving with urgency. “There’s another,” she announced, her voice filled with both surprise and certainty. “There’s another baby.”

Gasps filled the room as the realization settled over everyone. Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand gripping yours tightly. “Twins,” she whispered, a mixture of awe and worry in her voice.

“No, no,” you whimpered, shaking your head as the pain surged again. “I can’t… I don’t have anything left.”

“Yes, you do,” Alicent said firmly, her voice a soothing command. “You are stronger than this pain. You’ve already done it once—you can do it again.”

Aegon placed your firstborn into Rhaenyra’s arms before kneeling beside you, his face level with yours. “Look at me,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “You’re not alone in this. You can do this. For them, for us.”

The maester’s voice broke through the moment. “The second child is positioned well, my lady. It’s time to push again.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left in your body, you bore down, the pain feeling unbearable, yet you knew you had no choice. Each push was harder than the last, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm you.

“You’re almost there,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady with determination. Alicent nodded beside her, offering her own quiet reassurances.

With a final, desperate push, the pain seemed to peak and then suddenly vanish, replaced by the sharp cry of another newborn.

“It’s a girl!” the maester declared, lifting the tiny baby for everyone to see.

Tears poured down your face as the midwife carefully placed your daughter in your arms. She was smaller than her brother but just as perfect, her cries softening as she felt your warmth.

Aegon let out a choked laugh, brushing the hair from your damp forehead. “Twins,” he whispered, his eyes filled with wonder. “Our family has doubled in one night.”

The room was filled with quiet awe as everyone looked down at the two newborns, now swaddled and safe in their parents’ arms. The pain and exhaustion faded into the background as you gazed at them, overwhelmed by the love and pride surging through you.

“They’re ours,” you whispered, looking at Aegon with a tired but radiant smile.

“They’re everything,” he replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips and then to each of his children.

The room had grown quieter after the whirlwind of events, leaving only you, Aegon, and your newborn twins basking in the stillness of the moment. Both babies rested peacefully in your arms, swaddled tightly in soft linens. Aegon sat beside you on the bed, his hand gently tracing the outline of his daughter’s tiny fingers as she grasped at him instinctively.

Your mothers and father had left moments ago, promising to return after freshening up for court, though they had each lingered with soft kisses to your forehead and whispered reassurances of their pride.

“They couldn’t stop fussing over us,” Aegon chuckled softly, his tone filled with warmth.

You gave him a tired smile, leaning back against the cushions for support. “I think they’ll be back the moment they’re presentable. They won’t be able to stay away from the twins.”

Aegon nodded, his eyes never leaving the twins. “And who could blame them?” He shifted closer to you, gently cradling your son from your arms. “Look at them. They’re perfect.”

You watched as Aegon studied your son, the softest smile playing on his lips. The little one stirred in his father’s arms but soon settled again, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily.

“They’ll have your courage,” Aegon murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And your strength.”

“And your determination,” you added, reaching out to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

He laughed lightly. “Let’s hope they inherit the best of us both.”

The weight of exhaustion was still heavy on your body, but the love that filled the room was stronger. As you held your daughter close, Aegon leaned in to kiss her tiny forehead, then yours.

“Rest, love,” he said softly. “I’ll stay here and watch over all three of you.”

You nodded, your eyes growing heavy as you leaned into his shoulder. With your family surrounding you, the world outside could wait a little while longer.

The soft sound of Aegon’s laughter pulled you from your slumber. Slowly, you opened your eyes to find the room aglow with the presence of your family. The sight filled you with warmth: your husband was cradling your daughter in his arms, an expression of pure joy lighting up his face. He looked more at ease than you’d ever seen him, gently rocking her and whispering something only she could hear.

Turning your gaze, you saw your mother, Rhaenyra, tenderly holding your son. She looked down at the little bundle in her arms with such affection, her fingers brushing softly against his tiny silver curls. Her expression was one of pride and love, the same one she often reserved for you when you were younger.

Your room buzzed with quiet conversation and soft laughter. Alicent and Heleana stood nearby, exchanging words in hushed tones as they admired the twins. Daemon and Viserys were engaged in their own discussion, though their eyes kept wandering toward the babies with expressions of pride. Jace and Luke sat at the foot of your bed, eagerly leaning in to get a better look at their newest family members.

You turned back to Aegon, your heart swelling at the sight of him holding your daughter so naturally. He noticed you were awake and smiled down at you, his eyes softening. “Look who’s finally up,” he teased lightly. “I told them you’d need your rest, but no one could resist meeting these two.”

Rhaenyra walked over, carefully bringing your son closer to you. “You’ve given us two miracles,” she said softly, her voice brimming with pride. “They’re perfect.”

Aegon sat beside you, gently handing your daughter into your arms. As you held her close, you felt a surge of love so strong it brought tears to your eyes. “They’re everything,” you whispered, glancing between your children and your husband.

Aegon leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you’re everything to us,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

For a moment, the room seemed to fade away, leaving just the four of you in your own little world. It was a moment you knew you’d cherish forever—a moment that marked the beginning of your life as a family.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

#hotd #hotd imagine #aegon ii targaryen #hotd one shot #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader #hotd x reader #aegon headcanons #aegon x oc #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #hotd aegon #hotd headcanon #hotd oc #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Escapism.

Commissioned by the very lovely @twst-ophelia.

Pairing: Yandere!Dorm Leaders x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Slight Marking, Disassociation, and Possessive Behavior.

The mirror would be ready to use, by now.

Really, that’d been your first mistake – forgetting what you’d learned during your first months in this strange new place, having enough faith in the friends you’d made and your own middling abilities to tell anyone and everyone you could find that you were finally going home. You’d been over-eager, blinded by joy, and within a week of Crowly admitting that he’d found a way to return you to your own world using the Magic Mirror, it’d been common knowledge across all of Twisted Wonderland that it’d only be a few more weeks before you were returned to your own world. Ace teased you for being so eager to drop out halfway through your third year and Grim stuck to your side with twice his usual clinginess, and despite the bittersweetness of knowing you’d likely never be able to come back, you were happy. You were alright with leaving them, so long as it meant you could go home.

And you did leave them, in a way. If you looked at it from a certain angle.

You just didn’t get to go home.

There was a wet, slick noise, then a pang of pure agony racing from your cunt to your core. Involuntarily, you jerked away from the painful sensation, but it was an effort made in vain. The heavy arm wrapped around your waist only coiled tighter, your back soon drawn flush against a broad chest. Leona’s tail swatted contentedly at the down-stuffed mattress as he let out a low, airy chuckle. “Not gonna get away that easily,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Remember what happened last time you tried to act-up? I don’t think the basement’s gotten any warmer.”

Basement. Calling it a basement would be like calling him a housecat. You’d been locked in that dark, frigid dungeon of a cellar for days before Azul – because he was the one you scratched, the one who got to decide how cruel your punishment was going to be – let you out, and even then, it’d taken another week of huddling by barely-smoldering fireplaces and wrapping yourself in any shred of fabric you could find to shake the chill that’d lodged itself underneath your skin. You stopped trying to lash out at them, after that. As much as their so-call ‘affection’ scared you, their anger scared you that much more.

You couldn’t be sure how they’d gotten their hands on a place like this – ancient and only a step above decrepit. Their means weren’t exactly limited, not with a prince and the heir to a fortune that might as well have made him royalty funding their little venture, but it was still hard to imagine the people you’d gone to school with keeping you locked inside of an abandoned castle, surrounded only by more woodland than you could ever hope to walk through. It might’ve been more enjoyable (or, bearable, at least) if your captors had taken a more absentee approach, if they’d given you time to adjust to being in the middle of a never-ending forest with only stone walls and dust-covered furniture for company, but no, at least one of them always seemed to be at no more than arm’s length, there to remind you exactly why you’d been relegated to the role of princess, trapped in her tower. You’d never been able to call any of them your friends, and yet, the betrayal still stung.

“Would you keep your mouth shut?” Vil mumbled, with a particularly sharp movement of his wrist. The heel of his palm ground into your clit, and against your better judgement, you withered into Leona – the sound of your pulse beating in your ears deafening, but still not enough to mask the deep, self-satisfied purr rising from his chest. “You’re frightening the poor thing. Look at her eyes – they’re practically glazed over.”

“Is she scared, or just bored half-to-death by your shitty excuse for a handjob?” He bowed his head, nipping playfully at the corner of your jaw. Of all your captors, he was the most fond of marking what he considered to be his property – even more so if he had a captive audience. “If I was the one between her legs, she’d be feelin’ too good to think about anything else. She’d already be fucked good n’ dumb.”

“That’s not—” The air caught in your throat as Vil spread his fingers apart, but you fought to go one. “I don’t feel anything when you—”

Vil pulled out of you entirely, only for his hand to come down on your pussy with a harsh, slick crack. You couldn’t swallow back your pained cry, couldn’t stop yourself from shrinking further into Leona. “No lying, now, darling. You know how easy it is to hurt his feelings.” He paused, then glanced over his shoulders. Blearily, your attention drifted to the doorway of your bedroom – to Riddle, standing stiffly on the other side other side of the threshold. You stiffened, but Vil didn’t seem surprised. “Going to watch today, Rosehearts?”

Obviously. As complicit as they all seemed with your imprisonment, there were a few – Riddle, Idia, Azul – that withheld from treating your prolonged abuse like a group project. You’d been surprised, at first, that Vil wasn’t a part of that collective, but his tendency towards exhibitionism made sense. He couldn’t love what he couldn’t flaunt, even if his audience was limited to a handful of former classmates.

“O-of course not,” Riddle stuttered out, predictably. His pale face was tinted a nearly violent shade of red. “I just wanted to make sure you two weren’t hurting her.”

You felt Leona’s grin against your throat. “Hear that, pretty girl? He thinks we’d hurt you.” The space Vil left vacant was quickly filled – three of his calloused fingers soon filling your drenched pussy. You clenched your eyes shut, grit your teeth, but that did little to stop him from burrowing his claws into your side and tearing a little, cracked whimper through your sealed lips. “Don’t see him doing much to stop us, though.”

Vil only offered an unimpressed shake of his head, but Riddle straightened. “Are you implying that I couldn’t—”

“I’m saying that you won’t.” Leona cut him off swiftly, the edge in his tone sharped and playful. “Not if you want the next turn.”

For a moment, Riddle didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything.

Then, with a pointed glare, he turned on his heel and abandoned your bedroom altogether, likely dedicating himself to finding another part of this terrible castle to wait Leona out in.

As soon as his footsteps faded out of earshot, Leona’s teeth were buried in the curve of your throat – drawing blood in an instant.

Out of all your captors, it was Kalim who’d disappointed you the most.

You hadn’t expected this from the others, but in hindsight, you wouldn’t put it above them, either. Azul had never been able to draw a line between what he wanted and what he could have, Riddle had never been able to keep his base impulses at bay for very long, and Leona… well, Leona couldn’t be bothered to pretend he was interested in things like your ‘autonomy’ or ‘independence’. Kalim, though – he’d always been nice to you. Not overly kind, but nice, and in a place like NRC, that was something you’d been able to appreciate.

It almost didn’t make sense to see him in a place like this, to connect his presence here with the looming fact of your continual imprisonment. It didn’t make sense that the boy who’d once thrown a parade to celebrate you finally accepting an invitation to one of his banquets would be resting his hands on your shoulders, his eyes fixed on your reflection in a pearl-lined vanity as he pulled what felt like the hundredth gem-studded necklace into place at the base of your throat. You didn’t need jewelry. They rarely gave you anything to wear outside of loose-fitting, sheer dresses and the occasional piece of lingerie, but Kalim would’ve plucked the moon from the sky if it meant he could give it to you in a velvet-lined box. That was what he’d told you, at least, the first time you’d turned him down.

Actually, maybe you didn’t deserve to feign surprise. They’d all tried to do it the right way before their graduations, whether it was Vil beckoning you to sit on his lap during a dorm leader meeting or Riddle turning a dozen shades of pink as he asked if you’d care to attend an Unbirthday Party as his guest, sometime. You’d turned them all down, batting Leona’s hand away before it could settle on your shoulder, telling Azul you wouldn’t trust him as a business partner, let alone a boyfriend. Between school and a new apocalypse-scenario every other week, you never had the time (let alone the energy or desire) to date, as idiotic as it sounded to suggest that any of this could’ve started with a handful of schoolyard crushes. Maybe, if you’d given them a chance to see that it wouldn’t have worked out on their own terms, it wouldn’t have come to this. Maybe, you would’ve gotten to go home.

Or, maybe, you just would’ve been snatched up before that thread of hope could ever be dangled in front of you. Either way, a preferable alternative.

“The sapphires were a better fit,” Azul chimed in as Kalim pulled the next necklace into place – a loose riviere studded with rubies. It was the fifth of as many variants, only differentiated by the color of the jewel. Kalim claimed that he’d only meant to get you one, but ever the glutton, he hadn’t been able to choose. “Red is such a garish color. Our little princess deserves to feel as royal as we treat her, doesn’t she?”

If Kalim noticed the barb, he didn’t seem to mind. “I think you look beautiful in red,” he said, leaning down to push a kiss into your temple. His smile was as bright as it’d ever been, and you hated him that much more for it. “Then again, you look beautiful in everything. Why don’t you keep them all?”

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him where he could shove his jewelry, but you were cut off by the shutter of a camera, the hint of a flash in your peripheral. You glanced towards Azul, who only shrugged in response., sinking further into his armchair “For Idia. He’s going to be tied up with a research project for another week or so, and for whatever reason, it’s fallen on my shoulders to make sure that he doesn’t completely succumb to his self-pity and throw the gates of Tartarus open.” He thought, for a moment. “For a second time, I mean.”

You couldn’t be sure why you said it. It was an instinct, a knee-jerk reaction to grab the first blade you saw and twist it. Idia was, by far, the most distant of your captors, and when he did show his face, he barely spoke and never touched you. Even in a castle of rapists and kidnappers, he’d found a way to make himself an outsider.

“Azul?” You made a point of keeping your eyes on your reflection as you went on. “Could you tell Idia I want to see him again? When he has time, I mean.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

Finally, Kalim forced out an only partially strained laugh, squeezing your shoulders with just a little too much force. “Is something wrong? If you want to ask for something, you don’t have to wait for Idia.”

You didn’t bother trying to respond to him. “Please, Azul?”

From the corner of your eye, you watched him glance between you and Kalim. Eventually, he let out an airy sigh and nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. Although, I do have to wonder what you’re getting up to.”

Your only answer came in the form of a tight smile, a slight shrug. Kalim didn’t waste time taking up the next necklace: a choker of braided strands of pure, glittering gold. This time, he fastened it tightly enough to bruise.

You almost felt bad for Idia, when you let yourself think about what you were doing.

Almost.

The bare skin of his chest was warm under your palm, the flames of his hair tinted a deep pink - a color you might’ve found charming, in any other situation. He was beneath you, currently, his face half-buried in a pillow while you rolled your hips idly against his, your pace slow and careless. He wasn’t as authoritative as Leona, as demanding as Riddle, and you liked that about him. But, his submissiveness meant you had to do most of the work, which you liked less.

At least he tried to pretend that he didn’t like it. Bias caused conflict, and his occasional encounters with the others wilted before shriveling into complete nonexistence shortly after you declared him your unlikely favorite. Even now, he kept his eyes clenched shut, his bottom lip caught between his pointed teeth as your pussy clenched around him. You’d gone numb to pleasure in the first weeks of your captivity, but any amount of physical contact seemed to overwhelm him. It might’ve been refreshing, if you hadn’t been so, so exhausted.

Gradually, your movements slowed, your body stilling on top of his. A second passed before he opened one of his eyes, his kiss-swollen lips quirking downward in mixed disappointment and frustration. “W-Why did you stop?”

With an exaggerated sigh, you collapsed onto him, slotting your chest against his and propping your chin on his collarbone. “I never made it to graduate,” you said, absentmindedly, relying on the haze of lust to hide just how flat your voice was. “Never got to say goodbye to anyone, either, but that was never going to happen. The other are too mean to me for that.”

His expression took on a somber lull. It might’ve been more believable if you hadn’t been able to feel his cock twitching inside of you. “I… I’m sorry. I wanted to wait, but Azul said— and Leona—”

“I know, I know.” You kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “It’s not your fault. I just—”

You cut yourself off with another sigh, just as unbelievable as the first. Thankfully, Idia was eager to take the bait. “Whatever it is, I can do it for you. I’d do anything for you.” His shaking hands found their way to your waist. “I love you.”

“I want to see Ramshackle again,” you said, without hesitation. Immediately, you felt him stiffen against you, and let your tone drag into something desperate, something pleading. “Just this once. I won’t even go inside, and Night Raven’s on break, right now. No one’s going to be on campus.” You paused, pecked the corner of his lips. “Please, Idia. Nobody else has to know.”

He still looked skeptical, but he was going to break your heart, he wasn’t going to do it while his cock was still pulsing inside of you. After only a moment of hesitation, he let out a shallow breath and nodded hastily. “One trip. And the other never find out.”

Instantly, you brightened, beaming as you pulled him into a deep, lasting kiss – a proper kiss, this time, something you’d never willingly imitated with any of your captors. He would know that. He wasn’t the most domineering, but if the hidden cameras dotted across your bedroom were anything to go by, he had his own kind of competitive streak.

A hitched moan reverberated against your mouth. With your arms still wrapped around his neck, your chest still pressed into his, he started to move on his own – his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust into you from below. His pace was unsteady, his rhythm nonexistent, but your clit scraped against the flattened plane of his pubic bone and however meager it might’ve been, there was just enough stimulation to melt into. Vaguely, you were aware of a distant whimpering, of Idia’s face buried in the crook of your neck, but you let it fade into the background – into the constant fog of static that’d been cast over your conscious mind since you woke up in this terrible place.

When you felt his teeth scrape over the curve of your throat, it was all you could do to close your eyes and think of home.

“It’s a pretty basic teleportation scheme,” he’d explained, as he led you through the castle’s entryway after pulling you out of your bed in the middle of the night. The winter air cut through your thin dress without mercy, but you’d fought not to shiver, not to give him a reason to second-guess if he should be doing this. Right now, he was convinced he loved you more than he feared letting you get away, and you couldn’t do anything to break that delusion. “Ortho handled most of the hardware, but he was following my designs. The NRC waypoint was supposed to be a limited-time mechanic, but I never cut it out of the system. It should still work – for a couple trips, at least.”

You’d let him ramble about how many hours it’d taken to put together, nodded enthusiastically as he described all the effort he’d poured into ruining your life. He kept his hand locked around yours as he led you onto a shining, steel platform, only letting go to punch the coordinates into his tablet. There was a flash of light, a slight buzzing in your ears, and then, you were standing in front of the gates to Night Raven College, already open and waiting for your arrival.

You didn’t wait for Idia to move, to say anything. Rather, you let the gem shard (pilfered from one of Kalim’s more recent attempts to win back your attention; the jewel in its entirety had been larger than your balled fist) that you’d stowed away in your sleeve fall into your hand and stabbed the jagged end into his back. You didn’t wait to see if the wound took before breaking into a sprint towards the Hall of Mirrors.

You’d be able to see, later on, that it was far from the best idea you’d ever had. There was a good chance Crowley abandoned any work he might’ve started as soon as you went missing, if he really had found a way to send you hope at all. The injury you’d dealt to Idia was far from fatal, and you’d be in for more than just a few days in the cellar if they caught you, but the desire to get out of here, to go home drowned out your better judgement – leaving your tired mind empty and your body dependent on pure, unadulterated desperation as you ran towards the familiar, pitch-black dome on the outskirts of campus. Your skirt snagged on roots and twigs, your bare feet numb and aching in-turns, but you didn’t dare to slow down, to look behind you. By the time you reached the Hall of Mirrors, your throat was dry, your heart beating in your ears. Thankfully, the door had been left unlocked, and you shouldered your way inside.

The Magic Mirror stood, dark and stoic, in the center of the room. You allowed yourself a single breath of relief, a moment to let the past few months— no, the past three years of your life melt away before moving toward it.

You made it all of two, three steps before something sprung from the darkness and wrapped around your ankle – cutting into your flesh and, with a sudden jerk, dragging you to the floor. You stifled a scream, reflexively moving to tear at your new restraints, but froze when you saw exactly what you were caught in.

A thick braid of vines wrapped around your leg – except they weren’t vines, not really.

They were briars.

Rows upon rows of hooked thorns were embedded into the skin of your calf, drawing blood wherever they made contact. The pain was instant, searing, but you didn’t care – tearing at your bondage even as the thorns bit into your hands, as the rope of briars drew that much tighter. Tears blurred your vision, and so distracted by your own misery and panic, you almost didn’t notice the sound of clipped heels against marble floors, the dark shadow that soon blocked out what little light you had. You didn’t have to look at him. You already knew who it was.

In the end, though, you weren’t given much of a choice.

You really should’ve been more used to that, by now.

A gloved hand caught you by the chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and meet Malleus’ expectant, prying stare. He took a moment to evaluate your ragged dress, the bruising and love-bites painted down your neck before a small smile came to rest over his lips; the barest hint of pointed teeth catching in the moonlight. “And to think, I thought it was only nostalgia drawing me back to this lonely place.” He spared a glance toward the mirror. “And I suppose you plan to use that ancient thing to return to your own world?”

“Malleus,” you gasped his name, hoping that would be enough to communicate the depths of your despair. “I don’t have a lot of time, I— They’re coming for me, and—” You cut yourself off, swallowing harshly. “I want to go home.”

His only response came in the form of a low hum, dull and dismissive. All it took was a snap of his fingers, a certain glint in his narrowed eyes, and the mirror shattered into more pieces than you could ever hope to put back together.

This time, you couldn’t swallow back the ragged sob that tore past your lips, the pathetic noise echoing off the stone walls. You tried to crawl towards the fractured pieces, but Malleus kneeled to your height, letting out a patronizing coo as he wrapped an arm around your midriff, pulling you against his chest and suffocating any possible hope you might’ve had for escape. Distantly, you were aware of a rush of footsteps, of a collar (as heavy as it was useless) snapping shut around your neck, but Malleus didn’t falter. With your limp body in his arms, he pushed himself to his feet, turning to face your captors where they’d clustered in the entryway.

It was Leona who spoke first, predictably. He never could let anyone else be the center of attention. “What do you want, Draconia?”

Malleus, on the other hand, was in no rush, letting his gaze fall back to you. “I was surprised, when I heard of her disappearance. I know how fragile mortal lives could be, but I thought, surely, a human who’d befriended so many powerful mages ought to be a little more enduring.”

After he finished, silence hung heavy in the air. Vil summoned his spell book, and Kalim’s fists clenched at his sides, his jealousy threatening to outweigh his pacifistic nature. None of it would’ve made a difference. If Malleus wanted to, he could reduce them all to ash with little more than a wayward thought. If Malleus wanted to, he wouldn’t need five other conspirators to have you at his mercy.

And yet, he only let out a breath of a laugh, holding you that much closer to his chest. “Then again, if I’d known those powerful mages would struggle to keep watch of such a precious item, I might’ve been less generous.”

“Get to the point.”

This time, he chose to obey. “It seems,” he started, bowing his head and letting his lips brush against your cheek. “As if you’re having trouble keeping this little one in line.”

His grin was wider and more satisfied than you’d ever seen it, before. Looking at him, you could only wonder how you have bothered trying to survive in a world that so clearly wasn’t meant for you.

“Would you consider making use of another pair of hands?”

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