#because its kind of just. dark. and angsty

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Black Butterflies & Deja Vu

Sebastian Sallow x Reader (F!MC) Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are 18+ Words: 5,474 Themes: friends to lovers, angst, fluff, shameless smut

Summary: Your best friend Sebastian Sallow has been downright angsty lately. You have no idea it's because he's lovesick over you, until Anne and Ominis force your hands.

Notes: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested some Sebastian Sallow angst and smut. Decided to write this one inspired by the song "Black Butterflies & Deja Vu" by The Maine. All characters are 18-year-old seventh years. Reader/MC is a Ravenclaw.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow sighed and hurled another stone into the Black Lake. It pierced the water’s surface with a sharp splash and sank to its deep demise. Sebastian wished he could do the same.

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but Sebastian was feeling rather melancholy. Another Saturday spent alone while you were whisked off to Hogsmeade by yet another suitor.

Or so he thought.

In truth, you were only with Amit Thakkar to help your fellow Ravenclaw craft a plan to ask out Poppy Sweeting. You were fond of Amit – he was handsome and thoughtful – but the notion of any romantic interest between the two of you was laughable. You were gutsy; the type to charge into combat and to speak your mind. Amit was introspective; more of the type to read up on his enemies rather than fight them.

Besides, Amit had it bad for your friend, Poppy. He told you her kindness toward creatures was endearing to him, but he also appreciated how she fought for her convictions. Ever since you and Poppy took down the poachers of Horntail Hall, Amit admired her creed.

Now, it was your seventh year and Amit felt like he was running out of time. You assured him that Poppy would likely say yes to a date. She often spoke highly of Amit, noting his kind and studious nature. Sure, Amit wasn’t the most adventurous student, but you’d seen him hold his own in combat the time you took him to a goblin mine. He had more moxie than he let on.

So when Amit asked you for help, you eagerly agreed. Now that you no longer had to worry about goblin rebellions or Anne Sallow’s curse, you had time for more fun and frivolous quests – like playing matchmaker for two friends.

You spent the afternoon in the Three Broomsticks with Amit to help him decide how and when to ask Poppy on a date. Once it was decided that you’d let him use your vivarium so that he and Poppy could spend time with your unicorns, you toasted to your plan with a round of butterbeers before returning to the castle.

You were practically skipping with satisfaction. Your plan was bound to work and you couldn’t wait to see what may come of Poppy and Amit’s romance.

But Sebastian didn’t know that. To him, Amit was just another sorry bloke who had joined the long line of people desperate to know you on a deeper level. But no one knew you the way Sebastian did. It was more than your secrets, though; sure, he knew those – about Ranrok, your ancient magic and the Keepers – but he also knew your feelings. He knew your fears, sorrows and your emotional triggers. He knew how you liked your tea in the afternoons. He knew you couldn’t fall asleep without reading before bed each night. And he knew you dreamed of a life free from the pain and suffering you’d been forced to live since your fifth year.

That’s why Sebastian never spoke a word of his feelings for you. You were strong and sensible; kind and clever. You were brilliant in every way possible; beautiful inside and out, worthy of all the admiration you received. He decided he was too weak and insignificant to ever deserve you. He was reckless and weak; he gave in to dark magic and it nearly ruined his life – and yours. You deserved a world of warmth and prosperity. Sebastian carried too much darkness. 

Of course, Sebastian had spent every day since Solomon’s death trying to make up for it. You were proud of the work he’d put in to resurrect himself from the dark cavern he’d been drawn to because of that relic. You often told him so, because you wanted him to forgive himself and see himself as someone who deserved to be happy.

But Sebastian loved you far too much to risk tainting you with any more of his poison. So instead of simply telling you how much you meant to him, he remained in the shadows as a bystander, witnessing all the ways your glow captivated anyone privileged enough to cross your path.

Of course you’d chosen Amit, Sebastian thought. Amit was polished and smart, generous and astute. He calculated life with consideration rather than sprinting headfirst without reason the way Sebastian did. Amit had a wealth of information and creativity, always writing in his stacks of notebooks or gazing at the stars in awe. The only thing that left Sebastian in awe was you. You were his North Star.

As you returned to the school grounds, you spotted a familiar figure sulking by the lake. You said goodbye to Amit and tread carefully toward Sebastian.

“Seb,” you said, pulling your sweater tightly around yourself. The early stages of fall were creeping across the Highlands, bringing a new chill to the air. “Seb, what are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian answered tersely. You flinched at his coarse tone. Sure, Sebastian could be brooding and moody, but not usually toward you. He adored you.

You and Sebastian were closer than ever. The events of your fifth year left you both fragile and forlorn; you, because you lost your mentor, Professor Fig, while the repository remained your burden to bear; Sebastian, because he lost more than his uncle when Anne refused to forgive him. The two of you were left with each other, so you leaned inward and formed a bond that could only be understood by two people who shared an unspeakable trauma.

Then you killed Victor Rookwood and Anne Sallow’s curse was lifted. When she began to heal, so did her relationship with Sebastian. He had you to thank for it, and you were merely happy to see him smile again. It brought you even closer.

But something shifted as time passed. You and Sebastian remained bonded, but the new layers of adulthood began to stack between you. He watched your classmates eye you like candy in the corridors. You listened to them whisper and giggle when Sebastian returned tanned and taller after a summer growth spurt.

But for all the rumors and mumblings about the nature of your relationship with Sebastian – “Are they together yet? Is it true they snogged in the Restricted Section? Will they or won’t they?” – you and Sebastian had never broached the subject. 

It broke your heart every single day. Everyone else thought you and Sebastian belonged together. So did you. But you were merely one half of the equation and Sebastian never seemed to count you as a love interest.

“Sebastian, what’s wrong?” you asked, frowning at his cool demeanor.

“Just hanging out,” he said simply. He skipped a flat rock across the water, scattering a cluster of butterflies that hovered near the surface.

“Why weren’t you in Hogsmeade?” you asked innocently.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you care?”

You swallowed, hurt by the way he was lashing out. He was known to have a short fuse – his emotions often got the best of him – but he always treated you with more delicate tact.

His eyes always softened when he looked at you. His touch became gentler and his words became tender. You were the calm to his storm, so it scared you to see dark clouds in his eyes.

“Sebastian, what is wrong?” you demanded. “Have I done something?”

“Other than Amit Thakkar? No. Well, unless you include Larson and Weasley too.”

“What? What do they have to do with-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sebastian snapped.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you angry at me for going to Hogsmeade with Amit?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeated.

“It does matter,” you pushed back. “It wasn’t a date. In fact, I was helping him plan a date. With Poppy.”

“What?” Sebastian finally pulled his gaze from the lake to turn toward you, his own eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I was helping Amit form a plan to ask Poppy out,” you said. “He’s fancied her forever.”

“Oh.”

“What’s this about, Seb? Is that really why you’ve been pouting here by the lake all day?”

“I wasn’t pouting.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged your arms around his torso, resting your head against his back. You did this often, as it always seemed to relax Sebastian when he was moody. 

“Tortured and forlorn isn’t a good look on you,” you quipped before you released him. 

He sighed and turned to look at you. “Sorry. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit down, is all,” Sebastian said.

“I know,” you said gently. “I know it’s nearly Halloween.”

Halloween was a difficult time of year for Sebastian. The holiday wasn’t fun and frivolous for him the way it was for others. For him, it was the anniversary of his parents’ death.

Sebastian’s lips thinned as he stilled himself. You reached downward to give his hand a gentle squeeze and spent the remainder of the afternoon comforting him by the quiet lake.

---

Later that evening, you sat with Ominis Gaunt and Anne Sallow in the Undercroft. Sebastian had trudged off to bed, leaving the three of you to continue your Ancient Runes studies. 

The Undercroft was quiet as your quill scratched quietly over parchment, a stark contrast from the roar happening inside your head. Finally, you tossed your quill onto the table and sat back in your chair. Anne looked up at your sudden movement and Ominis leaned forward.

“I’m worried about Sebastian,” you said.

“Get in line,” Ominis muttered dryly.

“I know the anniversary of your parents’ death is approaching, but I think it’s more than that,” you sighed as you looked at Anne, who nodded in understanding. “He just seems so… sulky.”

“Sulky?” Ominis mused. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“So you’ve noticed it too?”

“Of course, I have,” Ominis said. 

“You’re right, it’s not just our parents,” Anne said. She and Ominis shared a glance that made you uncomfortable, as if they knew something you didn’t.

“What is it?” you demanded with a frown.

“We think he’s lovesick,” Anne said with a soft laugh. You blinked as you processed her words, your stomach deflating as if she’d punched you there.

Sebastian was in love. That was the hardest pill to swallow, but the fact that he hadn’t told you made it even more painful. He told you everything. 

“Lovesick?” you repeated. “Sebastian?” Anne nodded while Ominis folded his arms across his chest, the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But he hasn’t mentioned anyone to me. And I haven’t seen him with anyone lately.”

It was Ominis’ turn to blink. “He isn’t dating anyone,” he said. “He’s distraught over someone he thinks he can’t have.”

“Who?” you pressed. “Is it Nerida? Because-”

“Oh, please.” Ominis snorted. “Sebastian wouldn’t be arsed over someone as scatterbrained as Nerida Roberts. Give him some more credit than that.”

“But I heard they hooked up.”

“Even if they did, she’s not the one Sebastian’s pining after,” Anne remarked.

“Then who?”

Another silent exchange of glances and you glared at your friends. “What aren’t you telling me?” you demanded, hurt that they were keeping a secret from you. There were no secrets when it came to Sebastian and you.

“And I thought Ravenclaws were smart,” Ominis teased. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” you pushed, your hurt frustrating beginning to surge. It was bad enough Sebastian was in love with someone else, but your friends withholding it from you twisted the knife deeper.

“We don’t need to tell you,” Anne said. You couldn’t decide if she was amused or annoyed.

“Why not? I clearly have no idea who it is.”

“Clearly,” Ominis said dryly.

“So then tell me!”

“We can’t,” Anne said simply. “If it isn’t obvious to you, you aren’t ready to know.”

Tears stung your eyes at your friends’ callousness. Was this their payback for the secrets you kept from them your fifth year? Of course, you’d never told them how you felt about Sebastian. How could you? Ominis would tell you to run far, far away from your chaotic friend. And Anne was his sister. She’d never understand.

“Fine,” you snapped, shuffling your parchment and quills into a pile. You shoved your chair back as you rose to your feet and gathered your study materials in your arms. “It’s also obvious to me I’m not meant to know, so I suppose I’ll call it a night.”

You scurried from the Undercroft, hurt and confused.

---

The following day, Sebastian seethed over his breakfast. He watched you from the Slytherin table as you laughed with your fellow Ravenclaws. Andrew Larson was leaning in particularly close to you and Sebastian hated the way he was looking at you. Sebastian looked at you the same way.

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to lust over his best friend, but everything you did, every move you made, forced him into a wild spiral. Sometimes he even forgot how to string together a coherent sentence when you were around, like when you’d subconsciously bite your bottom lip while deep in thought, or the time you fell into a creek and he could see through your blouse.

Sebastian was so busy glaring daggers at Andrew, he didn’t notice the arrival of Ominis and Anne. Anne turned to see the source of her brother’s miffed expression and sighed as she sat down.

“Sebastian, stop,” she scolded. “If you scowl any more, you’re going to accidentally hex half the Ravenclaw table.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it includes Larson,” Sebastian muttered as he tore his gaze away.

“What’s wrong with Larson?” Anne asked. “He seems nice enough.”

“Don’t be so daft,” Sebastian mumbled. Anne set down her water goblet as her eyes pierced Sebastian with annoyance.

“Sebastian, this has got to stop,” she said forcefully. “You’re acting insufferable.”

“She’s right,” Ominis chimed in. “All of this moping about is becoming unbearable. Just tell her already.”

“Tell who what?”

“Who’s the daft one now?” Anne clucked her tongue. “Come on, Sebastian. It’s clearer than crystal. Everyone knows you’re in love with her.”

“In love with who?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Anne snapped. “Now either tell her or we will.”

“You won’t say a word,” Sebastian threatened. “Mind your business.”

“You’re making it our business with your sour attitude,” Anne said. “We can’t stand it anymore. And frankly, neither can she. You’re just lucky she’s too in love with you to gain any sense.”

“She’s what?”

Anne sat back and smirked. “Come on now,” she continued. “Even you aren’t this dense.”

“Did she say something to you?” Sebastian demanded.

“No,” Anne said simply. “Sometimes the truth is in what we don’t say.”

---

After dinner, you decided to check on Sebastian. You hadn’t seen much of him that day, but you had seen the way he seemingly scowled at you in the Great Hall.

You descended the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower to make the trek toward the Slytherin Dungeons. But as you approached the Quad Courtyard, you were met by Anne.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

“Anne? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you. Have you forgotten about your detention?”

“Detention?” 

“Remember, for last week’s Potions incident?”

“But that wasn’t me. That was all Garreth’s f-”

“But Sharp gave you both detention for it, remember?” Anne asked. “He said you were complicit in the explosion since you were Weasley’s partner that day.”

“But…” your voice trailed off as you racked your brain to remember. You couldn’t recall Professor Sharp scolding you or giving you detention. Surely, you would have remembered that.

“You need to get down to the Detention Chamber,” Anne said urgently. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

“But-”

“Go! Sharp’s already livid. He sent me because I happened to be walking by. Weasley’s already there.”

You groaned. How did you forget? This surely meant you’d receive a second detention for your tardiness. 

“Alright,” you sighed. “I’m on my way.” You thanked Anne and hurried to the dungeons.

“Sorry I’m late, professor!” you exclaimed as you shoved your way through the door to the Detention Chamber. You froze when it became clear Professor Sharp wasn’t there. Neither was Garreth Weasley. Sebastian was the only other occupant, sitting at the front of the room.

“Where’s Sharp?” you asked, confused.

“Sharp? No idea,” Sebastian answered, looking equally confused. “Where’s Binns?”

“Binns?”

“He apparently gave me detention for falling asleep in class last week,” Sebastian explained. “I don’t even remember it. But Anne said-”

“Anne said you had detention?” Your brow furrowed as your suspicion spiked. “But Anne told me-”

A sudden click from the door behind you made you whirl around. You reached for the door handle and found it was locked.

“Hey!” you shouted. “There’s people in here! Unlock the door!”

“No.” 

Your eyes widened at the voice on the other side of the door. “Anne?”

“We’re not letting you out until the two of you confess,” Anne’s voice said.

“Confess? Confess what? And who’s we?” Sebastian appeared next to you, his arms crossed as he frowned at the door. 

“You know what,” Anne’s voice replied pointedly.

“What’s she talking about?” you asked, turning to stare at Sebastian. He shrugged.

“I have no idea. Anne, open the door.”

“No.”

“Ominis? Are you out there too? Are you in on this?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes,” came Ominis’ voice.

Sebastian cursed. Neither of you had your wands – students had to place them in a lock box outside the chamber upon entry so that you couldn’t use magic during detention. The box wouldn’t unlock itself until the full detention was served.

“Let us out!” you shouted at the door. “This is ridiculous! You can’t keep us in here!”

“You can and we will,” Anne responded. “We’ll be back soon.”

You pressed your ear to the door and could hear their footsteps fading down the corridor. You sighed and turned to press your back against the door.

“What’s this about?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing at Sebastian.

“I don’t know,” he said as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

“What do they want you to confess?” you asked.

“They said ‘the two of you,’” Sebastian pointed out. “We’re both meant to confess something.”’

“Confess what? We don’t keep secrets from one another.”

Sebastian sighed and paced toward the front of the classroom. He leaned forward against the large desk at the front of the room, his hands gripping the desktop while he appeared deep in thought. 

“They think we… have feelings for each other,” he said, his back still to you as he gazed downward at the desktop.

“What?!”

“They think you and I have romantic attractions,” he said. He turned to face you and crossed his arms again. 

“You can’t be serious,” you laughed nervously. Heat began to creep up the back of your neck. “Why do they think that?” Sebastian gazed at you with tired eyes that startled you. Your tense posture slackened as you frowned in concern. “Sebastian? Are you okay?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not. I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want to sit down?” you asked as you crossed the chamber to approach him. “Maybe you’re ill.”

The conversation you had with Anne and Ominis drifted to the front of your mind. 

“We think he’s lovesick,” Anne had said.

You paused. Dare you ask? What if the answer killed you?

“Sebastian,” you started carefully. “Are you… have you got a crush on someone? Is that why you’ve been so moody lately? Anne mentioned you’ve seemed a little lovesick.”

And to your absolute, utter shock, Sebastian began to laugh. Dread coursed through your blood as you waited for him to regain his composure. 

“Anne’s right, this really is unbearable,” he said as he shook his head. He sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face, so you closed more distance and leaned backward against a desk across from him.

Sebastian’s eyes roamed you up and down. It made you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“The answer is yes,” he finally continued. “I do have feelings for someone. That’s what Anne and Ominis want me to confess.”

“Who? Who do you have feelings for?” you asked, ignoring the sting that was twisting shards of heartache inside your chest.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. His eyes lingered on you as he seemed to be fighting impatience.

“You really don’t know?” he asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” you complained. “Clearly I don’t.”

Sebastian dug the palms of his hands against his eyes as if seeing clearer might make you see clearer. “They keep asking because the answer is obvious,” he said. “The answer is you.”

His words seemed to hover between you, an invisible line begging to be crossed. All you had to do was break the plane.

“Me?” you asked stupidly.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the naivety plastered all over your face. “Yes, you,” he answered. “It really can’t be that much of a surprise, can it? I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

“I thought you were just being protective of me,” you said breathlessly. The cool dungeon felt hot and your hands were clammy. This wasn’t happening. You had to be lost in one of your countless dreams about Sebastian, fantasizing over all the ways he’d show you how much he loved you.

“I was,” Sebastian said simply. “I was protecting you from me.”

“What?”

Sebastian paced in front of the desk. “You deserve so much more than someone like me,” he confessed. “I mean, look at you. You’re… everything. I’m just the fool who got lucky enough to call you a friend.”

“Sebastian, that’s not for you to decide,” you said, your eyes still wide at the stunning revelation. “You don’t get to pick for me. And I’ll always pick you.”

“What?”

Suddenly, you understood the frustration that Anne and Ominis felt. You were stunned the two hadn’t strangled you and Sebastian both by now. You were no longer angry with them; you were grateful.

“This is all so ridiculous,” you breathed with a laugh. You stepped toward Sebastian and it was his turn to look surprised. “Sebastian, can we both just confess already?”

“You… you really mean it? You’re not just trying to get out of here?”

“On the contrary,” you said as you took another step toward him. “I’m trying to make the most of our time.”

You grabbed him by the front of his jumper and pulled him into a kiss. It was soft at first, but you grew hungry for more until your hands became balls of taut wool and your tongue was dragging along Sebastian’s bottom lip.

His hands snapped to your waist and pulled you against his body as he kissed you deeper. His tongue clashed with yours until you were gasping for air.

“Wait,” you laughed as you broke apart to catch your breaths. “We still need to confess.”

“I love you,” Sebastian said immediately. His eyes were heavy with a new level of affection that was foreign to you. It made your chest swell and heart race.

“I love you too,” you breathed. Sebastian smiled and leaned in to kiss you more gently this time. 

“This was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” you murmured once he pulled away.

Sebastian laughed as his thumbs traced gentle circles over your hip. He smiled at you with so much love and lust, your knees would surely give out. Luckily, you had a solution for that.

You pulled him into another forceful kiss, tugging on his jumper until he moved away from the desk. You spun so that your own back was pressed against it, pulling him into you until he lifted you onto the desktop. You wrapped your legs around him, your hands tugging at the hem of his jumper.

You could already feel his erection digging into the skin of your thigh. You’d never wanted anything so badly in your life.

You slipped the sweater over his head and dragged your palms over his bare chest, the feeling of his skin sending shockwaves through your fingertips. You couldn’t believe you were finally touching him in the sinful manner that only existed in your forbidden fantasies.

“Can I take this off?” Sebastian asked as his fingers grazed the top button of your blouse. 

“If you don’t, I will,” you replied. He grinned at your response and kissed you.

Once all the buttons were parted, Sebastian shoved your shirt onto the desk behind you. His hands skimmed over your waist and held your hips as he pulled you hard against him, your inner thigh grinding against his erection. 

You decided you hated the feeling of his trousers against your skin. You fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper until you could shove his remaining clothing to the floor, freeing his cock from the layers of fabric.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it. Sex wasn’t new to you but someone of that size certainly was. You internally scolded yourself for depriving yourself from this for so long.

Sebastian’s hands snaked beneath the hem of your skirt, the pads of his fingers stroking the tops of your thighs. He licked his lips at the heat radiating from your body. 

As he leaned in to kiss you, one of his hands found the apex between your thighs, grazing two fingers over the fabric of your panties. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned as he felt the moisture of the fabric. He planted a trail of kisses from your neck across your collarbone, stopping with one final peck to your right shoulder.

His thumb brushed patterns over your entrance and you whimpered in frustration at the fabric separating your flesh. Sebastian smirked and inched your panties to the side with his thumb and index finger until your entrance was exposed. His thumb returned, this time running up and down over your wet folds. You could feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

But he had to taste you first. His lips left a trail of kisses from your neck and between your breasts until he lowered himself to a kneeling position. One more kiss followed above your belly button until he was pushing your skirt hem upward. He eyed your most precious asset and attacked it with his tongue.

Your gasp hissed throughout the chamber on contact. The sounds of Sebastian’s tongue immersed in your folds was music to your ears as he hummed a moan into your flesh. The vibration made you buck your hips forward.

His tongue swiped patterns over your clit until you fisted his hair in your hands. You pressed your fingertips into his skull, begging him for more pressure. He obliged, his tongue flattening and flicking against your clit until you were moaning repeatedly.

His lips enclosed your clit and he sucked against it, the sound drawing scowls from the portrait paintings on the walls.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, your eyelids heavy as you gazed at the erotic vision between your legs. 

Sebastian sucked harder, the tip of his tongue pressed against your clit until your thighs twitched in his hands. You were afraid to know what it’d be like to fall apart on Sebastian’s tongue – not because you were embarrassed or self-conscious, but because you knew it would ruin you for life.

And when it finally started, the sweet sensation shooting through your nerve endings in the form of a convulsion across your cunt, you forced your hips forward as Sebastian’s tongue danced against your clit. Your shaking thighs clamped either side of his head and he groaned at the surge of wet arousal that surfaced from your entrance. His tongue glided inside you to collect the reward of your climax.

As you recovered, your chest rising and falling while you caught your breath, Sebastian kissed both of your thighs and stood, smirking at you with sensual eyes as he returned to his standing position between your legs.

You realized the top of your thigh was wet from the tip of his cock. You took it in your hand and stroked, your thumb appreciating the sensation of its velvet head. Your core began to throb with desire for it.

“I need you. Now,” you whispered. You didn’t need to ask twice.

Sebastian lined the tip of his cock against your entrance and took a moment to behold the sight. He decided he’d burn the entire castle down if he were to wake up and learn this was merely another dream.

But the feeling of your slick, warm arousal coating the head of his cock was far too real. He moaned at the sight of himself disappearing inside your entrance. He sank further into you while you held your breath at the size of him. 

“Relax,” Sebastian said gently. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded silently and exhaled, willing the tension to vacate your body. Sebastian continued to ease himself inside of you, his jaw clenched at the sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate him. 

“My god,” Sebastian groaned as his gaze drifted downward to where you were joined. You bucked your hips to indicate your readiness. 

Sebastian pushed his hips forward, his cock parting your walls again. You moaned at the pressure mounting within your core. 

His cock drove steady strokes against your walls as his hands gripped the tops of your thighs. You whined for more, your hips rocking forward as the desk creaked beneath you. 

You clutched Sebastian’s shoulders to pull him closer. He snapped his hips harder, the sounds of his thrusts growing louder as they became more erratic. 

Your legs clenched around his torso tightly, willing him to drive deeper inside you. You could feel the smoldering climax searing hotter within your twitching walls. When it finally began, your tight cunt released, pumping pleasure through your walls while you cried out. 

Your nails sank into Sebastian’s shoulder blades, leaving sharp crescent divots in his skin. Sebastian’s cock pumped you through your orgasm until your twitching cunt was spent. 

Sebastian’s hands drifted to your back, a flick of his fingers snapping your bra apart. He flung it onto the floor behind himself and buried himself inside you again. 

He kissed you hard, easing you backward until you were lying flat on your back. He couldn’t help himself from roaming his hands over your body, cupping and squeezing your breasts as he slammed into you. You moaned as he gripped your hips, pulling you into him as he fucked you. 

“Oh my god,” he moaned. The sight of you, splayed out flat on your back, breasts bouncing with each thrust, was better than any vision his head could conjure. 

The smacking of your bodies chorused across the chamber, your whimpered moans growing louder in rhythm with them. The delicious incline to another peak was mounting in your core, bringing you so close to the edge of ecstasy. 

Sebastian reached down to drag a thumb over your clit, nudging you to the climactic cliff. The sound you released was anything but subdued; an unrestrained wail as your walls convulsed around Sebastian’s driving cock, sending your back into an arch as you clamped your eyes shut. 

The aftermath was more than Sebastian could handle; your heaving chest panting for air; your heavy eyes dark with satisfaction; your arousal slowly dripping onto the desktop. 

Sebastian thrusted hard until his cock was fully enveloped in your warmth again, his tip buried deep within your plush walls. He grunted as he held you against himself, his cock throbbing with his own climax until he painted your core with his release. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned once it was over. 

He slumped forward. It felt as if his frame might collapse amid its boneless state. Beneath him, you were grateful for the desk keeping you off the ground. 

Once you felt lucid enough to move again, you sat up slowly. Sebastian dipped his head to rest his chin against your forehead as you both recovered in silence. He didn’t want to part from you, so he remained still, savoring your warmth as he draped his arms around you. 

“You really didn’t think I was in love with you?” you murmured softly against his chest. 

“You really didn’t realize I was in love with you?” he mused.

“We really do owe Anne and Ominis an apology,” you laughed softly. “Or a thank-you.”

The door suddenly creaked open and the sound of hurried footsteps stopped with a sharp halt. Anne stood in the doorway, her face twisted in an expression of horror as Ominis stood behind her, unaware of the sight before them. 

Sebastian winced at the intrusion.  “We should probably start with an apology.”

[flightfoot]

Do you have any good fic recs on Ladynoir. Them just hanging out or being angsty? They don’t have to be long either

Hopefully these fic recs work out for you!

Veritas by writer_slk

The latest akumatized villain is filling the mouths of its victims with criticisms and complaints. If left unchecked, every relationship in Paris will be put at risk. While Ladybug and Chat Noir are trying to stop the villain, Ladybug learns something about her partner that she didn’t want to know and then says something she didn’t mean to say.

---

Imaginary Friend by Engineerd

Alya went back to typing on her screen. “You’re right,” she agreed. “All that pressure? No wonder Ladybug made herself a boyfriend.” “Chat Noir is not her boyfriend,” Marinette scoffed. In which Ladybug summons Chat Noir as her lucky charm one day. (She keeps summoning him.)

---

The Son of my Enemy by Saccha

Cat Noir never wanted to be a villain, but he doesn't have a choice. Ladybug wishes she could save him. A reverse love square, villain!Cat Noir AU.

---

you deserve to be loved and you deserve what you are given by thescuttlebug

Marinette is terrified, suddenly. She’s not like this. She’s not this kind of alpha, to get her head turned by any pretty pheromones she trips over. She’s not--she’s not disloyal, she’s not inconstant. Chat smells like moonlight, like the sudden shock of night air and the terrifying rush of leaping out into the empty dark, like deserted city sidewalks and unfamiliar corners: something midnight-metallic, something strange, something wild. Nothing like Adrien. Not a single note in common. She’s not like this. She’s not like this. He smells-- He smells-- “Ladybug,” Chat croaks, still staring at her. He smells stray.

---

Evergreen by tanyatakaishi

Everything was gone. The entire cityscape had been obliterated, leaving them in a valley of trees. Blue mountains, peaks dressed in snow, stretched tall in the distance and at their foot lay an array of vineyards, miles wide with no civilization in sight. AKA: two heroes lost alone in the woods with no cheese.

---

As the dust settles by Pengirl91

After Ladybug lost everything and yet her partner stood by her, she realized what she had been trying to lie to herself about for months. She is undoubtedly in love with him. The only problem is that she's terrified of what that could lead to and there's a monumental task ahead of them before it might be safe to act on her feelings for him... more than she already has. Post Strike Back with my hopes, wishes, and predictions for season 5 as I wait with great impatience. Now complete.

The meat of this story is mostly a SentiAdrien fic. Adrien discovers that Gabriel is Hawkmoth, so Gabriel orders him to stay silent about what he found out, as well as giving orders to help him with plans to obtain the Miraculous he needs. Luckily, he doesn’t know that Adrien is Chat Noir...

---

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier. If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

---

To Have Loved by @trishacollins

Adrien struggles with the loss of children he never had, with a life he remembers living but that wasn't real. The only person who understands him is Ladybug, his wife and his children's mother. Sleeping alone is such an empty feeling. Together, they might make a start at healing. Or they might just make a new disaster.

I love Jubilation angst. Depending on how "real" that timeline felt, waking up could be devastating - and Chat WAS certainly devastated in that episode. It's akin to the Pevensie kids in Narnia growing up, becoming rulers, and then tumbling out of the wardrobe a couple decades later, the same age at which they left. Of course Ladybug and Chat Noir would cling to each other afterwards, the only other person who remembers that imaginary timeline.

That's not all this story entails, however. Gabriel isn't too happy about Adrien sneaking out as much as he has been, and he WILL get answers, one way or another...

---

in which chat noir comes up with an awesome gift for ladybug by @mixelation

If his Lady wants ultra rare Adrien Agreste merch, then that’s what his Lady will get! Written for the Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa exchange.

This was really sweet and I love how mixelation wrote Adrien's internal narration! You really viscerally understood his thoughts and feelings. It had some of the intimacy of a first person perspective, but well, in third person.

---

Mamma Mia! by @ladynoirfanao3

When Marinette discovers she is pregnant, she is distressed to realize any of the three men she slept with in the recent past could be the father; Chat Noir, Ladybug’s partner and ex with whom she had gone through a tearful breakup - the mysterious Cat Walker, Ladybug’s rebound - or Adrien Agreste, Marinette’s current boyfriend. Bit of a twist on the base concept of Mamma Mia, where she doesn't realize all three potential fathers are, in fact, the same man.

So this is a fun little fic. I loved seeing Adrien and Marinette independently wrestle with the situation - Adrien, with maybe being the father of his former girlfriend's children (but maybe not), and Marinette, with needing to tell her former and current boyfriends that they might or might not be the father, and having to deal with a potential change in their relationship because of that.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M, but the sexual content is relatively mild. The foreplay is detailed, but the actual sex is just implied.

---

Bend the World Around It by @kasienda

“Tell me it was real." She can’t look at him. She can barely stand the pain in his voice. She definitely can’t face it. “It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, and turns to her - his eyes swirling in their intensity. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Tell me that you were there. We were there together, having the same dream.” She squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to lie to him. She needs to lie to him. But she can’t. Lying would be like it never happened. But it did happen. And if it’s all they get to have, she wants him to know it. “I think we were having the same dream,” she whispers, unable to meet his eyes.

So this is an adorable Jubilation aftermath fic, with Ladybug and Chat Noir both mourning the loss of what only they remember, of a dream that never was. And them deciding that screw it, it may not have been real to anyone else, but it was real to them. They remember those years together, and they want to live together, if only during the times when they can afford to be missing from home. They remember being happily married, and crave that life.

---

(Drag) Kings And Queens by @entity9silvergen

Marinette sees one of her commissions on drag performer Chat Noir and a friendship is born. If only she could get her girlfriend Adriana to go to one of his performances… Adrien plays with a new side of himself through drag with some help from his new online friend Ladybug. If only his newfound confidence could help him work up the courage to tell his boyfriend Marino about it… Closeted T4T Drag AU based on buggachat’s tumblr post with lots of extra identity shenanigans.

So like entity says, this fic is based on one of @buggachat's tumblr posts.

Though it actually manages to be even MORE queer since both Adrien and Marinette are trans.

It's an utter delight! The drag performances are a treat, and I love the identity shenanigans XD. It's just a lot of fun.

---

Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

[whump-in-the-closet]

Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 9th- “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”

[collar | lost | roof]

***

(tw: lady whump, mention of past torture, minor character deaths, mention of dead bodies, gunshot, bad coping mechanisms— smoking addiction is implied)

Mal ran like she had never run before. The blood on her sleeves was not her own.

It was supposed to have been a simple con. They had promised the noblewoman nothing but the finest blades. The money would be paid upfront and then they would vanish, the expected delivery never arriving.

It was so simple, she had been allowed to accompany the crew on it.

But now she was running into the night, lungs burning for lack of air and eyes burning with unshed tears.

You messed up.

You messed this all up.

God, Xiang would kill her. Her leg twitched at the thought of what Xiang would do. There was a jaggedly circular scar in her calf, courtesy of Xiang.

Xiang had ordered an arrow to be shot through her fucking leg.

Mal didn’t know if she was more terrified of the dead body she had left behind or of what Xiang would do to her for leaving without the money.

The dead body with empty eyes.

Gold in her hair and blood on her lips.

The noblewoman was a corpse now.

And it was Mal’s fault. It was all her fault.

Mal stumbled to a stop, her hands clammy and stomach churning. The tell-tale signs that she was about to be sick. Which she was. Violently.

Light from an overhead lamp fell gently over her, its touch bronze and smelling of smoke.

The smoke didn’t come from the lamp– crouched just out of the circle of light, a man sat in the shadows of a building’s steps. He smoked a cigarette comfortably, the tip glowing with a dull light. He stared up into the sickly-coloured night sky and paid no mind to the person that had just thrown up all over the base of the lamp.

Mal ran her tongue over cracked lips. She looked behind her. There were shouts in the distance but she decided they were still too far away to be very concerned.

She walked over to the man. “Do you have an extra one?”

The man glanced at her, exhaling a puff of smoke. When he spoke, his voice sounded like it had been shredded. “Do you have money?”

“...No.”

The man smiled, closing his eyes as he inhaled the cigarette. “Too bad.” He didn’t seem to notice the blood covering Mal. Or he merely didn’t care.

“C'mon. I need one.” She needed the steadiness a cigarette would bring. She needed to keep her head together– to keep the image of a dead noblewoman in the back of her mind-- and for that, she needed a cigarette.

He didn’t open his eyes, but reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out one cigarette. He flicked it at Mal, who caught it with numb fingers. “Don’t expect a light from me.”

The shouting grew louder and Mal fled.

She turned a sharp corner, retreating into comfortable shadows.

A cat hissed at her from the sewers as she kicked up at water, splashing the small creature.

Mal winced an apology. She found a lighter in her jacket– thank the gods she never went anywhere without one– and shoved the cigarette into her mouth. Lighting as she was running was a bit hard, but not impossible.

She stopped only for the first welcome inhale of the cigarette. And for the exhale.

The alleyways branched into a dozen different directions, all lined with refuse and filth. A few were flooded. She turned to go back the way she had gone and was greeted with more shadows.

Lost.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to find her if she was lost. Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Mal sat down by the sewers and waited until the shaking in her hands had stopped.

The only light came from the glowing end of her cigarette, bright against the shadows.

Maybe if she had a cigarette during the con, it wouldn't have all gone to shit.

She had been on the roof. Watching for any sign of officers or guards or anything slightly off. Like Xiang had said. She had done everything Xiang had said.

Well, not everything.

Waiting on the roof. Waiting on the roof, bored out of her fucking mind. The noblewoman had been talking. Just been talking and talking and talking, and how was she supposed to know that a noblewoman was that good with a pistol and sword?

There had been a gunshot. And Dar was on the ground, bleeding, twisting in on himself. Yan had been run through with the noblewoman’s sword.

Mal exhaled smoke, staring out into the shadows.

She had left three corpses behind. Not just the noblewoman’s.

A dripping wet cat made its way down the cobbled street. Its ears were pressed back into its skull as it stalked past Mal.

Mal inhaled the cigarette and breathed it out her nose. “Rough night, huh?”

The cat ignored her.

“Yeah, me too.”

The cigarette was nothing but a stub and Mal put it out on the bricks. “I need to find more.”

I need to get out of town. Before Xiang finds me.

Mal flicked on her lighter and watched the flame. She turned it off and the flame vanished. Clicked it on. The flame appeared, impossibly bright.

On and off.

On and off.

“I guess we can burn that bridge when we get there.”

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[eldritch-araneae]

Bumblebee Week Day 5 - Disability

Scattered dreams Collect what I used to be This fight is an infinite maze A hunt but without the chase Reject the cure My symptoms, your metaphor Immortal yet still so feeble Half human addictive evil For a life I obsessed you Now its time to forget you And no matter how hard, I try Cross your heart and swear you'll try I am full of forgiveness Let me out of this illness There's a reason I stand revived No more fears where tears don't dry

Song: Cyhra - Letter to Myself

[bambooswordwielder]

Obsessed with the fact that Shen Yuan only transmigrates when all the Peaklords have settled into their positions for a few years because the idea of Shang Qinghua being stuck watching Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge arguing for nth time about some budget detail that is DEFINITELY getting overblown now and just being stuck thinking

"Damn this would've been such a good enemies to lovers plot line... Imagine how much I could've made off of them..." and regretting not monetising their rivalry more before he killed off Liu Qingge ( "Oh and the angst Shen Qingqiu would've faced after his secret lover died and everyone blamed him for it! Fans would've been begging for more extras!" 🐹💔)

Like all the peaklords are desperately trying to mediate and fix the situation and Shang Qinghua is just imagining his one hundredth Fix-It Fic/AU where Shen Jiu is the King's trusted scholar and Liu Qingge is the King's personal bodyguard

Everyone thinks when a single tear falls from Shang Qinghua's eyes its because during Liu Qingge and Shen Jiu's fight they destroyed both his newly drafted budget (for the fifth time that month) and the fact they also destroyed the table (for the third time that week and the week just started)

Reality is Shang Qinghua is crying because he thought of an angsty death scene for the two Romeo and Juliet style because both their families couldn't accept them being together

Years of this pass and at some point he even picks up writing again (specifically about characters clearly based on Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge) and he gets really popular, popular enough his novels start to flood all of Cang Qiong and even Liu Mingyan takes some inspiration from them

Everyone knows damn well that the characters are clearly meant to be Peaklord Shen and Peaklord Liu, but no one tells because they all are legitimately waiting for the next volume of "Battle-to-your-poisonous-heart-and-peaches"

Does everyone know it's Shang Qinghua... Noooo.. Would anyone admit if they did know.... No.

Then all the sudden on day Shen Qingqiu suddenly looked in the dictionary and discovered what the word 'nice' is and now he doesn't abuse his students 🐹🤯

He even let himself get poisoned and potentially ruined his cultivation for life for Luo Binghe of all people!? Um excuse Airplane Logic, but the MC is supposed to only get all the good stuff AFTER he falls into the abyss!

And what's this about Liu Qingge helping to 'clear' his meridians so he has to personally visit Qing Jing peak every week?? Def something is off, an author knows fishy when he sees it

For how many years Shang Qinghua is stuck watching these two do their whole "You're my precious Shidi" and "I'll always be here for you" act and he's just stuck eating dogfood wondering when exactly is the marriage extra coming in and why the System won't tell me why Shen Qingqiu is acting all happy go lucky now

Shang Qinghua notices Shen Qingqiu talking to Yue Qingyuan more, he notices Qing Jing disciples running straight to Shen Qingqiu with joy and excitement rather than the reserved fear they had before, he notices how Shen Qingqiu only glares at him twice every meeting than before!

Maybe this isn't his version of PIDW, maybe it's a fan made version where Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu fall in love and with the power of love and friendship Shen Qingqiu learns to be kind and to care and isn't going to cause Luo Binghe to go down his dark path and maybe they can all have a happyily ever after—

*Endless Abyss Arc*

"Oh fuck–"

[Before Endless Abyss Arc]

*Shang Qinghua watching from a distance as Luo Binghe is practically clinging to Shen Qingqiu's side. Shen Qingqiu pats Luo Binghe's head and Luo Binghe does THAT smile he only does for his wives*

"Well this is an interesting fanfic..."

[After Airplane Reveal]

"Wait... So you're actually a transmigrater as well, Cucumber-Bro?"

"Yeah, and?"

"..."

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Do you hate, or have you at least at some point hated, Liu Qingge?"

"I– No–Wait what???"

"Let me reword it. Have you ever considered murdering him at one point?"

"WHYAREYOUASKINGMETHESEQUESTIONS!? YOUKNOWWHATHAPPENEDTOSHENJIU! IMNOTRISKINGHISFATE!"

"... So I'll take that as a no."

"OBVIOUSLY!?"

"So it's just a normal Friends to lovers 😮‍💨 No flavour 🙄"

Shang Qinghua was then brutally attacked.

[During the Five Years SY was dead]

*Shang Qinghua watching Liu Qingge go every single day to fight Luo Binghe for Shen Qingqiu's body*

"Oh my Airplane.... It's not a enemies-to-lovers... It's not Teacher X Disciple... It's a bloody love triangle with both! Oh how much money this plot would've made me 💔 I would've been able to pay for four months worth of rent and groceries!"

Random Disciple visiting An Ding: "Um.... Is Shang-Shibo okay? He fell on the ground?"

An Ding Disciple: "Leave him. He does that sometimes. Now about your budget request..."

*Shang Qinghua screaming in the background*

Random Disciple: "..."

An Ding Disciple: "..."

Random Disciple: "Should we check on–"

An Ding Disciple, now dragging other disciple away: "Let's settle this at your peak."

Years later when Bingqiu have already had their wedding and everyone has become somewhat tolerant of their relationship, Shang Qinghua just sighs loudly and Shen Yuan asks him what's up. Shang Qinghua looks him in the eyes and just shakes his head.

"My ship...💔"

"..."

"OW– Why did you have go hit me on the head!?"

"Because I don't want to know what's going on in there and I need to make sure what's in there stays in there."

[clare-875]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, and Law (separately) X Reader, and it's of them already in a relationship, and kind of based on the trend on TikTok, Reader calls them "Buddy, Pal, etc." to see their reaction?

New Names (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Law)

_____ Pairings: Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader; Ace x Reader; Law x Reader Summary: His reaction when you call him buddy, pal, etc. Warnings: Very little angst, mostly fluff, Female Reader A/N: I hope you like it! <3 [One Piece Masterlist] [Part 2: Shanks, Sabo, Crocodile] [Part 3: Corazon, Killer, Mihawk, Penguin] [Part 4: Kid, Katakuri, Smoker] _____

- Luffy -

You faintly wonder if Luffy will even pick up on the difference in the name you call him, but after losing a bet with Ussop, you know you couldn't back out. You watch as said sniper discreetly looks at you encouragingly from a short distance away and you sigh, rolling your eyes. Why did you agree to this? When you turn your gaze once more, it is because your boyfriend is calling for you.

"Hey [y/n]!" He grins wide and you suddenly feel a slight tug in your heartstrings, hoping he either wouldn't notice or wouldn't be too hurt by this small prank. "Nami says we're good to go the island now! So let's go!" His eyes shine in his excitement for the prospect of new adventures and you give him a smile.

"Sure buddy, just give me a second."

You turn to reach for the small bag you had packed and try to play off your words as nothing major, but the sudden silence you hear makes you realise he must've noticed.

"Buddy?"

You turn around and you are met with Luffy looking at you blankly, a pout on his face as he tilts his head to the side. "That's what you call your friends, am I not your boyfriend anymore?" You see him utterly confused as his eyebrows pull together in objection. You try to stifle the smile that fights to make its way onto your face. He looks like he's in deep contemplation and trying to restrain his gloom.

"What do you mean, Luffy? I always call you that."

You shrug your shoulders as you walk by him, readying to leave the ship, but Luffy is quick on your heels, a frown deepening on his face. "No! You always call me baby, or Lu, or babe, or-" Luffy starts to list the reasons why you don't and shouldn't call him buddy, and he doesn't stop. You slowly start to feel yourself relent when his rambled words invade your ears. You observe the way his brain works hard to figure out what is going on, to the point where darkness looms over his head.

"Luffy," you say, finally cutting him off, lingering amusement in your tone. However, Luffy instantly pouts again, crossing his arms against his chest in denial. "No! Call me like you always do!" You sigh, seeing that his initial confusion has turned into dismay. "Okay, baby." Instantly, his features turn bright as you continue. "It was a prank, I didn't mean anything by it." Luffy stares blankly at you for a second, before a smile reaches his face, gaze churning in understanding.

"Oh! Why didn't you just say so!"

Luffy lets out a short laugh as he catches up to your side. Instantly his hand reaches for yours, and you let him envelop it. He grins wide at the contact. "You should really work on your pranks though [y/n]. Choose a funnier one next time!" You sigh at Luffys words and put a hand to your head; he truly was so simple and pure minded. Maybe he wouldn't understand the prank you just played on him fully, but you couldn't trade him for anything in the world.

- Sanji -

(A/N: This was kind of angsty for some reason?)

You knew going in, that this might end badly, but you didn't really register the depth of what would happen until you did. Nami had convinced you to play a small prank on your boyfriend, Sanji. "Come on [y/n], it'll be fun!" You faintly remember her murmured words and sigh as you find yourself going through with it. Honestly, it was more to get her off your back about it, but you would be lying to say you weren't a bit intrigued about the chef's reaction.

Sanji is in the kitchen when you decide to do it. He is tossing something in a pan, but his eyes enlighten immediately when he sees you enter. "Love! You're just in time, here, try this!" Sanji holds out a fork to you, and on it is a fragment of the dish he prepared for the crew's dinner. You walk over and smile up at him, letting him feed you the meal. Sanji's face flushes red at the action, and what fills your mouth is utter divinity. It was delicious, of course it was. However, you seem to break the wide smile on your boyfriend's face as you let your next words slip.

"Thanks, bro, that was so good!"

There is a prompt silence. What takes place in front of you then, is what can only be described as a hundred emotions flashing across your boyfriend's face, followed by his blank stare. "B-b-bro?" Sanji's hold on the fork he just held out for you goes limp, and the utensil clatters loudly on the ground. "Sanji?" You look on curiously at the utter dismay that clouds the cook's face, as he falls to his knees. Suddenly your boyfriend is grabbing your arms and looking up at you pleadingly. Tears are pouring comically from his eyes.

"My love, did I do something wrong?"

"Are you leaving me?"

"Have you found someone better?"

"Did I make a mistake?"

His words are uttered quickly to you and his hold on your hands only tightens in his sudden dismay. It breaks your heart. You have to stop his rambling before he falls into the cycle his mind seems to revolve in now. "Sanji!" He pauses as he looks at you like your next words could break him, and you smile gently realising that maybe this prank was too much for his kind heart. "I'm sorry, it was a prank. I could never leave you, I love you."

You don't know what to expect but Sanji suddenly relaxes his hold on you and his face morphs into one of utter relief. "Oh." He then suddenly moves, still on his knees as he envelops you in an embrace, and looks up at you. "I'm glad." You fight the frown on your face as sudden guilt fills you. You shuffle from his arms until you're on your knees too, and you engulf him in a warm hug that he instantly returns. "Sorry Love."

Of course, Sanji forgives you instantly, but you make sure to smother him with a bit more love for the rest of the afternoon.

- Zoro -

You grin as you see your boyfriend finally enter your shared bedroom after a rare shower. Water droplets still cling to his hair and his muscles glow under the low lights. He looks good, but you have to stop yourself and think clearly. Now's not the time. No, you had been planning to play a small prank on your boyfriend all day. It was mostly to get back at him for spending so much time in the crow's nest, but you would be lying to say you weren't a little curious about his reaction.

Zoro makes his way onto his side of the bed, before lying next to you and pecking your lips briefly. You smile at his soft gaze on yours, full of unusual vulnerability in the absence of prying eyes. "Hey, Babe." His words are softly murmured to you as you cuddle up to his side, pulling an arm into your embrace. You relish his warmth. But of course, you had to break the moment, because now was the perfect time.

"Hey dude, I missed you."

You have to force yourself not to laugh when you see how quickly Zoro's face goes from content to confused to bleak irritation. There is silence for a moment, and you think that he might let it go until he speaks up once more. "Babe?" His words are spoken low and in question but you try to play dumb. Looking up at him through your eyelashes you keep up a sleepy facade and hum in acknowledgement. But Zoro can see right through you.

"What was that?"

You tilt your head to the side briefly. "What do you mean?" Zoro looks deep into your gaze, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. "You called me dude." His face is dead serious as he looks at you but you only find amusement in his words. It was kind of sweet how the stoic swordsman cared so deeply about what you called him. "Hmm, did I?" You try playing it off, but Zoro hears clearly the teasing tone placed beneath your words.

"So you wanna play that game, huh?"

Zoro suddenly moves, making you have to release your hold on him; he turns so that his back is facing you. Despite the action, you can't help but stop a smile from reaching your face at his unusual pettiness. "Come on Zoro, you know it was a joke." However, Zoro doesn't give way and silence lingers on his behalf. Your amusement slowly turns to a pout as you start to miss his warmth. Maybe this wasn't the best time to try out this little prank.

"Babeee," Unbeknownst to you, Zoro smirks at the familiar nickname and the whine in your voice. He can feel your hands try to pry him back to you and into your embrace again. "I want my cuddles." He lets you whine and murmur to him and try to get him to budge. He remains still until he finally has enough of his fun and so relents. You grin wide when finally Zoro turns so that he is facing you, opening his arms despite the irritated frown on his face. "Don't call me that again." You grin, basically flinging yourself into him and he wraps his arms around you.

"Sure, pal."

He freezes and sighs. You are going to drive him insane.

- Ace -

"Just do it [y/n], otherwise he won't shut up about it-yoi." Marco flies in, landing by you and Thatch. He had been listening to your conversation about pranking Ace. Your crewmates had been trying to get back at him for ages, and finally realised the best way to do so is through you. You roll your eyes at the men that surround you nodding their heads in agreement. "Fine. But if something goes wrong, I'm blaming you." The two commanders and other division members grin as you sigh and go to approach your boyfriend who had finally made his way back to the ship.

He glances up as you approach, gaze instantly brightening and smile instantly widening at the sight of you. He immediately calls for you and gathers you in his arms, spinning you around and placing a kiss on your lips briefly. You giggle at his actions and relish his warmth, he looks at you fondly. "Missed you baby." He noses the skin on your neck and you smile wide as he breaks contact and looks to you again. It makes you want to back out, but you know you have to break the moment with the stupid prank.

"Really pal? It's only been like an hour."

What follows your words is an instant silence, and you feel Ace's arms freeze against your skin. Surprisingly, it is like his warmth that always lingers starts to fade, as he looks to you blankly.

"Ace?"

You call his name tentatively and wave a hand in front of his face when he doesn't seem to move for a while. "Earth to Ace?" You can hear your crewmates try to stifle their snickering in the background as they observe Ace's dumbfoundedness, all because you called him pal. You had such influence over him, it was unbelievable to them. You sneak a glare at them before turning to your boyfriend once more.

"Ace?"

When you call him once more, he finally moves, and he seems to shake himself free of his absent-minded thoughts.

"Babe," he says tentatively, "who's pal?"

You have to stop yourself from smiling at the sight of his hesitation, he was just too cute. But you know your crewmembers are yet to be satisfied, despite hearing their muffled laughs brim louder. "You." You reply, and his expression morphs into a pout as his eyebrows pull together.

"But I'm not pal, I'm supposed to be your baby."

You can hear your crewmate's laughter even louder now, but his crestfallen expression, and the way he tries to convince you to go back to calling him his pet name enamour you.

So, obviously, you break.

You smile, as you caress his hair gently and sigh. "Yeah... sorry baby, it was a prank." Instantly, Ace straightens but his gaze also wanders behind you to the crew that now mocks him lightheartedly. "But I'm supposed to be your baby~" "Babe, who's pal?" It is followed by their laughter.

Ace's form suddenly blazes and fire licks his skin.

"Did they-" He begins, and you follow his gaze, knowing he's figured it out. You sigh, but smile, looking into his eyes that crave revenge.

"Yep."

You grin when he instantly runs from you to your crewmates shouting absurdities as he chases them, all the while they still mock his prior words. You shake your head in amusement. Just what will you do with them?

- Law -

(A/N: The tiniest bit suggestive at the end)

You thought it would be a harmless prank, and in all honestly, it was. You would simply change the name you call him. What could possibly go wrong? Your crewmates had gathered in your boredom as all your tasks had been completed and time in the Polar Tang dragged on. It led to you all playing a game of truth or dare. A childish game, but it was something to do to pass the time. You had been given the task of seeking out your boyfriend who was supposedly in the kitchen and executing the dare you were given.

To your luck, you find him almost instantly, eating an onigiri while flicking through something; probably some sort of medical research, he never really knew how to rest. He looks up and you watch his gaze soften as you make your way to his side. "[y/n]-ya," he says as you grin and you peck his cheek lightly in greeting, leaning against the counter which he stood by. He observes your timidness curiously. Usually, you would start rambling on about your day or anything that caught your interest, so, he took your silence as being off. "What's wrong?" He asks, eying you in suspicion. You take the opportunity to carry out your dare.

"Nothing, I just missed you man. What are you up to?"

Law almost has to do a double take, but ultimately looks to you with a deadpan expression, clearly not amused. There is a tentative silence, as you try to act dumb, but of course, Law has none of it.

"Okay, what was that?"

You meet his dead-pan stare with your own blank stare, but you know you suck at acting and he sees right through you.

"What was what?"

"Don't play dumb [y/n]-ya. You just called me man." He grimaces as though disgusted by that fact. You stifle a grin.

"So? Aren't you my man?"

Law has to stop himself from smacking his head against the wall. He was wondering what the crew had been getting up to, but he sees now that as usual, you guys were up to no good. He almost instantly puts the dots together.

"This is a dare, isn't it, [y/n]-ya?"

You look up in wide surprise as he figures you out so quick, and his lips upturn at the expression on your face. You never really could get anything past him. Your surprise turns to a pout as you realise that of course he knows; of course, he noticed.

"No fair babe, you figure these things out too quickly."

A smirk grows on his face, as he observes your cute, pouting lips. Suddenly and before Law can stop himself, he reaches for your face and pulls you into a kiss. Your eyes widen in shock at his sudden movements. He usually wasn't so bold in places that people may see his outward affections. He places a teasing tone in his next words, as you feel yourself getting riled up by his proximity.

"You're just too easy to read, love."

Let's just say you soon forget about your failed dare, in fact, you don't return to your crewmates for a while after that.

[millersfinest]

untethered⁵ | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 10.6k

series: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five (you're here!)

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, r and ellie NOT beating the cheating allegations, more use of y/n then i would prefer, she/her pronouns, vulgar language, some angst (not on ellie’s watch tho), fuckgirl!ellie (kind of), the millers, r is a writer (she doesn’t write much in this ch wink wink 3.0), using fuck as a conjunction word, ellie needs the reader bad, a few arguments sprinkled in, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, r is very anxious, hella angst, the CAT may be out the bag (can mean many things), some adoption related turmoil, emotional cheating (from ellie), cute mother daughter moment, repressed emotions, lots of angst in this chapter, ellie is mean when she don't fw you, not a lot of reader x ellie in this ngl.

note: finally the 5th installment, hope it's worth the wait my lovely readers!!! i'm gonna be honest tho... this wasn't the most fun chapter to write (maybe cause the reader and ellie aren't as horny as i would prefer lmao), but the narrative shall prosper regardless of my feelings. this may or may not be the second to last chapter of this series. idk yet, i'm still planning right nowwww. i might post a poll soon to help decide. anyway, thank you guys for being super patient while i wrote this chapter, so without further ado... thousands of bisous ofc <3 and please enjoy this angsty ass chapter!!

Stood before you was a very disappointed looking Joel. His deep brown eyes squinted with fatigue and restlessness; arms crossed over his chest. At the alert of his presence, you shut your eyes trying to come up with some way to save yourself—even though there was none. It was laugh worthy, really.  

I don’t wanna assume nothin'… So, I suggest you start explainin’ what in the hell’s bell’s is goin’ on here.

You were unsure if his southern accent was stronger because of his disappointment, or if he just sounded like that when he was tired. But, either way, the question was valid. What the hell was going on?  

He called your name, snapping you from the rushing thoughts in your head. “Huh?” Those words came out of you more like a sound than words and letters. you were a child all over again, struggling under the fist of authority. Followed by a deep sigh, walking toward the counter, leaning your hands on the cool, smooth marble top. “Ellie and I are… Just catching up. S’all there is to it, Joel.”

He echoed a sigh, running his hand over his dark, graying hair and beard—he didn’t believe you. Not that you even tried to come up with a good enough lie that would be believable. “Now, Bug…” Joel began, shaking his head. “I know you’re not a liar; Tommy and Maria sure as hell didn’t raise you to be one—“  

“Joel, please—“

“If I heard what I think I heard… In that bedroom of yours. You and Ellie were doin’ a lot more than just catching up!” He whisper-yelled, careful not to disturb your parents upstairs. The man could barely keep eye contact with you, pointing his finger, accusingly. “She has a girlfriend who is in that guesthouse—“  

“I know, I know—“  

“Then, what the hell were you thinkin’?”  

You solemnly sigh, having your actions thrown back in your face. It sucked because he was right. “We… We have unfinished history. It just happened.”  

Joel scoffed, averting his brown eyes. “Things like that don’t just happen…”  

He was right—sex doesn’t just happen. There are steps that lead to that pleasurable event; it doesn’t just happen, and you knew that. But it was easier to say it that way. As if the two of you sleeping together, kissing each other was all acts of fate and prophecy. Something you had no control over. Even though, control was never stricken from you. If anything, you were always grasping for it.  

You chose to invite Ellie into your room, into your body, into your mind—you wanted her more than anything.  

That was something you couldn’t be sorry about.  

“Please, don’t tell my parents.” You almost squeaked out, looking up at him like a child charged with punishment. If Maria and Tommy found out about this, she’d have your head! And Tommy will be trying to talk her down—it would be a mess. At twenty-five, it wasn’t that you were afraid of your parents; you just didn’t want to disappoint them. “We need some time to figure this out…”  The fear that they would regret bringing you into their life weighed heavy on you.

With a raised eyebrow, he pursed his lips in thought. “Does Ellie plan on breaking things off with Cat?”  

“Yeah, not right away, but yeah.”  

“Not right away?”  

“Thanksgiving— she doesn’t wanna do it today with everything goin’ on. And they live together, so she has to arrange a few things…” You trail off, deepening your eyebrows with worry. “Oh, my God… Is she two-timing me? Is Ellie two-timing me?” Slapping your hands to your forehead, you squeezed your eyes shut. What the fuck. What the fuck. You repeated curses in your mind.  You were spiraling yourself into a stupor.

Joel walked around the corner, stabilizing you by placing his hands on your shoulders. “Ellie is many things, but she’s not a two-timer… All I’m saying is to handle this with caution. You’re hurting another person doing this—“  

“Fuck, Joel, I know… I don’t need the reminder.”  

“I’m gonna talk to her about this… About resolving this.”

You look at him with a pointed glare. “Resolving— there’s nothing to resolve. If everything goes according to plan—“  

He grunted, rolling his eyes. “Things like this never go to plan. Come on, Bug, you’re smarter than this… You know better.” Joel told, narrowing his eyes. He walked around the counter to you, to squeeze your shoulder. But that didn’t change the fact that his words stung.  

You know better.  

You did know better, but you acted anyway. Perhaps, it was a mistake; it was a mistake you were willing to ride on until it met its end. Which could be one of two things: complete and utter destruction, or… Happiness. Why was there such a large gap between those two endings?  

“Ellie,” He began, shaking his head, filling you with insecurity. “You know how she can be… Impulsive at times.” Joel pressed his lips into a line, looking past you, in thought. “I’m not even sure if she realizes the gravity of what she’s doing to her or you— not until it blows up in her face, which it will if you two keep it up.”

So, the both of you just had to work harder at hiding it. For now, at least.  

He rubbed his hand together, glancing his eyes up the stairs. “I won’t say anything to your parents… Just do a better job of keeping this to yourselves, please.” The older man prepared to head back up, but he looked at you one last time. “This isn’t me agreeing with what y’all are doin’— because I don’t. I don’t agree nor do I support cheating.” He exhaled, shaking his head, disappointingly. Feet nearing the steps to ascend back to his bedroom. “Just get it together.”  

Joel left you to gather your thoughts—but there was nothing to gather. Your mind was already made; you’ve already dug a hole for yourself. Seeing it through was the only option. Perhaps, the two of you had to shape up, though. Tommy even gave a side glance before you’d hopped off the porch to grab the wine; Ellie needs to be more careful. And so do you.  

Shutting out the lights, you heavily creeped back up the stairs to your bedroom. The dim bedroom that had the remnants of your lover minced in the air… And under your pillow. Grabbing your laptop from the charger, you arranged your pillows to support your back—that’s when you noticed the red and white striped boxer shorts Ellie left behind. Even though, you purposely threw them at her to put on before you parted from one another.  

Holding out the underwear that was marked with arousal, you threatened to smell it. Truly. But, before you could, your conscience got the best of you. Wasn’t it creepy to smell someone’s underwear? Let alone, a woman's... Instead, you stuffed it in the box you kept under your bed—which, very well, could’ve been worse.  

Feeling the need to tell Ellie of their pending situation with Joel, you logged onto MySpace. There was a small green circle that appeared on her icon. She was already online.  

BugsWritersRoom: Hey… Just ran into Joel. Not great.  

There wasn’t a much of a long wait before she responded.  

StarlightWilliams: duck what happened?  

StarlightWilliams: fuck*  

Her correction made you chuckle.  

BugsWritersRoom: He heard us. That’s what happened.  

BugsWritersRoom: We have to do better. Stop making everything so obvious…

BugsWritersRoom: At least, until you break up with Cat.  

There was a long pause in her responses. Longer than you’d anticipate her response would take.  

StarlightWilliams: noted.

Ellie’s response was dryer than you expected it to be, but the fatigue washing over you forbid you from investigating it.

Shutting your laptop, you nuzzled into your pillows with the auburn-haired artist on your mind. It was only right that you gave the relationship another chance; if it inevitably ends, you just hope it would be less explosive than last time. Amicable. Where the two of you could actually stand to be around each other after the fact.

If you had it your way, though, you’d never want to part from her again. It was easy to believe that Ellie was your person. Somebody who was only perfect for you. In a world of feeling nothing, she made you feel something more than lust or forced romanticism.  

When morning came, you were exhausted as fuck, to say the least. Awakened by your programmed alarm, and a blaring rooster that didn’t know how to shut the hell up after his first few yodels.  

Meandering down the stairs, you were told to speed through the morning chores, to begin help with the cooking, which you didn’t mind. However, Ellie wasn’t there for the spiel. Joel had appeared, saying that she was going to be little late. At the sight of him, you couldn’t help but be struck with anxiety. Although, he looked and acted the same as he always did.

Either way, you fed the chickens, groomed, and fed the horses—and that’s when she found you. Brushing Tokyo and feeding fresh carrots to keep him entertained and focused. He was a horse who only responded to pleasantries; Tokyo was a man of high honor. “Someone’s bein’ a good horse.” Ellie cooed, approaching you and Tokyo with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jeans.

There was something off about her demeanor. Her shoulders were stiffened, cheeks flushed enough to insinuate an altercation. In addition to that pinched line between her thick eyebrows.  

There definitely was one, but she wasn’t going to admit that to you. Joel and Ellie were officially on bad terms—but she said nothing about that because she doesn’t want to alarm you.  

“Where were you this earlier? I thought I was helping you get in routine for your new farmhand position…” You tossed the brush aside, crossing your arms over your chest. Ellie didn’t stop walking until her body collided with yours. Hand finding a comfortable place along your jaw, preparing to pull you in toward her lips. Placing two fingers over her lips, you pull back. “What the hell are you doing?” You chuckle, looking around for any unwanted eyes.

Her hands slid down you arms, shoulder slumping. “What part of we need to do better do you not understand?” You questioned, looking intently into her dilated eyes.

Ellie ran a hand over her hair, sighing, tiredly. “What is wrong with you?” You press, deepening her eyebrows.  Suddenly feeling the need to comfort her.

The truth was, she was stressed. Joel had stressed her out. He found out about them and was pressing Ellie to tell Cat about it—or break up with her because she deserves to know the truth. But, today, Cat woke up like the happiest person alive, which was off brand for her. She showered Ellie with kisses she didn’t want and hopped up to make breakfast for them. It was weird, but she was happy; Ellie doesn’t want to ruin that. She just wanted to linger in the happiness that was the memory of your lips on hers.

“I just woke up feelin’ funky— it’s nothing…” She looked down, twisting her foot into the sprawled hay over the ground. “A kiss could help my condition, though…” Ellie raised a scarred brow, lips curling at the end.  

Pressing your lips into a line, you look over her shoulder than yours—making sure there aren’t any prying or peeving eyes. “Just one…” You mutter, pulling her close by the material of her unzipped jacket. She smirked against your lips, moving them in sync with yours.

The tenseness in her muscles loosened and relaxed under your touch, as she released a breath of fresh air against your face through her nose. Placing her soft, yet calloused hand at the curve of your jaw. Ellie made the kiss deeper by dragging her tongue against your bottom lip, begging for more—but you pulled away. She chased your lips, causing you to giggle as you turned your face. “I have a full plate this morning… I could use your help— as long as you stay focused!” You prodded your index finger at her chest. “Plus, it’ll help for when it’s just you on the farm.”

“Oh, I can stay focused.” She crossed her arms, overzealously.  

“Okay,” You snicker. “Well, why don’t we split up to cover more ground?”  

Her features fell. “Split up? Hey, I didn’t agree to splitting up.” Ellie pouted, taking a step closer to you. Playing with the frayed hem of the flannel sticking out from under your jacket.  

Splitting up was the best course of action, so you could begin helping your mother in the kitchen—because you know she needs it. Unless Cat’s planning to take your place on that front. Anyway, them splitting up could help their developing case with Joel. You want to prove to him that you’re as smart as he think you are. That you’re not blindly love struck by a destructive idea—that the words he told you meant something. And, in a way, helping Ellie with her impulsivity.  

“It’s for the best, Els. You get to put to work what you learned these past few mornings— so it’ll really stick.” You spoke, positively. “And there’s another half of the farm that you’re inexperienced with… So, it’s better if I just run through it alone.” You nod with a friendly smile on your lips. Almost too friendly.  

“Hm…” Ellie hummed, peering around the horse barn.  

“I already did half the work; the chicken’s and horses are already fed. I’m, basically, done with grooming Tokyo— just detangle his mane and tail, and do that same process with Sarah, which should be easy because she’s still a baby and barely has any hair.” You rambled like a professional farmer. It truly was muscle memory getting back into the chores.  

“Wait, what’s the process…?”  

“There’s a bucket of soap and water,” You point to the bucket at door of the horses’ space. “Use that to help with the brushing and detangling. That’s the process. Don’t worry about the horse shoes— my dad does all that.” You waved your hand, then reached into your coat to grab the notepad. Ripping the thin paper from the rings, you hand it over. “After this, all you have left is the garden. So, whenever you’re done, come find me.”  

Ellie took the note paper from your hands, plucking it with her fingers. “Uhm, if I have any questions…? What if I do something wrong?”  

You sighed, snatching the paper back from her. “Trust yourself. You’ve done this before, Ellie. But if you have any questions… Here’s my cell. I have it on me.” You scribble down your phone number, handing it back to her.  

She giggled, taking the paper back. “You just gave me your digits…” Ellie teased, dangling the page in front of you.  

“For professional purposes only.” You winked, before leaving her to finish the horse grooming.  

When you skipped away, Ellie didn’t quite know how to take your place. After finishing up Tokyo, walking him to his open space to grift along with the other horses, Sarah was next. And you failed to mention that she was a bit of runner when it came to retrieving her.  

It’s been made clear that she was already fucking up—said by Joel Miller—so, she didn’t want to fuck up the only job she had. The job you gave her.  

So, instead of moping and overthinking the words of her adoptive father, she looked to that lined notebook paper as if it were the Bible. Ellie couldn’t let you down over something as specific as farming chores. These were living beings. If she failed to do this correctly, you may never fall into her how she hoped

Meanwhile, you hustled cows and goats, hastily. Rain boots splashing into mud and manure, leaving marks along its battered rubber soles. Tucked into your back pocket, your phone began to vibrate, sounding off the ringtone of your choosing. Without glancing at the caller ID—assuming it was Ellie. You pressed the phone button.  

“Calling already?” You raised an eyebrow, while monitoring the chaotic goats around you. They were competitive eaters who’d rather trample over one another to eat their food, than stand by for their own servings. You scold them under your breath, pushing them off each other.  

“You want me to come to dinner tonight, or not?” She snickered on the other side of the line.  

“Oh, Abby, hey… Sorry that was meant for someone else— it’s been a long morning.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, shaking your head. “Yeah, I still want you to come. What’s up?”  

Abby laughed, yawning. Did she just wake up? “When’s your family having dinner tonight— wanna make sure I’m planning accordingly.” There was raspiness to her voice that was soothing to your ears.  

Rubbing a hand over your forehead, you thought. It was basically undetermined, but you had dinner around the same time every year. Six-ish. Seven-ish. “Sometime around six, I think. What? You plannin’ on makin’ a good impression?” Pinching the phone between the side of your face and shoulder, you pulled one of the goats back from the trough by her back legs.

“Stop it, Frankie!” She bleated in response.  

“Was that a goat I just heard?”  

“No, it was Frankie— she’s worse than a goat. She’s, like, goat-fucking-three thousand— fuck! Hold on.” She placed the phone on a bucket, to stalk over to the problematic goat trying to fight her own sibling. “You’re pushing it. You are pushing it, Francine Miller!” Gripping the antlers that rose from her skull, you forced her to look at you. “This isn’t your food— that’s your food. Over there.”  

Picking her up, wrapping your arms around her stomach, you lifted her toward her own trough. That a few other goats huddled at to feast on their breakfast. “If I see you over there bothering your brothers again, I’m gon’ put you right back in that barn— don’t mess with me.”

You walked back to that bucket, picking up the small silver flip phone placed sloppily in the middle. “Sorry about that… But, yeah, sometime around six.” A tired sigh fell from your lips.  

“That southern drawl of yours… Getting stronger by the day.” She chuckled, in amusement. You heard her shuffling against cloth—perhaps, blankets and pillows.  

“The price of being around my family for too long.” You match her brief chuckle, twisting your toe into the dirt.  

“I’m certainly not complaining.” Abby commented, inhaling deeply. “Well, I’ll be there for six— unless you tell me otherwise…”  

“All right, sounds good, Abby.”  

“All right, bye, babe.”  

Babe.

The pet name made you freeze, but before you could say anything, she hung up the phone. You clenched you phone in your hand, gripping it tight enough for the blood to drain from your knuckles. Babe—since fucking when?  

A snicker caught your attention, causing you to swivel around on your toes. Her shiny, obsidian hair was tucked under a knit beanie. The medium-length blunt ends sticking out from the bottom, hanging over the shoulders of her jacket. A jacket that was sickeningly similar to one of Ellie’s—it most likely was.  

“Who’s this lucky girl… Abby?” She perked a slender eyebrow, brown eyes boring through you. Slightly squinting with taut features.  

You waved your hand before placing them on your hips. “A girl I met in the city. She’s up here with some friends— thought I’d invite her to dinner. She's the one who dropped me off the other night.” You explained, shrugging at your last word. After sleeping with her girlfriend, the least you could do was open with her.   

Cat leaned over the wooden fence, instead of coming inside. Her hands balling together in front of her body to keep her exposed skin warm. “Oh, really? What’s the status between the two of you? Since you’re… Inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner ‘n all?” She questioned, lips pressing together.  

There was something bitter in her speech that rubbed you the wrong way. But, nonetheless, you answered. “It’s complicated…” A laugh falls from your lips—fake and deceiving. “It’s been off and on for about a year— believe it or not.”  

“I believe it.” Cat chortled behind a fist. “Dating in New York is hard. People just don’t take relationships seriously anymore— I totally get it.” Her eyes rolled as she spoke, shiny lips curling at the corners.  

Awkwardly, you nod. Her tone alarming you once more. “Yeah… Well, I need to get back to this— the quicker this is over the better.”  

“Right…”  

“Are you planning on helping the parents cook, or…”  

She crossed her arms, lips frowning, slightly. “Yeah. Later, I’m helping Joel and Tommy with the steak. I’ve never really cooked steak before so… Wish me luck.” Cat chuckled, stepping back from the fence. “I’ll let you get back to work, though…” She began to walk off, after you waved, halfheartedly. Pausing in the well-kept grass, she looked over her shoulder. “Could you point me in the direction of my girlfriend? I’m sure you know where she is.”  

Hm.  

“Uh, yeah, sure— She’s either in the horse barn or the greenhouse… I would check the horse barn first.” You point towards the wooden paneled barn some meters away. My girlfriend. Did that not sound harsh? There was such diction in her proclamation for Ellie. It was an iron bar being burned into your chest, over your heart like a branding.  

She didn’t say much of a thank you, only a head nod and a wave. Leaving you standing in the same patch of mud you were standing in when she arrived. That interaction felt oddly tangy, rather than sweet—like usual. Of course, you had your doubts about Cat, but this time it felt different. So much different.

For another thirty minutes, you monitored Frankie and the other goats. Giving her a bunch of kisses to make up for your irate behavior—after all, she was behaving better; she deserved them!

Finishing your work, you didn’t realize until your stepped into the house—leaving your shoes on the porch—that Ellie didn’t call or text you about anything. She was supposed to meet you when she finished her side of the chores, but she never showed. It was too cold to wait around for her, so you trotted back to the house. And it’s not like you had her number; she had yours.  

In the back of your mind, you worried about the interaction she had with Cat. Why wouldn’t you? As the days went by, you were growing in possessiveness of someone that wasn’t even yours. She used to be, but that wouldn’t hold up in court.  

You noticed Maria working in the kitchen, working on small side dishes. Before you jogged up the stairs, you let her know that you’d be back after a warm shower. Cooking food while smelling like actual animal shit wasn’t a great mix.

Tommy had already put the television on the channel where the game was playing. The direct speech of sports anchors playing as background noise on the first floor--bouncing off the walls.  

When you walked up the stairs, you heard the soft tune of Joel strumming and tuning his new guitar from his bedroom. It soothed your ears—his playing always did. There was a song he used to play for you, and sometimes Ellie, when you were teenagers. Then, after while, she began to play it for you. Sat in the corner of your reading nook, in a t-shirt and plaid boxers (or whatever underwear she was wearing), strumming at the tough strings of her guitar. Looking into your eyes like you were unreal.

Everyone seemed to be doing something on this busy morning. And you were soon to jump right in.  

Steam opened your pores as you cleansed the dirt and grime off your skin. You attempted not to drown within your own thoughts while the showering. Echoes of your parents’ voices bounced around your mind, along with Joel’s. It was overwhelming. You feared they’d never forgive you if they found out what you and Ellie were doing—or had done. Then, there was Cat; a part of you felt bad for her. That she was getting caught in the middle of unfinished business… Clearly, your attempt at clearing your head didn’t work.  

Shutting off the shower, smelling like a happy mixture of vanilla and coconut, you wrapped yourself in a towel to walk to your bedroom. When you entered, you didn’t notice the frame of your estranged lover sitting on your bed—until you pivoted on damp feet. “Shit, Ellie… What the hell are you doing?” You gasp, clenching onto the material of the old beach towel you were using to dry off.  

Her back was facing you, eyes cast toward the paneled window of your reading nook. The auburn strands of her hair were damp, leaving marks on the shoulders and back of her grey sweatshirt.  

“She fucking knows…”  

Your eyebrows stitched together, trying to take in what the woman before you had said. Shutting your door with a sigh, you turn back around slowly. “What do you mean…?” Your voice trembled, wanting clarification even though you already knew what she meant. That hole that you dug was only getting deeper. Or, perhaps, not. It’s already reached max depth.

Ellie peered over her shoulder, the whites of her eyes unnerved. Freckled cheeks flushed to oblivion. “You PM’d me last night on MySpace…”  

“Yeah…?” You slowly approached her, shrugging your shoulders. Although, your heart was racing—beating throughout your entire body. If that was even possible.  

“When I got back to the guesthouse last night, I basically conked out, y/n.” Ellie told, finally shifting her body to see your stunned frame in its entirety. Water droplets dripping down your arms and legs; muscles tightening in anticipation.  

A hand shot over your mouth, eyebrows furrowing in remorse. If she went right to sleep, then someone else had been responding to you—and you don’t believe in ghosts. “Please, tell me you’re fucking with me.”  

She placed her head in her hands. “I wish I was…” Ellie bounced her leg, nervously. “Why the fuck would you mention anything that happened over the internet?” Her tone shifted, scolding you with the same pair of eyes that once caressed your skin with adoration.

“I had no other way to tell you about Joel. I was trying to warn you—“  

“Yeah, what a warning that was.”  

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Okay, hold on… How do you know about this? D— Did she confront you— or what?”  

She sighed. “She came and talked to me while I was grooming Sarah— Also, you forgot to mention that she doesn’t like to be brushed…!” Her round features were pulled taut, glaring at you.  

“I met her, like, once, Ellie. How would I know that she doesn’t like to be brushed?” You retorted, kicking out a leg, narrowing your eyes. “And… She’s a fucking baby. You should’ve expected that.”

“She said if I don’t admit what I did by tonight… She’s gonna fucking do it.”  

You bunched your eyebrows, shaking your head—utterly confused. “She’s gonna fucking do what? Wh— What is this, Ellie— fucking One Tree Hill?!” It was incredulous for Cat to make such a threat. Theatricals were never your choice of handling things. Hence the last time an explosive episode happened on the farm. You shut down and close off—it’s always too much!  

The auburn-haired woman’s feature slightly softened, looking up at you from her seated position.

Noticing the tensing in your body—seeing that face she swore she never wanted to see again. “Uhm, what did you say…?” You questioned, carefully with pinched lips and drifting eyes.  

“I said that I would…”  

Record scratch. Again. How many of those were you going to experience in a single week?

“Ellie—!”  

“To alleviate some of her frustration—!” She tried.

“I don’t give a fuck why you agreed to her stupid threat, Ellie— it’s the fact that you did!” You paced, squeezing the bridge of your nose. Thinking. Hard. Your voice had boomed, forgetting that the walls weren’t thick. “I will not have this random emo chick ruin the relationship I have with my parents… Because she wants to get back at you.”  

She leaned back on her hands, shrugging. “And you… She’s getting back at you, too.”  

“Seriously.” You snapped your head toward her, blinking with blossoming anger.  

“Dead serious.” Ellie held your eyes, courageously. She never liked seeing you angry, but boy, did it set her skin on fire. You were always so concerned with how people perceived you, that you avoided acting within your nature. Even though, in your truest nature, you were the most beautiful thing.  

You pointed a finger at her, strolling toward her. “Is this funny to you?”  

“Is there a smile on my face?” She retorted, looking up at you through her thick, batting lashes.

“You look amused—“  

“I am.” She simply stated, causing you to raise an eyebrow. “Because you’ve never changed, y/n. It’s always appearances with you— for everything.” You rolled your eyes at that, scoffing under your breath. What did she know? “Little-miss-perfect… Always has to do the right thing— not because she wants to, but because she wants others to notice that she does.”

Her words sounded familiar. More put together, but familiar.  

“It’s fucking pathetic, babe—“

“Get hell the out of my room.” The words came from you like a whisper with pinched lips, clenching your fists at your sides. Her and her name-calling.

Ellie stood up, chest nearly touching the towel that wrapped around you. Chest to chest. “Can you think about us for one second?” Her fingers tethered to your bare skin, dancing up your arms. “Cat’s makin’ our karma come quick— embarrassing us in front of our family. And, yeah, we did a fucked-up thing. I can admit and make peace with that because I wanna be with you.” She squeezed your shoulders, examining your tight features. Ellie reached her hand to grace your cheek, but you turned away.  

A sigh fell from her lips, pulling away from your body. “And all you can think about is your parents… What they would think?” Ellie scoffed, running her hand through her damp strands. “You’re an adult—! And you, certainly, made an adult decision to fuck me the other night— so this is your fault as much as it is mine.” She lectured. Ellie Williams was lecturing you. Oh, how the tables turn.

“Fucking stand in it.” The artist grit, pointing her finger to the ground. “That’s you’re fuckin’ problem. Always wanting to be perfect— but you’re not! Not even close.”

Tears began to build in the corner of your eyes, lips quivering at her words. Heart wrenching at her stern tone. “And I fucking love you for it…” Ellie appeared dejected, gliding toward your door. Adhering to the command you gave her: Get out. “But if your parents’ opinion weigh heavier… Fine.”  

A beat meandered through the room, while Ellie’s hand hovered over the handle.

“I realized… After Cat found me in the barn that…” She chewed on her lip. “I’m not ashamed of what we did— which is why I don’t mind telling the truth. It may be a threat for her but… it’s a release for me.”

A sob shockingly came from your throat, plopping onto your reading nook. The strength of your neck unable to hold up your head—it dropped into your hands to cover your face. “Please,” Your breath hitched, peeking through your fingers. “Ellie, please, don’t say anything. Don’t ruin tonight over something…Something fickle.”  

Fickle?

She deepened her eyebrows in offense before pulling open the door. “I’m telling them whether you like it or not. Shape up or ship the fuck out.” Ellie pushed through the door, making sure to shut it light enough not to cause a stir, but heavy enough to unsettle you further.  

To Ellie’s core, she was a pusher; a person who liked to push others—for better or for worse. Just depended on the day, and the person. Now, in her past, she’s made the mistake of pushing you into a worser version of yourself. And she almost did it again, but she revised her actions efficiently. She corrected it. Switched it around like a puzzle-piece placed in the wrong spot.  

You needed to learn how to stand in your decision—good or bad—and not cowering within them. There’s no point in begging for a person’s forgiveness once you’ve done something wrong. Accountability and apologies are all a person has. And your parents—pssh; you shouldn’t be worrying about that so much.  

Tommy and Maria loved you more than life itself, and Ellie understood why because she did, too.  

There was nothing you could do to scarlet letter your persona. Absolutely nothing.  

Even after titling the love you and Ellie embraced fickle; she could never turn her face from you— not for long anyway.  

Dragging her feet down the hall, old converse sliding against the wood, eyes watering with warm tears in the corner of her eyes; a door creaked open. An aged pair of brown eyes, pushing though the slot. “Everything all right, kiddo…?”

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Olive eyes attempting to blink back tears at the sound of his softened, gravelly voice. Sniffling, her legs carried her toward him, wrapping her arms around his soft abdomen, tucking her head into his chest.  

Nothing came from her but soft, stressed cries. Fingers clenching onto the fabric of his flannel behind his back.

As much as this situation was a lot for you, it was a lot for her as well—just in a different way, for a different reason.

In your room, you were still on that reading nook in your towel. Your body was was dry, so the old cloth scratched and tickled your skin. It was deserving for you to be uncomfortable. Ellie was right; you were a little pathetic—for lack of better word.  

You spent so much time wanting to fix yourself. Be the best version of yourself. And that wasn’t Tommy or Maria’s fault, it was your own. When you were first adopted, sent to a new school, you had a full out meltdown. Some kid had been picking on you for being quiet, and you escalated the situation to a place that it didn’t need to go. As in: using your fists to defend yourself. From then, you were thrown into therapy and had to relearn that fighting wasn’t the answer. Maria aided that by drilling into your head that violence was something that could get you into trouble.  

So, how did the way people perceived you become such a focus? Well, Maria’s scoldings of your behavior translated in your head—along with trauma of past foster homes and neglectful parents—that what people saw of you mattered more than your own conclusions. They thought, therefore you were.  

You failed to fact-check. You failed to have a personal understanding of your own behavior. It was rare for you to make peace with your own actions—good or bad. You were always stuck on what a person would think of you; especially, your parent’s. Perhaps, there was still a part of you that felt you needed to prove that you worth caring for. Worth supporting. 

That pressure continues and continues and continues to shove your head underwater no matter how many times your flail and beg for air.  

It was obnoxious. It is obnoxious. You’re obnoxious.  

Love isn’t conditional. It’s a feeling that tethers people to one another despite anything. Despite flaws and self-guilts—it perseveres. That concept shouldn’t be difficult to grasp because, after all Ellie had said on that one unfaithful afternoon, you still loved her. You loved her at seventeen, and you love her at twenty-five. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change.  

And the same applied for your parents to you.  

It was fucking physics and you were a prodigal humanities student who looked at STEM in contempt.

Solemnly, you dressed into a pair of comfy clothes. Attempting to replace the frown that stuck to your lips, although your body was already weakened from your emotions. Surprisingly, a cigarette couldn’t cure your overthinking mind—not this time. There was no point in pulling from one.  

After squeezing eye drops into your eyes to eliminate the irritated veins in your sclera’s, you stomped down the wooden stairs. When your mother noticed you, she smiled. Her sparkling white teeth glimmering in your eyes—warm and kind. “Ellie and Joel are gonna be baking the pie at the guesthouse… So, the kitchen is ours.” Maria chuckled to herself, kneading the dough for her legendary biscuits.  

“I know how much you hate overcrowded kitchens…” You respond, grabbing the apron with your nickname stitched on the front—Bug. She did a double take, looking from the dough in her hands. Noticing that unfortunate look on your face, and that blandness in your tone.  

Maria sighed, setting the dough aside, leaning her flour covered hands against the counter. “Not you, too… What the hell is in the air today?” She shook her head, averting her eyes to you with intensity. “What’s goin’ on with you— Ellie had just come down here with that same look on her face.”  

“What look?”  

“That look.”  

You pressed your lips into a line, looking around in thought. It was easier to lie and say something unrelated but that was fruitless idea. So, you said nothing, walking over to the cornbread she left out to begin working on the stuffing.  

Raising an eyebrow, she followed you with her icy irises. She then called you your full name, which sent chills down you spine.

You sucked your teeth, meeting her stern eyes. “Ellie and I had sex…” You mutter, peering down to your shaking hands.  

“What…?”  

It was difficult to say aloud to your mother, but that the rest came behind swiftly. “And Cat found out because I had a run-in with Joel— he heard, and I wanted to let Ellie know… So, I private messaged her on MySpace, but turns out, she wasn’t the one responding to me; Cat was.” You puffed air from your lips. “This morning, she came by to ask where Ellie was, so I told her she was in the horse barn. Come to find out, she confronted her, threatening to air all of our shit out to you and dad and Joel as a consequence.”

“Tommy, get in here.” She asserted to her husband focused on the television, keeping her wide eyes on you.

Another sigh came from you, watching as your father navigated into the kitchen. “After my shower, Ellie was in my room and that’s when she told me. We got into it a little bit… Uhm, because she told me that she was gonna tell y’all that we slept together and that pissed me off— because why would she do that?” You scoff, not noticing the glances your father was making to your mother as you unloaded this heavily detailed bundle of information. “How could she be so quick to admit that we had sex to our family that has known us since we were children? That we committed fucking adultery while her girlfriend was only, like, ten meters away—“  

“Honey,” Tommy tried, but you held up a finger.  

“Let me finish.” Your eyes welled with tears, looking at your fathers aging features. “I couldn’t understand how she was so okay with it, but, now, I do. I think I do…” You glance between the two people hovering around you. “The only reason why I came up with the idea— yeah, I’m the one who came up with it… To hookup. Sue me— was because I wanted to see if what was happening between us was real. And it fucking was!”  

“I know what we did was wrong. I knew it was wrong when I decided to go through with it… I begged Ellie not to say anything— which is ironic considering I’m the one talkin’.” You chuckled, wiping a warm tear that slipped from your eyes. “I was afraid of what you guys would think of me. That you wouldn’t love me anymore because of what I did— because you didn’t raise a liar…” Pausing, you released a shaky breath. “Verbatim: she told me to shape up… Or ship the fuck out. I chose the latter because… You didn’t raise a coward either.”  

They blinked at you.  

“I love Ellie. I really do, and yeah, we should’ve gone about this differently— but we didn’t. And I’m sorry.” Curtly, you nodded your head, adjusting your shoulder to stand up straighter. “I’m so grateful that you guys are my parents— you chose to be here and support me. The least I can do is be honest with you. Even if that results in your disappointment.”  

The tears had dried up in your eyes sometime amid your ramble of humility. Confidence growing with every word that you spoke. Ellie’s words rang through your skull about your consistent jig of morality. Fuckup’s don’t make you nor should they break you.  

Shit happens!

Their quietness made you tremble out of that shell of confidence you manifested, making you breathe a little heavier and feel a little more uncomfortable within your skin. You watched as they looked at each other. Maria sporting a mixture of concern and disappointment on her features—more disappointment than concern. And, Tommy, the complete opposite.  

“You know, what? I’ll let you two… Sit on this.” You walk past them, toward the fridge. In the door, there was both glass bottles and cans of beer—Miller Lite and Heineken. You grabbed the green glass bottle by the neck, “I’m gonna have a beer…” Walking toward the back door with horse barn on your mind.  

It was like a weight lifted off your shoulders after you confessed. Being honest with your thoughts about the whole situation made you feel lighter—feather allowing the wind to guide her, type of light. It was freeing to stand in her truth.

The cool breeze of autumn bit at your exposed arms, and the sliver of skin between the hem of your top and the hip line of your sweats. But because you were riding on the high of your confession, you didn’t feel the chill. You never were much of a beer person—it never made sense for you to drink. Yeast was never your thing, but after your confession, you had a craving for it. The beer, not so much the yeast. You overcame something big—you cried yourself into a new you. A better you.

And not that surface-better person you were trying or pretending to be.  

When you arrived at the barn, you didn’t forget to pet the grazing horses near you before entering. Remnants of Ellie’s work lingered around, but there was no sight of her. Perhaps, it was for the best. Reaching for one of the bridles hanging on an iron hook, you used the belt to pluck off the tin cap that topped the bottle.  

Settling in scattered hay, you plopped onto the ground, taking a large sip. Gritting your teeth at the flavor—still, wasn’t much of a fan. Although, she lingered close to her mother, Sarah began to drift toward you. Curiosity ruling her developing brain. You reached out to her, scratching the short tufts of her blonde hair.  

She leaned into your hand, huffing air from her nostrils. It made you smile, her comfortability with you after knowing her for such a short time. “Oh, Sarah…” You sighed, wistfully.  

From behind her, in the distance, you see your mother’s figure approaching you. You take in a nervous breath, preparing for her, potentially, harsh words.  

Maria’s boots crunched along the sprawled hay, taking her time to sit beside you. Leaning her against the same wooden wall you did. She ran her hand through her short blonde hair, sighing as her shorter pieces of her hair fell right back into place. “If…” She began, thoughtfully. “I’ve ever given you a reason to think that I— we could ever stop loving you, y/n; that was my mistake. I wanna start there. Out of everything that you said in there… That’s what disappointed me most.”  

Your eyes flicker to hers, briefly. Sarah had retreated back towards her mother. “Yeah, I must admit… I don’t wanna see my daughter, my kid, doing something worth regretting— no parent wants to see that.” She shook her head, glancing back at the horses. “And, yes, I am disappointed that you did something of this nature… But I know your heart, honey.” Maria reached her hand to your bent knee, caressing with her thumb.  

The heat in your cheeks and eyes increased with emotion. “I’ll never forget that look on your face when we surprised you with those papers.” She smiled at the memory, and you leaned into her as if it were muscle memory. “You were… Relieved. And, from that day forward, Tommy and I promised to do right by you. To love you how you deserved to be loved— to prove that you deserved to be loved despite what the world had already managed to convince you.”  

You wrapped your hand around the one on your knee while tears dripped from the corners of your eyes. “You think something like this would change my mind?” She looked down at you leaning her shoulder.  

“Yeah… I guess…” You insecurely blinked at her. Feeling like the very thirteen-year-old she was referencing.  

The blonde woman shook her head, placing a hand on your cooling cheek. “Well, that’s the farthest from the truth, Bug.” Her lips plotted against your forehead, comfortingly. “Your father and I will love you until we’re cold in the ground—“  

“Mom, don’t say that.” You whined, sniffling.  

“Probably, beyond that—“  

“Mom!”  

She snickered, peeling the beer from your fingers, and taking a sip for herself. “I don’t know how they tolerate this stuff.” Maria grimaced, shaking her head, setting it aside. “So… What’s the course of action now that everybody knows this big secret?”  

You pull from her, leaning your head against the wall. “I don’t know…” You sighed, shutting your eyes. “Ellie is pissed at me—“  

“For…?” She perked a slender eyebrow.  

“Because… I called our situation fickle to get her to not say anything, but clearly, that didn’t work.” You shook your head. “I guess, I’m the impulsive one now.”  

Maria hummed. “Looks like you have a lot to clear up.”  

You inhaled, peering at her. “Looks like it.” With another breathy sigh, you shook your head.

“Fuck, and Cat.” You slapped your hand against your forehead.

“Ah. You know, she has every right to be upset?”  

“Of course, I do. But, to be fair…”  

“Nope—“  

“Ellie came up here to get away from her— that’s what she told me!”  

Your mother scolded you, calling you by your full name—because that was her super power. But, you ignored her, sitting up straight to prove your point. “She was living in the biggest, most creative city in the world and felt crowded? How does that make sense?”  

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Maybe… Maybe this is what they needed.” You shrugged.  

Maria stood to her feet, offering you a hand. “Let’s not get caught up in the little details— you have some apologizing to do.”  

“Ugh! I know, I know…” You took her hand, hopping to your feet. She bent down, picking up the beer bottle by the throat.

“But before that, you need to cover up those arms, and get to work in that kitchen— because, we have guests.” As your mother ushered you back into the house, you dragged your slippers against the ground, finding your way back inside the house with a newfound comfort.

Almost an hour earlier, the guesthouse was bluntly silent. Nothing but the slight huffing of Joel kneading dough and the crunching of breadcrumbs from Ellie. There wasn’t much conversation; only the actions of their priorities fr dinner. Cat had locked herself in the bedroom, probably, plotting her next attack.

Joel made a point to keep his eyes on Ellie—and Cat—to make sure nothing crazy happened. Cheating situations made people a little tense at times.  

“So… Ellie, what song are you planning on playin’ tonight?” He tried, beginning to roll out the dough; flat to place in the round tin pan.  

She sighed, glancing at him with a dismissive glare. “I’m not playin’ tonight…”  

“Come on, it’s tradition—“  

“Fuck, tradition! I’m not doing it. Can we move on?”  

He huffed, placing the wooden roller on the floured counter. “I think you need to cut her some slack, kiddo. She didn’t mean to—“  

“I don’t care what she meant—“  

“Can you let me finish?” He raised an eyebrow, pointing an index finger that was caked with white flour. Ellie bunched her lips together, rolling her eyes. “Now, Ellie, I know you’re upset with y/n, with how the situation panned out— I get it. But don’t let your frustration cloud your judgement.” He told. “I spoke to her long before you did. I don’t believe for a second that she truly thinks that your relationship is fickle.”  

He inhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes we say things that we don’t mean— I’m sure you know about that.”  

She ran her tongue over her lips, tapping her foot against the floor. Thinking back to a few years ago when she exploded on Joel and you. Ellie was good for that—saying things she didn’t mean. “I mean, I’ve said a few things to Tommy in my day.”  

“Joel…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know if it’s that alone— I…” Ellie struggled to verbalize, gesticulating with her hands and fingers as words attempted to materialize behind her teeth. “She’s always choosing her parents over me— over everything and everyone. Really, it’s doing her a disservice—“  

The artist began to rant like her life depended on it. Of course, in a low enough tone where her girlfriend in the other room couldn’t hear. Joel just watched a listened, as her features contorted with annoyance. But, within her big, earthy eyes, Ellie told on herself. Her claims didn’t come from hatred, or even contempt—it came from her adoration of you.  

In the corner of the room, relied the piece she’s been working on since the day of her arrival, or rather, the night of. It was no longer covered with a white, paint-stained sheet. Her work had been exposed to the light due to a quick argument between her and Cat before Joel came to save the day. It was a colored-in image of you in front of that old shed. A joint rested between your index and middle finger with a look of relaxation was on your smoothly stroked features. Ellie made sure to depict you in your most comfortable state.  

If only he could see her sketch book.  

“Ellie, you have to break up with her.”  

She paused, mid-sentence. “What?”  

“Matter of fact, you need to break up with Cat— now.”

Uncomfortably, she shifted on her bare feet. “But… The pie…”  

He chortled, averting his eyes to the art piece at the corner of the room. “Priorities, Ellie. Priorities.” Joel leaned his hip against the marble counter. “Go in there, break up with her— as kindly as you can. Then, offer to drive her to the train station. If she declines, insist. If you go now, you should make it back before dinner. You know Maria will have a cow if you’re late.”

Briefly, she thought to herself. Ellie was never the type to be afraid of confrontation—she may have hesitated a few times… But she was never afraid. She never expected her actions to be thrown into her face so quickly, though. The memory of Cat approaching Ellie in that barn sent chills down her spine, because she had an inkling that something was wrong the minute she had appeared. Her dark brown eyes were squinty and boring through her as she approached. At first, Ellie didn’t notice Cat’s slender frame walking up to her—as she were hyper-focused on tending to the small, blonde-haired foal.

They have been together for nearly a year, so of course, the freckled artist knew when she was truly upset. Cat was a woman of subtly, despite her tattoos and silver piercings. Her anger pressed through with an even tone, and a stiff posture; rather than, expression through loud voices and firm fist curls. They are polar opposites in that way. That is what originally attracted Ellie to her—but in that moment, she shivered.

It was like whiplash, comparing how she woke up to how she appeared in front of Ellie in that moment. Making her wonder, if that happy act was all lie? It most certainly was.

Cat somehow surpassed a level of straightforwardness that Ellie was comfortable with, telling her exactly how it was: Why she made breakfast for her this morning, the MySpace conversation (why she pretended to be her), her certainty of her infidelity, and the official threat that set everything off the rails. Easily, her intention was to embarrass Ellie and you. She sensed the timidness that you hid behind and wanted to use it against you. She assumed, based off the history between you and Ellie, that the only way for Ellie to be affected is to make an example of you. However, she imagined that it would be more difficult for her girlfriend to confess her actions first.

You weren’t particularly obvious with what happened between the two of you, but she would have to be stupid to not assume that it was a sexual thing. But when Cat approached Ellie with the statement: You told me you were going on a run. She didn’t expect to be met with immediate truth. Her olive eyes had grown wide for only a second, before words began to just flood from her like an open dam. Ellie couldn’t stop herself.

Perhaps, it was the complaints of you echoing in her head. Your fervent concerns about going back to Cat—it made her feel guilty; so, she confessed as if she were bribed to tell the truth and was content with the consequences. All the while, brushing the soft, blunt hairs of Sarah.

Ellie assumed that was why Cat made a threat to support her dominance. That made her hesitate a bit—admitting to her family that her and an old flame, that ended horribly in their teenagerhood, had secret sex in the middle of the night? Despite having a girlfriend—who could ever do such a thing?

Apparently, Ellie.

Straightening her shoulders, she didn’t back down, though. She took full accountability for her behavior, claiming that she would be the one to tell them what she did—although, she did find that to be dramatic. It wasn’t until Ellie was checking off the chores list in the garden, when she realized her fate had a drastic connection to you.

You weren’t the type to stand tall in defeat or mistake. When the things you did wrong were brought to you, you quivered and coward away because it made you feel more than you preferred. Faulty. It made you want to sequester—the total opposite of Ellie.

She could never forget how you hid away after the fight on her seventeenth birthday. You didn’t go to school for a week. Ellie offered to bring you schoolwork, like the waving of a white flag, but you declined—or, rather, your parents declined. One of your academic friends made visits to the farm every day to give you the missing work. For a moment, after not hearing from you, Ellie thought you moved abroad or something. You were the closest thing to a true hermit.

That worried her because this is the last thing you’d ever want to admit, and it was Ellie’s fault. She may not have felt a lick of regret for loving on you like she used to, but she felt bad for putting you in a situation you couldn’t seamlessly get out of. It was a nightmare to see you flail, but the only way out is through. Ellie learned that a long time ago. Maybe, it was your turn to reassess that motto.

The only way out is through.

So, Ellie made her way to the bedroom they shared, knocking before she entered.

Cat had her back propped up against the wooden headboard; a pair of headphones covering her pierced ears as she typed on her own computer. Her bags were packed and ready in the corner of the room—that’s what she spent her time doing this morning… Packing her bags. When she wasn’t issuing theatrical threats. That’s already one concern out the window. She was ready to ship out. When she noticed Ellie, her soft features fell.

“You’re already packed…” She acknowledged, rocking on her bare feet. Cat removed her headphones with a sigh. “Let me take you to the train station—”

“Before you tell your family that you boldly cheated on your girlfriend? I don’t think so.” She dismissed, tilting her head to the side. “If this is your way of getting out of—”

Ellie groaned, slapping her hands against her thighs. “I’m not trying to get out of anything, Cat. I just don’t want you paying a fucking grand to get back into the city.”

“What do you care?” Cat challenged, setting her laptop aside. “Hm? You told me that I had nothing to worry about. That’s what you said… Turns out that was a stupid fucking lie.” She ground out, pressing her lips into a disappointed line. A cruel laugh came from her, while she shook her head in disbelief. “And now, you’re saying you care about how much I’m spending to get back home? Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m not. It’s the least I could do—”

“No… The least you could’ve done was not fuck y/n—that’s the least you could’ve done.” The scorned woman argued, meeting her eyes with intensity. “I’m not going anywhere until I see the looks on Mr. and Mrs. Miller’s faces when they find out what the two of you did— I have a feeling it’ll be memorable.”

The freckled artist found her attitude to be draining, even if it was sensical for her side of things. Her fingers rubbed between her eyebrows. A raspy sigh fleeing from her throat. “Look, I get you’re upset, Cat. But dontcha’ think you’re doing, I don’t know, too much?”

“You think this is too much?”

“Uh, yeah, I do. I said I’d tell ‘em what happened— that should be enough for you.”

Scoffing, she threw her legs over the mattress. “You expect me to believe the woman who cheated on me? How didn’t I know you were this idiotic before?” Cat scoffed, dryly.

She deepened her eyebrows at the insult, gritting her teeth. “You know, what? I’ve been really struggling to keep my mouth shut… But, clearly, there’s no point.” Ellie huffed, blinking her eyes. Perhaps, it was time for her to know the truth on why Ellie wanted to go home for a while. Her stiff words got Cat’s attention, causing her to narrow her dark eyes. “That whole thing about me having a hard time in the city with my art— yeah, that was because of you, not because of fucking Brooklyn.” The woman admitted, releasing the tension in her shoulders. “Truth is, your endless support did nothing but drag out my lack of inspiration—you made it worse! What I needed was to get out of that goddamn apartment, not get out of the city.” She continued, pacing around the room. “From the moment I saw her… Inspiration fucking flooded my psyche— all I could see was her. Her face. Her voice. Her body. She did more for me in second than you ever did for me in the year we’ve been together.”

She ran a hand through her hair, scoffing. A boyish smirk spreading onto her plush lips. “Who’s the fuckin’ idiot now?” Ellie muttered, flickering her earthy eyes toward her shocked expression.

A beat plotted in the environment, feasting on the spreading tension in the room.

That was mean; she matched her cruelty and then some. Ellie shouldn’t have, but she was only human. A human who just made her girlfriend—sorry, ex-girlfriend—cry. Her thin eyebrows pushed into a harsh furrow, tears streaming shown her flushed, hot cheeks. Her fingers danced in front of lips, trying to keep her sorrowful whines from being heard. It wasn’t working. Cat cried like a hurt dog, stuffing her face in her hands at Ellie’s restriction of consolation.

With crossed arms, Ellie looked down at from across the room. Family was one of the most important things to her. Despite her youthful, abrasive attitude, Joel decided to contractually tie himself to her—her adoption. But, even before then, she’s been a divine part of the Miller family. They meant a whole lot to her, you, more so. The fact that she was so willing to draw a wedge between the lot of you… Frankly, it disgusted her. It was repulsive.

“You have every right to be upset. I can’t take that from you.” She let up, lifting her eyebrows. “If anything… What I do regret is pulling you along this far out of convenience. To be honest—”

“Haven’t you been honest enough? Fuck, Ellie.” Cat blurted, peeking over her shoulder.

Her feelings might have been hurt; a simmering flame awaiting the impulsive pressure of Ellie’s old converse. The auburn-haired woman sighed, taking a seat on the bed. Away from Cat, not only to convey her sincerity in her processing words, but to respect Cat’s wired emotions. “I’ve kept enough from you, kitty Cat. My honesty is my apology…” Ellie casted her down-to-earth irises to the side of Cat’s face. When she turned to meet Ellie’s eyes, her smudged eyeliner and mascara became a spectacle. “And my good-bye…”

Cat scoffed in pure offense. “You do not get to break-up with me when you’re the one who fucked up.”

“Well, if you wanna be the one to call it… Then, feel free.”

“No!” She grit her teeth, more tears dripping from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to break up with you…” Her lips quivered.

Ellie chortled, leaning her palm into the mattress. “Uhm, one of us is gonna have to do the breaking, Cat.”

They apparently have walked themselves into an impasse. To make a decision, or to not make a decision—that was the question. The response, the answer, was far simpler than Cat was making it, though.

Sighing, the freckled artist looked to the side. Ellie could use this to her advantage—getting her on that train back to the city. “You don’t have to right now…” She began to offer. “How about you mull it over on the way to the train station? I still don’t mind driving you there.” Her fingers fiddled with themselves, hoping she’d finally accept her invitation to leave.

She looked at her frowning, blinking away her tears. “Fine…” Cat stood to her feet, wiping her makeup-stained cheeks with the backs of her hand. “Why don’t you be a doll and bring my bags to the truck. It’s the least you could do.” Before Ellie could respond, she walked into bathroom and locked herself behind the door.

Releasing a long breath of relief, Ellie got up from the bed. As silently as possible, she pumped her fists into the air. Cat was leaving with only a little bit of resistance. That whole dramatic scene she was hoping for wasn’t happening—thank God!

Ellie stuffed her feet into her sneakers, before grabbing her rolling luggage and bag, hoisting the large purse over her shoulder. She left the bedroom, eyeing Joel on her way out. He was covered in flour and sugar, like the chef that he aspired to be. She gave him a thumbs up on the way out the door, snickering to herself.

Joel clapped his hands, forgetting about the flour stuck to his hands. It puffed into the air and down his throat, causing him to obnoxiously cough—away from the food developing in front of him. “Goddamn,”

Ellie peeked her head inside, pushing the luggage to the side on the small wooden porch. “Please, survive until I get back. Wouldn’t want another tragedy on Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, shut it, Ellie.”

She snickered again; her mood instantly heightened. However, as she maneuvered off the porch, her eyes caught sight of you and your mother. Maria’s arms were around you, guiding you toward the house. You didn’t have a jacket on and sported a pair of slippers—you weren’t dressed for the brisk afternoon air, dragging your feet against the ground. Ellie had stopped in her tracks. Shoes crunching on bumpy gravel. She couldn’t help but wonder what led you out the house. Was it her? Did she unnerve you so bad that you ran away from the warmth of the house?

Also, did you mean what you said when you used fickle as a description of your relationship with Ellie? Boy, did she have so many questions. This ball was filled with kinetic energy, rolling as it should have. She was just going to have to keep the momentum of its roll. For how long? The inspired artist didn’t know—but what she did know, was that she had a woman to make hers again.

This time, in a sustainable way, instead of a chaotic one.

taglist: @autisticintr0vert , @liasxeatt , @hopingforgoodblogs , @lia-winther , @macaroni676 , @tobiotruther , @anewkindofloove , @fatbootymuncher , @maiaska , @culuvr , @0phantom0 , @onlinelesbo , @bbnbhm , @lovelaymedown , @lamorenita , @scatapple , @elliewilliamsblunt , @goddessofchaosss , @mikellie , @emmanetalias , @sevyscoven , @lluvbk

[always-just-red]

Hello! Y'know that one line of Sylus talking about his muscles saying "They're not real. But they move." The way he casually admits to not being entirely human

Could I request something angsty where Sylus has an uncanny valley aura about him where you just FELL something's not right and Sylus is all :( cause he can't make the MC feel comfortable around him but it's not like he can fix it either

Just a quick little fic for this whilst I work on a longer fic! Realised like two paragraphs in that I had the opportunity to do the most evil thing ever, so I did!! 😇 I'm really proud of this one guys pls show it some love! And thanks for the prompt, anon! You are my co-conspirator in all this evilness, mwa ha ha DISCLAIMER: This work does not reflect the feelings of the author, who would die for Sylus! Wants to hold Sylus's face in her hands and tell him he is everything good and pure in this dark, cynical chess game we call life! 😎✨

Monster

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: A Deepspace Hunter's instincts never lie...

Genre: angst oh my GOSH so much angst

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, AU I guess as this is a different spin on an existing scene, *passes you some tissues* here you might need these! 🥰

| Word count: 800 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You know monsters.

Earth-shattering. Sky-shearing. Teeth, reckless: always striving for something soft to sink into. To make a home in and to eviscerate. You’ve been grazed by it— kissed by that violence more times than you can count— and you are not soft anymore; there isn’t space for it. There are scars and then there’s armour, the kind you carry with you, the kind you couldn’t shed if you tried, and you haven’t tried, because why would you?

Horror isn’t loud and cataclysmic, it’s quiet. It’s those few seconds before your Hunter’s watch signals a fluctuation of Metaflux. A premonition, trained, or maybe just human instinct, raw and vulnerable: something is wrong, here. That prickle on your skin— the tip of that claw, raked, snaked down your spine. You feel it whenever a Wanderer lurks in the shadows, or beneath a stretch of water that’s unfathomably deep and far, far too still.

Sometimes, you feel it when you look at Sylus.

I know monsters.

Before you, a fragment of a mural tells a very old story, and beside you, a red-eyed man is thinking of flowers. It’s late, and the museum is quiet. You look at the fragment’s centre, where a female warrior is plunging a blade through a dragon’s heart. “Look,” you say, nodding at the figure with a half-smile. “My predecessor.”

Sylus hums thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”

“Because that looks like a standard Tuesday to me. Some things never change, huh?”

But other things do. With a chuckle, Sylus draws closer to you. The rumble of his laughter is warm and familiar, and his hand is near yours as he bends to examine the mural. He wants you to take it, to thread your fingers through his like you do when you resonate, when you need his power and he needs yours, except neither of you need it now. Why, then?

You know. Of course you know.

The man is all softness, voice and gaze like an afternoon sun in late summer that lulls you to sleep with thick, golden light. Always trying to evoke a dream. It’s weakness, it’s the dragon on the mural with a split heart, bleeding, and you’ll never understand why Sylus wears his on his sleeve.

It’ll be the death of him, one day. It’s set in stone. Right here.

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own?

Your veins are cold and something is wrong, but no, you don’t pull away, because Sylus knows monsters too. Some declare themselves with twisted horns, razorlike wings and a long, barbed tail. Others declare themselves with something as subtle as a touch, withdrawn.

When Sylus steps away from you, that gash of dread closes up inside you. Heals like his wounds: no mess, no scar, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He’s had a long time to look at the mural, and he smiles wistfully at the woman at its centre. “Some things never change,” he echoes, and it sounds as though there’s blood in his lungs, his throat, and that he has to swallow it down to say anything at all. It must sting.

“All in a day’s work for a Deepspace Hunter,” you joke flatly. You’re not even sure Sylus hears it.

Both of you stare at your fragment of history: an execution, a liberation. A matter of perspective. “Maybe…” Sylus begins, but then thinks better of it.

“Maybe what?”

He’s seeing something you don’t.

“Maybe what, Sylus?”

He spares you a glance. “The pose,” he says, indicating the warrior. “It’s ambiguous. Perhaps she isn’t slaying the beast, she could be—”

“Saving it?”

You’re considering a new perspective. Tapping a finger against your cheek as you lock eyes with your history— that elusive dream— ever oblivious to what’s behind you:

There’s a look of sheer, infinite longing— a gaze that’s been empty of you for too long, so sick of starvation, and determined to have its fill in the few, fleeting moments it can. It’s ravenous: dangerous, sharp, and irrevocably yours, if you would only turn around.

There are teeth and claws, but they’re all of them tame, and that makes them soft, doesn’t it? You could trust them on your skin. Turn around.

You do, and you are not the girl from the mural who tucked wildflowers into his hair and who sung him a song he still hears in his sleep. Sylus’s heart aches.

You are the girl from the mural who’s slaying a dragon, because it’s the oldest story, the only story.

Your eyes harden.

“Who would pull out a sword to save a monster?”

[zara-renata]

Hook, Line, Sinker | ao3 | masterlist

I did a little holiday prompt requests thing, and some people were kind enough to send requests in. @starfallforest, @astracora, and several anons. Thank you so much for sending your requests. I combined the requests into one story, which turned out to be a lot more angsty than cute? But I hope you like it anyway. There's one prompt I couldn't fit in because this takes place between Christmas and New Year's, but I'm hoping to be able to do a little oneshot for the last request, depending on time. Anyway, there's a happy ending for everyone in this story, except for one fish and a guy who deserved it. @wearysparrows is the reason Sylus smells like he does in this story, and her fantastic fishing story set in hot springs got me thinking about fishing with Sylus. Edit: @always-just-red also sent a prompt (snowed in) and she did a gorgeous response to one I sent her. But when I went back to my inbox on PC to confirm everyone who sent one, hers didn’t show up and I thought I had hallucinated her request because I admire her stuff so much😭😭😭 and now I see it on mobile again, and can confirm that I am not losing my mind. Thank you for the prompt, I’m sorry this tag is late!!!

Summary: Sylus invites you to a remote cabin in the woods for some fishing before New Year's. When the trip is over, you have a new boyfriend and a new addition to the Crow family. No, it's not a human baby. Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc. This story contains banter, fluff, kissing, angst, a happy ending. CW: canon typical violence. This involves fishing since Sylus likes to fish, so there are a lot of descriptions of fishing and what you have to do to a fish to uh, fish. There's also a pretty grave instance of animal injury/cruelty (not perpetrated by any of our favs), but the animal is fine in the end.

The prompts I received:

falling into soft snow to create snow angels, flailing wildly on the ground.

in a mountain lodge, snowed in from a heavy snow storm.

jamming out to a christmas song, and inflicting the pain of holiday songs on someone else

You see him, in the distance.

It is night. This far up north, it is night all the time, this time of year.

The moon hangs huge in the sky, its reflected sunlight reflected in the snow, a loop without end. Even here in this endless night, you have no trouble seeing him in the distance.

A lonely figure, surrounded by a vast frozen plane of blue and white. It’s strange, seeing him wrapped in blue and silver, when you associate him with lava glow, ashfall.

Circling the silent lake, mountain peaks thrust into the sky, carving into the horizon. The teeth of some great beast, its bones bleached white in the cold and dark, in the endless summer sun on the other side of every year. Between their jagged edges, stars bleed together, liquid gold and silver spilling across the sky. Time loses meaning in the endless dark, swallowed by the endless light, drowned by the dark again. A dragon eating its own tail. This starlight, too, reflected in the ice underneath your feet. Who needs the sun, when this much molten light illuminates the path forward to the man who has summoned you here? The only man you have been able to see since he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed.

As your feet crunch in the thick snow, as you approach the shore of the frozen lake where the man is waiting for you, you wonder how you got here. When did it start? With the invitation slipped through the mail slot of your humble flat, without address? Crimson wax, pressed with the seal of a crow in flight. The paper is heavy in your calloused hands. It smells delicious, like cloves. The scent is familiar to you now. You would know who this letter is from, even if you didn’t recognize its owner’s sigil, from its smell alone. You think of soft, pale skin. An open collar. A sweep of silver. The crimson wax seal stares at you like a glowing eye.

I need your expertise with a tricky problem. Your options are to come to me, or to come to me.

A plane ticket falls out of the envelope as you read the chaotic, sophisticated handwriting, almost indecipherable in its erudition.

You wonder how you got here. If not the invitation, was it before that? Opening the door every time Sylus stood on the other side. Watching him carefully as he moved about your flat, as he trailed his fingers along your houseplants. As he sipped from the wine glass you had bought in a set after the first time he showed up at your door and you realized you didn’t have any proper glasses for the wine he had brought as a gift to share. An apology? For his hands around your throat? For starvation, and thirst? The wine that tasted of sunspattered fields of flowers spilling down to a cliff, an abyss below. The taste of a memory you couldn’t quite summon, its shadows at the edges of your dreams every time you slept. Wine that warmed your body in the way this man’s eyes warmed you as they caressed you with touchless touch.

Since he released you, you wondered if he was playing a longer, crueler game of hunter and prey. Angler and fish. If every time he shows up at your door, he’s dangling bait, and the moment you wrap your lips around it, try to taste, he’ll hook you, jerk you from everything you’ve ever known, and flay you alive.

But you invite him in, as he requests. Come in, Sylus. You watch him, watching his gaze as it touches everything in your home, as it touches you as his eyes return to your face. He inhabits your flat in the same way he inhabits your mind. Fully. His presence an eclipse. His scent lingers after he leaves. He never asks to stay. He brings a gift to share—wine, a meal, a game of luck, a record. You sit on the couch next to him, and his body heat lures you like an open hearth, but you maintain your distance, the fear of what happens if you finally reach for the fire, if you finally take the bait—such fear gives you the willpower to keep a sliver of chill air between his skin and yours. He never closes the distance, waiting for you to be the one to choose. And when the record is finished, or the film’s credits are rolling, or the game has been won, lost, tied, he stands. Shrugs back into his coat. Only then does he run the knuckles of one big hand down your cheek. Only then does he lean down, whisper a kiss against the edge of your mouth, and then he leaves.

Eventually, he seems to grow tired of the confines of your small home. He begins to ask you out into the world. At twilight, where your world ends and his begins. Daylight bleeding out into night. Night drifting into ash as the day breaks.

Sometimes you say yes. You take his offered hand, his offered gifts of clothing for the occasion, the shoes he kneels to help you slip on your feet. You dress in clothing he buys for you, you sit in his box seat at the ballet, the orchestra’s layered notes flooding your senses but not drowning out your hand in his, your hand he doesn’t let go of through the entire performance. You turn and study his face in the dim light of the luxurious theater, as dancers flow like water, like gazelles, living art across the stage. His face is more fascinating to you than any choreography offered by the finest artists in the world. His profile, his long, uneven nose. The pout of his lips. His hair looks so soft, you want to lift your clasped hands and touch it. You resist the urge, turn your gaze back to the dancers. None of them are as beautiful as the creature lounging next to you in the dark.

Sometimes you know that if you say yes, this will be the time you can’t resist the dangling bait— your teeth, your tongue hungry in a way that frightens you for what he seems to be offering. You feel the hook come so close to your soft lips. The cold metal, like the barrel of a gun that you want to mouth so long as it’s his finger on the trigger. You spook, a prey’s instinct to flee from the lurking, patient predator. You turn down as many invitations as you accept. A compromise with yourself. You’re straddling the twilight—one foot in night, one in day. A knife’s edge that you know will eventually slice you in half if you don’t make a choice.

He accepts your refusals easily. Pretends to believe your flimsy excuses. You know that he knows through Mephisto, through the eyes he seems to have everywhere, that you’re lying when you say you have plans when you don’t. He accepts your fabrications with grace. The next day, a gift always arrives. If you had told him you were going ice skating with Tara, a new pair of skates, in your size, the leather supple, the blades sharp. If you had told him you were going to the arcade with Xavier, a limited edition plushie, one you’ve never managed to catch. If you had told him you were going to a museum with Zayne, a priceless artifact, once owned and cherished by someone who died tragically, along with the certificate of authenticity tucked into the jewel-encrusted box. If you had told him you were attending an art exhibition with Rafayel, an original painting by the featured artist would suddenly appear, hanging on your bedroom wall. The painting that would have been your favorite of the collection, if you had actually attended.

If you do actually go out with friends, the next day, there is a different gift. If you had actually gone drinking with Tara, then a full box of hangover remedies, self-care items for a home spa day. If you had actually gone for a jog with Zayne, then muscle-pain cream, a yoga mat and foam rollers, all to relieve the effects of being sore the next day. If you had actually had hotpot with Xavier, then medicine for indigestion, a fruit basket for supplementary vitamins skipped in a meat-heavy meal. If you had actually gone to the beach with Rafayel, then aloe vera, aftersun care for your sunburned skin.

You open each box. You swallow the remedies, eat the healthy food, massage the cream into your skin. If you imagine that it is his hand, and not your own—well, even Mephisto can’t see into your mind with his mechanical eye. Pulling the fabric of clothing he bought for you over your body, dabbing aloe vera onto the fragile skin under your eyes—this is as close as you will allow yourself to come to him.

Because you remember his hands on your throat.

You remember the sound of a human body bursting at the snap of strong fingers.

You’ve seen him quietly, efficiently, break the neck of an unscrupulous merchant.

Kick a man to his knees and execute him in the dark, the silencer rendering the gunshot a small puff of air, no louder than the last gasp from a pair of doomed lungs.

What scares you the most is not that he is capable of such ruthless, quick, vicious violence.

It is the way you feel, watching him kill someone.

You feel more moved by the dance of death Sylus leads than all of the ballet performances you could ever hope to see at his side.

You are a thirsty spectator, absorbing the line of his hands as he snaps someone’s spine, the delicate veins under his soft skin. The strength in his forearm as he pulls the trigger. The elegant line of his legs as he curb stomps any fool who violates Sylus’s code of ethics that only he knows the tenets of.

You watch him like you’d watch a nature documentary, shot in slow motion—the panther stalking the gazelle in the long grass, the satisfaction of teeth sinking into flesh and tearing.

You are fascinated, and terrified.

He may be courting you now. Fascinated by the challenge you present. Interested in the power you can offer him through your resonance. But how long will it take for this panther to turn from his current prey and begin to hunt you instead? He already almost killed you once. What stops him from doing it again? 

Can such a creature be capable of the unwavering love you crave?

What kind of person does it make you, if you think that you could accept him, the taint of his hands and all of the suffering they have wrought, if you could be assured that at least you would always be safe from his savagery?

The combination of these questions reinforces your resistance to the temptation of reaching out and taking his offered, bloody hand. Of swallowing the dangling bait, concealing the wicked hook.

You don’t know when it started. If it was the invitation. If it was the courtship. If maybe, perhaps, it was the first time you knelt at his feet, and he touched your body with such reverent viciousness. You don’t know what sequence of events has led you to this moment. As you step out onto the ice, soaked in moon and starlight, glowing blue in the night, the white bubbles trapped mid-rise in the frozen lake, as the ice grips attached to your warm boots bite into the ice, as you walk through the silence towards the man ahead, alone in the dark.

You received the invitation. You thought perhaps he was in trouble, and needed your resonance to navigate something dangerous. You didn’t think to refuse this time. Christmas was over—a quiet, lonely affair, even though it was filled with colleagues and friends. Sylus didn’t invite you to celebrate with him, seemingly content for you to attend your work holiday party with Xavier and Tara, the party thrown by Rafayel and Thomas at a gallery downtown, the party at Akso Hospital. Nothing could fill the gaping hole left by Caleb and your grandmother’s death. On Christmas day itself, you lit candles for them and drank two bottles of wine until you passed out.

The next day, the invitation arrived.

You held the heavy, silken textured paper in your hands. You felt the headache of your hangover pounding behind your eyes. You thought about the optional overtime you were considering taking between Christmas and New Year’s, just to relieve the solitude.

You think of the last time you saw Sylus, at the beginning of December. The rough knuckles of his hand along your cheek as he said goodbye, as he watched with ember-glow eyes as you walked to your apartment building’s entrance from the back of his motorcycle. As you looked out your window from your living room, saw him still waiting. As the engine roared in the quiet early morning street and he finally sped away, apparently assured that you were inside and okay. As if you were never not okay. No matter what happened, you’d be okay. 

You wonder when it started. When being okay no longer felt like enough. When did you start getting greedy for more than okay?

So you picked the plane ticket off the floor. Saw the destination—a place you never dreamt of going.

You packed as warmly as you could. You didn’t have much time—Sylus didn’t leave much margin for preparation. You received the invitation in the morning and were on a night flight that evening. 

The flights were long. Uneventful. On the last leg, you sat next to a woman with a little boy. He was sweet, with light colored hair like his mom and blue eyes. You looked into his sweet face and wondered what Sylus was like as a little boy. Tried to picture scarlet eyes in his round face. You wondered if you were ever so young, so small, so fragile. You’ve never felt young in your whole life. His mother seemed exhausted, but stayed awake the whole flight as the little boy fell asleep in her lap.

At the airport, the mother and boy were greeted by a dark-haired man about as big as Sylus with his son’s blue eyes, and he hugged them like it had been years since he had seen them.

You stood, looking around. There was no one waiting to hug you. To hold you in relief. You didn't know why you expected Sylus to be waiting on the other side of your flights.

You hadn’t planned this far ahead. You hefted your heavy carry-on backpack onto your back and followed the signs to the exit. Once satisfied that you knew how to get out, you were reaching into your pocket for your phone when you saw two familiar men standing at the baggage claim holding a sign that just said THE HUNTER on it in messy block letters.

Luke turned his head and caught sight of you, then nudged Kieran. They came loping over to you like two eager wolf puppies.

The relief you felt surprised you, seeing them. They had been nothing but kind, playful with you since Sylus released you, so many months ago, whenever you encountered them. They pulled you into their bets, into their movie nights, into their video game marathons, anytime you happened to visit the base while in the N109 Zone on a mission.  

“You came!” Luke grinned, the deep scarring along the right side of his face twisting his lip. It did nothing to diminish his handsomeness. 

“You should have told Boss. He wasn’t sure if you would take him up on his invitation. He has been an absolute mess,” Kieran scolded you, but also seemed amused at the emotional state of his employer.

You tried to imagine Sylus being a mess. Failed.

“I didn’t have much time to decide and prepare. Sorry.” You took in the twins, whom you’d only ever seen in black leather. They were wearing black parkas, fur-lined, thick ski pants, huge boots.

“Don’t be sorry, stupid. We’re glad you’re here.” Luke was cheerful, threading one big hand under your backpack strap and easing it off your back. “But Kieran’s salty ‘cause he lost the bet.”

“I thought you would refuse, just to vex Boss,” Kieran said, shrugging. “But Luke’s lying. I’m fine losing this particular bet.”

“C'mon, he’s waiting.” Luke took your hand and lead you into the dark, frigid night of the Arctic settlement you had never even heard of before seeing the plane ticket in the invitation. Kieran followed close behind you, pulling up his hood against the freezing wind. 

They herded you to a big four wheel drive SUV. 

“First we drive, then it’s just the snowmobile when the road runs out. Change into these,” Kieran thrust a pile of heavy winter gear into your hands as Luke maneuvered the SUV out of town on a thin ribbon of icy road. In the dark, there were only the vehicle’s headlights, the pale snow-packed hillsides on either side of the road, blue in the reflected light of the moon.

Christmas songs were still playing on the radio, despite Christmas having just passed. Kieran hummed along as Luke began to belt out, in a surprisingly gorgeous singing voice that rivaled Sinatra’s, Oh, by gosh, by golly, It's time for mistletoe and holly, Tasty pheasants, Christmas presents, Countrysides covered with snow…

You put on the heavy black parka over your clearly insufficient winter coat you brought with you. Pulled the ski pants over your jeans. Laced up the boots that fit perfectly to replace your own leather combat boots. You pulled the mad bomber hat over your head, its furred flaps immediately a relief over your cold ears. You were cozy. White Christmas came on the radio. Kieran sang this time, in the same beautiful tones as Luke, Christmas Eve will find me, Where the lovelight gleams, I'll be home for Christmas, If only in my dreams…

You hadn’t felt this settled since last year, leaning against Caleb on the couch, with your grandmother sitting on your other side, watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

You wonder when it started—when the twins started to feel safe, like home to you. Maybe it started the first time you woke up in Sylus’s theater room, with a twin on either side of you, both asleep as you just were, their heads resting on each of your shoulders. The sixth movie in the Alien franchise was just ending on the big screen. Sylus stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, just watching the three of you. You didn’t dare move in case you woke them up.

Help. You had mouthed at him.

One corner of his mouth had ticked up. The scarlet and ink of his evol drifted across the room, lifted both twins’ heads gently, positioned their big bodies so that they were resting against each armrest instead of on your shoulders. You stood, stretched, felt his eyes on you. 

Time to go, you said.

Must you? he asked.

Of course. Work to do. But you had just stood there, staring at him, the twins’ quiet snores filling the silence after the movie’s score ended. He looked so handsome in his soft sweater. Approachable. Human. Yours. 

You reminded yourself of his hands snapping a man’s fingers, one by one, until he gave up the information Sylus needed. You reminded yourself of his hands around your throat.

You wonder how much longer you’ll have the strength to resist the bait that Sylus is dangling in front of you. The hook, gleaming in the moonlight.

In the cozy cabin of the SUV winding through the endless, snowy night, with the twins’ voices softly singing Christmas songs, you gave in to the need to sleep. To sleep off the rest of your hangover that still lingered in the airplane, to prepare for whatever help Sylus needed from you when you finally arrived at your destination. You were safe with them, after all.

You didn’t dream.

You were awoken by Luke leaning over you, shaking your shoulder gently. The SUV was parked next to a small building with two snowmobiles parked in front of it.

“Time for part two of your winter wonderland tour,” he said, pulling you from the vehicle. Kieran was loading the last of a bunch of stuffed bags onto the back of one of the snowmobiles, the other one seemingly already fully loaded. He strapped your carry-on in with the rest. He had a large rifle slung over his back.

Luke produced a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails?”

You didn’t even question him. “Heads.”

He flipped it, agilely despite the thick gloves he wore. He caught it, revealed it in his palm. “Tails. Damn. Kieran gets you this time,” he pouted.

Kieran let out a cheerful Whoop! and then beckoned you to him. “You know how to drive this thing?” you asked, a little dubious.

“Sylus taught us,” he smiled reassuringly.

He swung the big rifle from his back to his chest, so it hung diagonally over his torso.

He noticed your gaze. “Bears.”

“Of course,” you murmured, because what else could you say?

“Hold on tight.”

You had already come this far. You took his offered helmet, watched him put on his. You don’t know when it started. The trust you had in Sylus’s skills as a teacher. His faith in his men. Their loyalty to him.

You threw your leg over the snowmobile and let Kieran pull your arms around his waist. You leaned your head against his broad back.

The ride was exhilarating, even as tired as you were. Careening over the snow, the wind, the steep hills, the pine trees. Luke and Kieran maneuvered the snowmobiles competently, safely. You suspected that they weren’t trying to flip them or race to see who arrived first out of respect for your clearly exhausted state. You hugged Kieran tightly in thanks. You let yourself drift, and time passed like a dream.

The trees thickened. The hills narrowed. The snowmobiles passed along a narrow ridge, and then Kieran was slowing to a halt. He squeezed your forearm with a gloved hand, said softly into the now silent night, “You’re here.”

You leaned back, let go of him. Stepped off the snowmobile on wobbly legs. You took off the helmet and gasped.

A frozen lake, stretching, stretching, the far shore blurred into snow-covered pines. The mountains soared into the star-filled sky beyond the trees. Your eyes caught on a lone figure, in the middle of the icy expanse.

Luke moved to your side. “Lift your foot.” You did, again not questioning, trusting that he had a reason. He strapped ice grips onto your boot. Repeated on the other side.

“We’ll see you at the lodge,” he said as he straightened, patting your shoulder. 

“That’s it?”

“He’s waiting for you. What more is there?” he asked.

“Are you ever afraid that he’ll turn on you?” you asked, suddenly. You didn’t know why.

Luke just looked at you thoughtfully. Kieran moved closer, feet crunching in the snow. “No,” he answered for the both of them. “And if he ever does, we’ll have deserved it.”

“How are you so sure?”

“He doesn’t use violence without a reason. And once he makes a decision, he doesn’t go back on it.”

“What did he decide in your case?” you asked, not able to help yourself, out here at the end of the world, in the echoing silence.

“That we’re his, to use, to see if we’re up to the challenge to survive. And once he decides something is his, he protects it. Why would he break his own tools?”

“And he also loves us,” Luke added cheerfully. “Although he won’t admit it out loud.”

You searched each of their faces in turn, mirrors, marked and unmarked, trying to see if they were messing with you. They let you. 

“Do you love him?” you asked.

They turned and looked at each other. “We don’t know what that feeling is, even though we can recognize it in others. Because Luke is me, and I am him. Is that feeling love? If he dies, I die. But with Boss,” Kieran pauses thoughtfully. “I think it would feel like dying, if anything happened to him. Even though we’d survive. Is that love?”

He turned to look at you again.

You thought about Caleb, smiling at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. Teasing you for crying, even as he had tears in his own eyes, despite how many times you two had seen the movie already. How you felt like you were dying, ever since he died.

You thought about Sylus, Imagined how you’d feel, if he never called again. If he disappeared as abruptly as he appeared in your life.

“I think that’s love,” you whisper into the arctic night.

“Then we love him.”

You nodded.

“Are we done with the heart to heart?” Luke teased.

You nodded again.

“Okay. He’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting for much longer. It was funny for a while, but now it’s starting to hurt,” Luke said.

You looked at him, bewildered. “What was funny?”

Kieran gently knocked Luke with his shoulder. “We’ll tell you later. Go to him.”

With that, they turned, mounted the snowmobiles, and sped along the shore of the lake, not back the way you had just come, but toward what you presumed was the lodge they mentioned.

Now, you see him in the distance. The snowmobile engine roar fades into silence. Your spiked ice grips crunch loudly with each step. The sky is a bowl overflowing with diamonds, pouring over the rims of the mountains.

You find yourself walking faster, the eagerness you’ve been suppressing breaking its leash like an unruly dog now that you’re so close to the man you’ve missed since the beginning of December, despite yourself and all of your fears.

His figure grows in your field of view as you approach him, until you finally reach him. He turns his head. He’s wearing a thick band around his ears but no proper hat like you are, so his silver hair shines in the bright moonlight, in the reflected moonlight from the snow, a ricochet of pearl.

Your breath catches in the frigid air as you meet his eyes, gleaming in the diamond night.

“You came,” he says, as if surprised. Pleased.

“My choices were ‘to come to you,’ or ‘to come to you,’” you say softly.

“If I had known that was all it took to get you to stop refusing half of my invitations, I would have stopped leaving them open ended long ago.” He lifts an arm, beckons you closer with a gloved hand. “But Is that the only reason? The lack of choice?” He’s watching you carefully, and it feels like he’s standing above you, instead of sitting below you on a little camping folding chair. He’s holding a fishing rod in his hand, the line sinking into a small hole cut in the ice. A large black hiking backpack, a rifle strapped to the bottom, and what looks like a wine corkscrew made for a giant sit next to the chair. A thermos is in one of the chair’s cupholders. 

You consider him. Think about how careful you���ve been around him, for months now. How guarded. You think about the look shared between Kieran and Luke, about loving him, their faith in him. You think of how gently he moved them when they fell asleep during the Alien movie night marathon. You came to the ends of the earth for him.

“I missed you,” you admit. It feels like pulling a tooth that has been loose and hurting for a long time. You take a step forward, and it feels like you’re offering him the tooth, an aching, bloody part of yourself.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he says, accepting your offering graciously, with no trace of his usual impenetrable arrogance. He looks softer under the moonlight, the starlight.

You give him your gloved hand, let him pull you forward until you’re standing between his spread legs. Even in a camping chair, he sits like a bored king. Like at the ballet. Like when he forced you to resonate with him, when you first met him.

You look down into his upturned face, realizing only now just how true your admission is, how terribly you have missed him this past month. Showing up at your door. Inviting you out. His gifts in beautifully wrapped boxes. Just him. His eyes, warm and red.

“Have you been here, all along?” you ask.

He sets the fishing pole in what looks like a little stand dug into the ice specifically for holding it. 

“Yes.” He reaches for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his. You can’t feel his heat through his gloves, through yours. You don’t like it.

“Fishing?”

“Fishing. Hunting. Thinking.”

You freeze a little, not from the cold, but the finality of his tone. You don’t want to know what he has been thinking about. 

Maybe you never had to take the bait at all. Maybe he would have always grown bored, changed his mind in the waiting. Decided to destroy you just the same as if you had bitten what he was offering. Perhaps, like his latest invitation, you never truly had a choice at all.

You don’t want to know, yet. If he invited you to the end of the world to finally gut you, you don’t want to know yet.

“Your invitation said you needed my expertise. What’s your tricky problem?” you ask instead of asking what he’s been thinking about.

“Straight to business?” He lifts an eyebrow.

You try to memorize his face. Just in case. His wide mouth. His sharp canine teeth. His beautiful nose.

“The sooner your problem is solved, the sooner you can return to peacefully fishing without me scaring all the fish.” 

“You’re not that intimidating,” he teases. You scowl at him. “Have you fished before?”

“No.” You trace the beauty of his irises, the frown line between his brows with your eyes. “Either way, it’s cruel.”

His dark silver eyebrows lift in curiosity. “Explain.”

“You either torture a fish for your own ego and pleasure by catching and releasing it. Or you catch it to kill it. Either way, the fish is never the same.”

He tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. “You eat meat with Xavier when you go for hotpot. You eat the steak on your plate when we go to dinner. Is it much crueler, to be the one to capture, kill, and eat the animal yourself?”

You know he’s right. If you cared so deeply for the welfare of the animals you eat, you’d be a vegan. 

“Maybe I’m a coward, for not wanting to be the one to butcher the animal myself,” you concede.

“Or maybe you’re afraid of how much you’d enjoy it.”

 Your breath is a cloud in the air, puffing into the still night. You watch it mingle with his, dissipate into the air.

“I don’t enjoy killing wanderers. Why would I enjoy killing a fish?”

“Because you admire the wanderers. Do you marvel at fish the same way?”

You don’t know how he knows how much you regret often having to kill beautiful, lethal beasts. The only comfort you have is knowing that they can’t hurt anyone else when you’re through with them.

“That doesn’t mean I enjoy their demise.”

“Perhaps enjoy isn’t the right word. Perhaps it’s simply that you’re scared of how little you care for the fish you’re killing for the necessity of your sustenance.”

You think about Sylus, snapping the neck of the merchant who was selling counterfeit protocore syndrome drugs in an N109 Zone neighborhood. 

You think about Sylus, breaking every finger on the man’s hand who Sylus knew was withholding the location of a human trafficker, luring victims in with promises of a steady job. By the time they realized that they would actually be fodder for illegal protocore transplants, it was too late.

You think about Sylus, kicking the human trafficker to his knees, executing him in the street, leaving his corpse for the scavengers or a more merciful soul to come and collect.

“I’m cold, Sylus,” you say.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve admitted weakness in front of me, kitten.” He draws you down into his lap. Opens the cap of the thermos and places it in your gloved hands. Wraps his arms around you. “Normally you just hide behind me when the wind is cold, when you could have just asked me to take you somewhere warm.”

You watch the steam rise from the hot drink inside. Take a sip. It’s mulled wine. You detect a hint of cloves, along with the citrus, cinnamon, star anise. It warms you almost as much as Sylus’s eyes.

“You’ve told me enough times now to just tell you when I’m cold.”

“And all it took was luring you to the arctic to get some obedience out of you,” he grouses.

You sink into him, let your head, still covered in the mad bomber hat, rest under his chin. It’s not close enough. All the layers of your clothes seem like an unacceptable distance between your body and his.

“You still haven’t told me about your tricky problem.”

“Would you like to learn how to ice fish, if I promised you that we’ll eat what we catch instead of needlessly tormenting them?” he asks, instead of answering your implied question.

As usual, it will take skill and finesse to get the truth out of him. Perhaps this is how he feels about you, as you accept half his invitations, refuse the other half. As you keep him at arm’s length, even as you imagine his hands working his gifts into your skin.

“I didn’t know you like to fish,” you say, instead of answering. A little petty.

He makes a noise of agreement. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Which isn’t fair, considering how much you know about me.” You take another sip, cuddled against him. It soothes your aching head. 

He hugs you tighter. “What would you like to know?”

“Why do you like to fish?”

He answers easily. “The quiet. The solitude. The simple pleasure of a job well done, the reward of sustenance. A feeling of self sufficiency. Enjoying nature. All things that are lacking in the N109 Zone.”

You hadn’t realized that he would crave such things, based on his lifestyle in the city he rules. You’re surprised. Pleased. As if you have a right to be pleased by how the things you love about hiking and camping, away from Linkon City, are the same things he enjoys about fishing.

He’s not yours to be proud of, to mirror. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “What else do you like?”

“How about I answer by inviting you along with me for each one, and you accept each of my invitations, as you did this one?”

You wonder what you’d be accepting, if you say yes to this proposition.

You think about the bait, dangling over your head. The hook flashing in the starlight. 

You stall. “Let’s see how teaching me to fish goes, and then I’ll give you my answer.”

“Ever cautious, kitten,” he murmurs. “A sample of the goods for you, then.”

You sit up, screw the lid back on the thermos, slide from his lap. You tuck the thermos in his pack, pick up his fishing pole and hand it to him. 

“I’ve been sitting here for over an hour without a bite,” he says. “Let’s move to a different spot on the lake and see if we have better luck there.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, and move to pick up the big hiking pack. He tsks, lifting it from the ground with his evol before you reach it. He straps it to his back, flicks the folding chair closed, and hands it to you.

“You can carry this.” He hands the fishing pole to you next. “And this.”

You roll your eyes. “You act like I’m incapable of carrying heavy things.”

“Just because you’re capable, doesn’t mean you should have to. When I’m with you, let me carry the weight for you.” He bends over, picks up the giant corkscrew. You look at him inquiringly.

“Ice augur. We’ll use it to drill another hole in the ice.”

You eye the wicked-looking edges, the handle for turning it, driving it into the ice. “You could kill a man with that.”

Sylus hums in agreement, turning to lead you to another part of the lake. Your boots, his boots, the teeth biting the ice crunch with each step. “But it’s inefficient. Messy.”

You admire the width of his shoulders—they look even bigger in his big puffy parka. “You’ve actually used it to kill someone.” You shake your head, in wonder, in disapproval, you’re not sure which.

“You’re the one who suggested it.”

You scoff. “You’re the one who actually did it, Sylus.”

He shrugs, as if the heavy pack weighs nothing on his shoulders. “I was bored.”

“What happens, if I accept all of your invitations?” you ask quietly. The wind isn’t blowing. The night is still. Your voice carries in the hushed silence, along with the white of your breath in the air. “Will you grow bored?”

He doesn’t turn. His hair shines in the liquid night light.

“When you accept is when the fun actually begins. I doubt I’ll ever be bored again.”

You stare at his back.

“Here,” he says. He shrugs the pack off his shoulders, lets it gently fall to the ground. Drives the fishing pole holder thingy into the ice. He turns to you, gestures for you to unfold the chair.

You flip it out, set it on the ice, as he sets the sharp tip of the augur against the ice and holds it in one hand while twisting the handle with the other. Slowly, it cuts its way through. The shaved ice begins to build, reminds you of snow cones. You want to put a handful in your mouth, but it’s lake water, so you resist. Barely.

After a few moments, he lifts the augur, leaving a perfect circle behind, revealing the water underneath.

You think about the way Sylus’s scent remains in your apartment, long after he is gone.

You think about his hand in yours, through the entire duration of the ballet. 

You think about Sylus slowly drilling through the thin ice around your heart, dipping into the frigid, still water underneath with his blood-soaked hands.

You wonder when being okay was no longer enough for you.

He interrupts your thoughts, his voice deep, soothing, seemingly loud in the snow-quiet. “Some people drill multiple holes around the same lake. Set up tip-ups, a sort of fishing pole system where you don’t have to hold the pole—there’s a flag that flies up when the fish takes the bait. The angler then knows to grab hold and reel it in. Some use more traditional spears. Others use sonar to detect where the fish are, and then quickly drill, ensuring a higher chance of a bite.”

You look at his simple fishing pole. His lack of fancy equipment. “You just use a standard pole, try your luck.”

He nods. “That’s the point for me. Simple. Peaceful. If they bite, they bite. If not, that’s my typical luck. I’ve enjoyed the fresh air, the pine on the wind.” His beautiful mouth tips a little at the corner. “It’s better with you here. Now there’s no losing, even if I return empty-handed.”

“It sounds like you were already winning, no matter what.”

He shakes his head, pokes your forehead with a gloved finger. You hate the gloves, even as they protect you from frostbite. You want to feel his skin on yours again. “As usual, you are wildly mistaken.”

He gently takes the fishing pole from your grasp, then kneels, rummages in his bag. He pulls out a little box, and using his teeth, pulls off his gloves. His hands are so pale they glow like the surrounding snow.

“We’re going to use flashy, bright bait. Maybe we’ll get a pike, or trout.” 

You think of jewel-encrusted boxes. Rubies around your neck, your wrists.

You watch as his nimble fingers, seemingly unaffected by the cold, thread the bright silver hook with radioactive-colored jiggly bait.

You imagine swimming in serene waters, the roof of the world crystal above you. Opening your mouth, trying to catch something delicious dangling in the water. You imagine the pain, the jerk. Being flayed open, your ribs cracked wide. 

You watch Sylus Qin, hair shimmering in the moonlight, eyes like hot blood, and think that even if you know what’s at the end of the hook, you’ll still bite, in the end. You’ll struggle, and struggle, but ultimately try to swallow him whole.

You don’t think Sylus is correct, assuming you’re afraid that you won’t care about the fish’s struggle in the same way you care about killing magnificent wanderers.

He lowers the bait into the water, unreeling the line. He hands it to you. You take it, reluctantly.

He puts his gloves back on, drags the folding chair closer to the hole, sits. “Come.”

You obey, sliding back onto his lap. He puts his gloved hands over yours on the fishing rod.

“And now we wait?” you ask.

“And now we wait,” he confirms.

You lean against him. There is only the moon, the spilling stars, the dark trees in the distance, Sylus’s breath, yours.

“You can’t be mad at me,” you shatter the muffled silence.

“What could you ever do to me, to make me mad at you?”

You breathe out, watch your own breath drift. “I hope we don’t catch anything.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you hate it that much?”

You let go of the rod, turn in his lap. “I think I do.” You can’t bring yourself to tell him why.

He studies your face. “Then we’ll go back to the lodge.”

“I don’t want to ruin your fishing trip. Just tell me where to go, and I’ll walk. You can tell me why you brought me here later.”

He snorts softly. “Where you go, I go.”

“Seriously—” you protest, but then the fishing rod jerks in his hands. He grasps it tightly, eyes flicking to where the line is bending the rod in a long bow toward the hole in the ice, back to your face. Asking a question.

You were swimming peacefully in a dangerous, but mostly serene lake. You were pulled out by your tender flesh, terrified for days, and then thrown back in. And now the same angler is looking at you, asking you a silent question, if he is allowed to reel another living creature, just like you, into the cold, drowning air.

But you already care for him so much. So much more than perhaps you care for yourself, in how happy you want to make him. You find yourself nodding, despite the dread filling you.

He firmly, slowly, reels in the fish. It’s big—much bigger than you expect. You take a step back, give Sylus room as it plops out of the water, onto the ice. It’s mouth opens, closes. It has sharp teeth. 

He looks at you again. “It’s a pike. Do you want to release it? I’ll gently lower it into the water, let it swim out of my hands. As little trauma as possible.”

You’re staring at the pike’s sharp teeth. You think of your swords. Your pistols. Your fists. If he tries to put the fish back in the water, it might bite him. You know that Sylus will heal, but you don’t want him to have to heal himself during what is supposed to be a tranquil fishing trip.

“You came here to catch fish. Finish it.” You try to sound firm. Calm. 

Your heart is racing.

Sylus doesn’t waste time. He reaches into his parka pocket and pulls out what looks like a little ice pick. He bends down, grasps the fish with one gloved hand and drives the sharp point of the pick into the fish’s head. It immediately stops moving.

He does this with the same efficiency that he executed a man in the street. The same quiet, decisive coldness that he snapped a man’s neck.

He turns to you, eyes widening. “Sweetheart?” He sounds a little panicked.

The tears are hot on your face. They steam in the frigid air. You don’t know why you’re crying.

“Some people put their fish on the ice—they think that they just fall asleep and never wake up. But it’s a slow death. The most humane way is iki jime.” He gestures with the pick. “A swift strike to its brain.”

“I understand,” you say, because you do. What he did was the kindest thing, once you gave him permission to kill it. You quickly try to brush your tears away with your gloved palms.

He rummages in his bag again, pulls out what looks like a roll of wax paper. He carefully wraps the fish, making sure it’s tightly packed in the paper, and then slips it into his bag. 

“It’s so cold that we don’t need to pack it in ice. It will keep until we get back to the lodge.” He disassembles the fishing rod, which apparently has some sort of telescoping function so that it fits neatly in the pack. He unfolds the camping chair, straps it to the bottom of that pack. He has to adjust the rifle to add it to the pack’s straps. He picks up the ice augur in one hand, and takes yours in the other. You feel useless, like you wrecked his trip. You haven’t even been here on the lake with him for an hour.

You stop, the snow spikes digging into the ice.

“Why am I here, Sylus?”

He turns, studies you with his lovely eyes. “Because I needed you to be here, and you came.” His voice is deep, and soft. Tender. 

You clench your teeth. “But why?”

“Because I missed you. And it’s almost New Year’s Eve.”

You stare at him. Is it that simple? He missed you, and he wanted to spend New Year’s with you? “My expertise? Your tricky problem?”

He doesn’t bother looking sheepish. “Only you know how to make me happy. And only your presence can solve your absence.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. Your nose is cold, running a little from the tears, the harsh air. “You flew me to the arctic to spend New Year’s with you because you missed me?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

Your teeth start to chatter. Despite the parka, the fur cap, your warm boots, you’re suddenly exhausted and cold. As if hearing that Sylus doesn’t need you to fight wanderers, or take down some inhumane fur smuggling ring, your body feels like it’s safe to acknowledge your hangover from Christmas, your exhaustion from the flight, the trip out to this frozen lake at the end of the world, the grief of the past year.

“Why didn’t you just say so in the invitation?” you manage through your clicking teeth.

“Would you have come?” he asks, tilting his head.

You think about the fish. The swift plunge of metal into its brain. His hand, holding yours during a ballet. A record spinning in your small living room, Sylus having brought your favorite artist on vinyl to play for you while you played Scrabble. The bones of a thumb snapping, the squeal of a man in excruciating pain. A fish hook, gleaming in the moonlight.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly.

“Do you want to leave, now that you know that there’s no crisis?” He sounds resigned.

You think about how you wanted to make him happy as the fish took the bait. His knuckles, soft on your cheek. His scent in your kitchen, long after he is gone.

You realize now that the hook has been in your mouth ever since he released you gently back into the water, after the auction. It’s been bleeding this whole time, as you refused some invitations, gave in to others. He has been letting out the line, reeling you back in. Making sure you don’t thrash yourself off the hook. A master angler, now looking at you with such sorrowful resignation.

“I won’t invite you again,” he says, and your heart stops. Your teeth stop chattering. The stars are diamonds spilling onto the ice, splashing back up, illuminating his hair, the wine glow of his eyes.

“What?” you whisper.

“It’s almost the new year. If you want to move into the future without me bothering you anymore, I promise to let you go. If that’s what you really want.”

He’s willing to let the line out again, to let you swim away from him.

But his hook is already in you, so deep, you’ll carry it for the rest of your life, no matter what choice you make.

Your teeth start to chatter even harder. You’re not ready. You’re not ready to say goodbye to him. You’re also not ready to make a choice, the fear filling you—the pike’s sharp teeth, your sharp teeth, the sheen of fish scales lovely under the moon, the sheen of lovely fabric draped over your body in a box seat at the ballet, the spike, the sudden stillness after so much thrashing.

“Take me to the lodge, Sylus.”

His breath puffs white. He doesn’t ask you again to make the choice now. He turns, pulls you forward by the hand.

The way back is a blur. You’re exhausted, cold. His big body shields you from the wind as he drives the snowmobile, deeper through the pines, until you burst into a small clearing filled with a decent-sized, but not huge, wood cabin. The lodge. Just as they call Sylus’s mansion ‘the base,’ these men can’t be normal about anything at all and call this wood cabin ‘the lodge.’

He parks the snowmobile under a covered area next to the cabin, next to three others. You wonder if he had the fourth one brought for you specifically, or if this is just the number of vehicles that come with the cabin.

He pulls you to the door, and the heat inside is a welcome relief to your cold, tired bones. He helps you peel out of the parka, the heavy boots. Hangs and arranges everything neatly in a large, stone-tiled foyer. He then strips himself. He’s wearing a soft sweater, soft dark pants underneath. He picks up the pack with one big hand, and yours in the other. It’s warm against yours.

Past the inner foyer door, the cabin opens up into a high-ceilinged, rustic space. Pale blond wood. Furred rugs. Comfortable, overstuffed leather furniture. Huge windows, just like his base, providing a view of the surrounding snow-covered pines. The mountains rising beyond. Open floor plan—living room, big kitchen. You turn, find a balcony overlooking the living room. The upper floor with the bedrooms, you assume.

There is no television.

You turn to him. “How do the twins stay entertained? How do you?”

He shrugs. “We bring books. Graphic novels. There’s a games closet. We hunt. Drink. A sauna.” His mouth quirks when you visibly react to the idea of a sauna. “We can do sauna after you’ve slept.”

You just nod, a little overwhelmed. Like you so often are around this man. You’re so tired.

“Do you want to learn how I prep the fish, or do you want to rest?” he asks after setting the hiking pack next to the kitchen island. The kitchen counters are large butcher blocks, the cabinets more blond wood.

“Rest. Please. I think I’m really tired after the trip.”

He lifts a warm hand, traces underneath one of your eyes with a fingertip. “You look tired.”

You scowl. “Thanks.”

He drops his hand. “You look no less lovely for it.” Then he turns, begins making his way up the open wooden staircase leading to the hall balcony above. When he notices you not following, he turns back. “Coming?”

You shake your head, accepting the feeling of warmth flooding you from his kind comment. You’ve come this far. You refuse to let him make you choose. You don’t know what you’re waiting for. But you know that you’ll just know, at the right moment, when choice must finally be made.

You follow him. He leads you to a bedroom with a huge bed. Polished wood floor. Large window, the night sky spilling onto a snow-filled balcony on the other side of the glass. Pale walls. A rustic dresser with a record player on it, a closet, an en-suite bathroom. Everything is simple. So different than Sylus’s normal style, but it still feels like him. Clean lines. Sylus, if he could relax. The room smells of him. Delicious. Cloves.

The bedding is piled high, puffy duvet, white. 

“Everything you need should be in the bathroom. Are you hungry?”

You turn back to him. “I’m not hungry, but I should probably eat. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”

He tsks, frowns. “I’ll bring you something,” he says grumpily. He turns to leave. 

“Thank you.”

He pauses in the doorway. Rests one big hand on the doorframe, looks over his shoulder. “For what, kitten?”

“For inviting me. For… tolerating me.”

He turns fully. Strides over to you. Places his warm palms on your upturned face. “If you don’t listen to anything else I say, listen to me now. You are the one person I never have to tolerate.” His thumbs sweep under your eyelids, along the delicate skin, just as you imagined when you’d dab aloe vera there, as you’d dab expensive face cream there. It feels better than you were ever able to imagine. “It’s almost New Year’s. I can go through another year, without knowing if you want to face it with me. I will wait for as long as I have to. But if you already know that you’re not going to keep me, it would be more merciful for you to tell me now.”

You stare into his eyes, and for the first time, see yourself mirrored in them. 

The uncertainty. The fear. 

Maybe you’re not the only one who can empathize with a powerful, deadly fish struggling on a hook. 

Maybe you’ve been looking at the trajectory of your relationship with this man from the wrong angle this whole time. That you’ve been missing something essential, all along.

You need more time. You try to memorize the dark striations in his lava-glow eyes. To warm you when he walks out of the room again.

“I’ll tell you,” you promise him.

He closes his eyes, and it’s like the lights go out in the room. He breathes through his nose and releases you.

Then he’s gone. You head to the bathroom, and he’s right. Everything you could want for your stay, waiting for you. You shower. The hot water never runs out. You wonder how big the generator is that powers this place. You didn’t see any electrical lines overhead.

When you emerge, there’s a tray on the bed. Meat and cheese, rustic bread, olives. A large glass of water sits on one of the pale wood nightstands.

You eat your fill, watching the stars shift across the sky. You then crawl under the big pile of duvets and pass out almost immediately.

You don’t dream.

You don’t know what time it is, when you wake up. The sky outside is still full of stars. You’re so warm. Waking up is peaceful, without an alarm. Without obligations pressing in on you. You think that you’ve been missing something essential, through all the hours, days, weeks, months, since Sylus came into your life. As much worry, confusion, dread that he has brought with him, he has brought an equal, if not greater amount, of moments like these. Opening a new pot of cream to soothe your chapped, thin skin. The feel of soft, quality fabric draped over your body. Biting into the chilled flesh of a perfectly ripe fruit, plucked from a gift basket delivered to your door. His hand, warm, enveloping your own cold one. His strong, sturdy presence at your side during missions that may have gone sideways, if not for his strength bolstering yours. Waking up to starlight pouring into a bedroom, a waterfall of crystals plinking onto the floor, the duvet, your upturned face.

You’ve been viewing these luxuries as shiny bait hiding a sharp hook.

What if they’re offerings from a man experiencing his own hook, leading to you, terrified that you’re going to rip it out of his soft mouth?

You turn your head from the window, and only then do you realize you’re so warm because Sylus is heating the space under the duvet with the giant furnace of his own body. Somewhere during your nap, or night sleep, whatever it was, as time has no meaning here, he slipped into bed next to you. He’s breathing quietly, eyes closed, head on the pillow next to yours. He’s not touching you, but his body heat feels like a caress.

You drink in his beautiful face. Imagine a hook caught in the plush of his full lower lip. It hurts you to imagine having to shove it in deeper, in order to dislodge it, to slip the vicious barbed point back through the wound to free him.

You think that perhaps, there was never any choice at all, for either of you.

“Like what you see?” His voice is thick, footsteps over gravel. Sleepy.

“I think you know,” you answer. What’s the point in denying it, here at the end of the world?

“It’s nice to hear, even so,” he murmurs. He opens his eyes. 

“I’ve liked what I see, ever since I saw you for the first time, Sylus.” You stare, openly.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admits. 

“Now you can be sure,” you say.

“But is it enough?” he asks.

You’re getting closer. After such a short time, but at the same time, an eternity, you think you can see your choice. Through the snow-covered pines. A shadow moving in the moonlight.

“It’s not a matter of enough, or not enough.” You touch his cheek with your index finger, let it drift down, along his jaw. He shudders, eyes not leaving yours. You realize that this is the first time you’ve reached out to touch him, and not the other way around.

You’re close. You’re really close. The universe will tell you. You know it. “What is on the agenda for today?” you ask.

He seems to accept your non-answer again. “Do you want to hear the good news, or the bad news?”

You lift your eyebrows. “There’s news?”

He nods, the silver of his hair falling across his forehead. Messy and cute.

“You choose.” You can’t bear bad news right now.

“It snowed after you went to sleep. A lot. It may take several days to dig out the snowmobiles.”

You let out a relieved breath. All at once, you know you were never going to leave.

“And the bad news?”

He looks at you funny. “That was the bad news.”

You laugh. “How terrible. Being trapped with a handsome man in his comfortable cabin, free from work and responsibilities.”

He looks like he’s in pain. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“You’re not the only one who can be unpredictable.” You smile.

He watches you, as if he’s waiting for more. He can keep waiting. He likes games, after all.

“What’s the good news?” you prompt him, feeling a little mean, but enjoying it.

“We have plenty of firewood for the sauna. Plenty of supplies for a long stay, if we have trouble digging out the snowmobiles. We can go for a walk, now that it has stopped snowing again.”

“Okay. Let’s go for a walk, and then do sauna after we’re cold and tired.”

He’s still watching you, as if you’re about to freak out. “What do you always tell me? Don’t overthink it? Relax?” You laugh, gently poke the tip of his beautiful nose. “Take your own advice, big boss man.”

That does the trick—he smiles, faintly. “Does that mean you’ll do as I order?”

You tilt your head, a maybe, maybe not look on your face. “Guess you’ll just have to see.” You roll away, yanking the duvet with you. He yelps from the cold, heretofore a decidedly non-Sylus sound. You like it. You want to hear it again.

“Up. We have snow to trudge through!” 

His evol, black and red swirls, yanks the duvet from around your shoulders, settles it back over himself. You blow a raspberry at him, slam the bathroom door behind you. 

You’re going to have fun, while you’re here. As you make him sweat a little, now that you know that the universe is on the cusp of letting you swallow his bait, just as he swallowed yours, months ago.

The snow has buried the overhang that sheltered the snowmobiles. The front door can’t be opened. After grabbing a simple breakfast in the kitchen, you and Sylus gear up for the cold. The parka, the ski pants, the heavy boots, this time with snow shoes instead of ice grippers attached. Your mad bomber hat, gloves. He slings the heavy rifle over his back, along with a backpack full of snacks and other emergency gear. He slips a headlamp over his own forehead. You hear whooping and cheering from outside the house. 

“You’ll see,” he says to your questioning look. He leads you back up the stairs, to a door at the end of the hallway. He opens it onto a bedroom which must belong to one of the twins based on the clutter of books and half-opened bags. You’re just in time to see one of the twins take a running leap over the balcony railing and disappear.

You hurry across the room, through the open balcony door, peer over the railing. Just a few feet below, lying in a huge snowbank coming up the side of the cabin, are Kieran and Luke, making snow angels and laughing their asses off.

“This is how we’re getting out of the house?” you ask, comprehension dawning.

Sylus laughs, low. “You can jump, or I’ll just lower you with my evol. It’s up to you.”

It occurs to you that with Sylus’s evol, he could likely simply disintegrate the snow covering the snowmobiles. That you’re not actually stuck here. That he’s playing games with you, just as you’re now playing a game with him. You no longer feel bad, or mean, for making him wait for an answer you think you could probably already give him.

You feel like being a little meaner, now. You turn, step toward him. You lift your gloved hand, grab hold of his headlamp, bring his face down to yours. “I think I’ll jump,” you whisper, your mouth a breath away from his. You take a long whiff of his skin. He smells so fucking good.  You hear his own intake of breath, a sharp little sound. He turns his head, brushes his nose against your cheek. But you gently shove him away, turn, and jump over the railing.

The twins whoop and holler as you land in the snow with a loud WHOOMP. You laugh, spread your arms and legs, try your best to carve a path through the snow, making your own angel. The snow is wet, cold. It bites your cheeks, makes you feel alive. After you’re satisfied, you stand, survey your handwork. Not exactly the most elegant snow angel, but it will do.

You’re suddenly covered in a spray of snow, as Sylus jumps over the balcony and the resulting shockwave from his big body hitting the powder covers you from head to toe.

You sweep your hand down your snow covered chest, form a snowball and then jump down into the hole he just made, right on top of him. You reach for his face, trying to pat him with the snowball, but he twists, rolling you. You wrestle, laughing, each trying to get the upper hand, but it’s not a fair fight in the snow. Maybe if you were on proper gym mats you could do some jiu jitsu moves on him, but he manages to roll you underneath him in the wet, powdery snow. He looks down into your face, cheeks pink from the cold and effort, smiling bigger than you think you’ve ever seen him smile.

“Truce?” You offer, a lie.

He leans down, his lips just above yours. “Why would I accept a truce when I have the upper hand? I’m playing to win.”

As he speaks, you let your hand drift through the snow. You lean up, just shy of pressing your lips against his. His eyes flick down, as if mesmerized by your mouth. You bring your hand up, shove the snow against his cheek.

He yelps again, glares down at you. You love that sound. You want to make him whine. “I see, what false sincerity in your offered truce.”

You lean up, lick the snow off his face. It tastes delicious. You always did like chewing on ice. “You were prepared to annihilate me, and you complain about good faith in negotiations?”

He’s staring at you again, but you just smile up at him, eyebrows raised. He looks like he wants to say something. You don’t want to give him the chance.

“Now off. I’m getting cold.”

“Making demands, after launching a pre-emptive strike.” He shakes his head.

You poke his cheek. “A warning shot. Get off, unless you want the full arsenal.”

“I see that I need to shore up my defenses if I’m to withstand a real assault from you,” he murmurs, rolling off you. You both lie for a few moments, admiring the night sky, side by side, in Sylus’s now ruined snow angel.

Eventually, he helps you to your feet. You brush the snow off each other, as best as you can, considering how powdery it is. You’re grateful for the snow shoes that allow you to walk over the surface of the snow without sinking in. You leave the twins to continue jumping off the balcony, hauling themselves up again. They’re daring each other to engage in ever more complicated aerial acrobatics.

“Don’t you worry they’ll break their necks?” you ask as you walk side by side with Sylus, into the pines past the clearing. He clicks on his headlamp, illuminating the way, but the now-rising moon, the blanket of stars overhead continue to illuminate the snow. You think you could see just fine without the flashlight.

“They’re not stupid,” he answers easily.

“What would you do, if something happened to them?” you ask.

“Have you accepted me in this gruesome little scenario, or have you released me?” he asks, not sounding upset at all. Just curious.

You stare at his profile. The bored curve of his lips. His long nose. He flicks you with a scarlet glance, then gazes ahead again.

“Would the answer change?”

“If you release me, I’d kill everyone in the vicinity and wait for you to arrive with the Association to put me down.” He shrugs one shoulder, stretching his neck. “If you keep me, I’d kill anyone responsible, and then entomb the twins in the hills above Linkon City. Build a university in their honor, since they never got to go. When I offered, they said it was too late. Stupid.”

You stare at him. “You love them.”

He snorts. “They’re useful.”

“You love them,” you repeat. 

You can’t unpack the rest. How his answer changed based on your presence, or absence in his life. Why he would want you to be the one to kill him, instead of killing himself.

“Think what you want,” he says, but he doesn’t sound upset. 

The walk is beautiful. Peaceful. Your feet crunch in the snow, alongside Sylus’s. You’re getting tired, are about to suggest turning around, heading back to sauna, when you hear a faint screaming. As if it’s coming from up ahead, and yet under the snow.

“Do you hear that?” You turn to Sylus. He nods. Begins walking in the direction of the sound. You follow. As you walk through the snow-covered pines, the screaming gets louder. A high, pained squealing that breaks your heart. 

Sylus stops, looks down. “Here,” he says. He drops to his knees, starts digging. You try to help, but he motions you away. “If it tries to bite, better me than you.”

“No—” you try to argue, but he just shakes his head.

“Not up for debate.”

Eventually, he manages to reveal a flat surface under the snow. He stops, sits back. The screaming has stopped. He slowly reaches up, turns off the headlamp that had illuminated his digging efforts. 

“What is it?”

“A weasel trap.”

You stare at him. “Why would someone want to trap a weasel, all the way out here?”

“Why do humans do anything?” he asks, strangely, with disgust heavy in his voice.

“Okay, fine. Let’s free it.”

“It sounds like it’s hurt,” he says. “It wasn’t screaming just because it’s caught in a humane trap. That’s the scream of an animal in pain.” His voice is strained. 

“Okay, then let’s look inside, and if it’s injured, we get it to the vet.”

“Even with a vet’s help, for a wild animal like this, the most merciful thing we can do for it is put it down if it’s permanently maimed.” Sylus can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the box.

You kneel down next to him. “Let’s actually take a look before we decide that there’s no hope.” He continues staring at the box. “Sylus.” You bite the tip of one of your gloved fingers, pull the glove off your hand. You touch Sylus’s cheek. It’s cold. You turn his face. “Sylus, I’m not going to kill it. And neither are you.” He finally looks at you. “If you don’t open the trap, I will.”

He searches your eyes, and then nods. He reaches down, gingerly lifts the top of the trap. He curses softly.

You peek over his shoulder, and see that it’s not a humane trap at all. Someone set what looks like a cross between a mouse and a bear trap within the box trap that could have been just as effective without actually hurting the animal. The weasel is cowering away from you and Sylus, its white fur stained red with its own blood. Its leg is crushed in the jaws of the vicious inner trap.

“We need to kill it,” Sylus grates out. “It’s in so much pain.”

Something moves through you, as you absorb the sight of the white fur, soaked in blood, so soft. The creature’s little red eyes, bright jewels in its white, cute little face. It looks like Sylus. His eyes, his hair.

The enormity of the cruelty it took to set a trap in the middle of nowhere, which by itself is terrible enough—in such a remote area, with constant snowstorms, the animal would likely have died a slow, painful death from starvation before whoever set the trap could come back to check it. But they ensured the maximum pain possible, by setting a trap that would crush one of its limbs.

Something moves through you, and it is blotting out everything else. Your skin feels too tight. Your body is hot, despite the cold of the air, the snow. It takes a moment for you to realize what you’re feeling. Rage. You feel like you could explode with it. 

“Sweetheart—”

You hear Sylus’s voice as if from a great distance. You turn your head, slow like you’re underwater. 

You want to kill something. 

You want to kill someone.

You want to kill the person who set this trap, and you want to make it hurt.

“Beloved, you need to—”

You slowly realize that the pine trees are too bright, the snow reflecting what looks like direct sunlight. The weasel has shut its red, red eyes against the bright light.

You look down at your hands. Your evol is swirling around your palms, up your wrists, twisting, snaking. It’s almost too bright to look at. You look at Sylus. He’s looking off to the side, squinting. You know how sensitive his eyes are. You’re hurting his eyes with the golden light of your evol.

“Sylus,” you say. You’re so angry. You’re so angry, you could bring down a city with it. The size of your anger is incomprehensible. “Is this how you feel?”

You think that this is it. The sign from the universe. The sign that it’s time to choose.

If this is how Sylus feels, as he snaps the necks of fraudulent, cruel men, as he puts bullets in people who don’t deserve to be called human, then who are you to judge him? Fear him? You are the same. 

Kindred spirits.

He closes his eyes. Turns to face you. “Resonate with me,” he answers, because why would he begin answering your questions directly now? Just because you feel such rage that you want to rip the spine out of the person who did this and impale him with his own coccyx?

“I don’t know if it’s safe—” your heart is pounding. So loud, it almost drowns out Sylus’s strained voice. The light is only getting brighter. You’ve never lost control of your evol before. Is this how Zayne feels? You’re terrified, but bigger than the terror, is the rage.

He reaches out, blindly, manages to catch your hand in his. He bites the tip of his glove, yanks it off his other hand. He then slides his naked hand against yours. You don’t even think. It’s not a conscious decision. Your evol rushes into him, a dam bursting.

You splash into the ocean of stars, of molten lava—resonance with Sylus. 

The confines of your body no longer restrict your anger. It pours out of you, unchecked, an oil spill across the shimmering net of the ocean of connection between you and him. He’s here with you. His compassion, empathy for this uncontrollable fury meets the oil spill, absorbing it, filtering it, letting it bleed out as fuel, something useful. He gathers it, as he gathers you in his arms, your cheek pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat loudly, even though physically, it’s muffled by his parka. Here, in the endless night, the bottomless sea, your feelings are manageable, shared between the two of you.

Is this how you feel, when you’re snapping a man’s neck? Your questions flow out of you like your anger, unchecked. You can’t control the confines of your other feelings either—your fear, of taking his bait. Your fear, that he’ll grow bored with you. Your fear, that he sees you as a pathetic little fish to catch, easily spiked through the brain, tossed back into the water.

He squeezes you more tightly against him.

Let’s heal the weasel, and then I’ll show you how I feel.

You look up at him. We can heal it?

You can resonate with it, as you resonate with me. My healing ability will pass through you, into the animal. It will hurt. We will all hurt. But then its leg can be fully restored. It's still connected by a thread.

You don’t care. You don’t care that you’ll hurt too. But you don’t want Sylus to have to hurt in the process. Are you okay with hurting for an animal?

You don’t know what to expect. A response saying he’s willing to do it, because you want to do it. That he’ll do it for you, because you asked it of him. A response that shrugs off his own pain—he’s used to it, it’s not that big of a deal. You could have expected anything but the feeling he reveals through the resonance—a flood of empathy for the animal, chained by the leg, a part of its body crushed, the terror of being trapped, knowing that the only end is a long, slow death. 

Coursing around this island of empathy inside Sylus is a wide, rushing river, its current inexorable. A feeling that says If anything were to happen to you, I’d feel like dying. I’ve died so many times, drowning in your absence.

Love. He loves you so much. He has loved you so much, for so long. His love has only grown, as he watched you lose control of your evol because of the fury on behalf of this small, scared, crushed animal.

Your fury dissipates in the torrential river of his devotion. You nod, knowing now that he’s more than willing to heal the creature, to bear its pain as his own, just as you are.

You lean over the open trap, ready to rest a featherlight finger on the weasel’s little head, when Sylus stays your hand. The aether core in his eye glows, and he stares into the animal’s now open eyes. You feel a deep, burning pain in your own right eye, as Sylus’s feelings continue to flood into you, form a slurry, flow back into him, now mixed with yours. The weasel’s eyes begin to glow red, just as Sylus’s does. He then nudges you again. You reach down, rest a finger on its little head, and let your evol flow from you into its body.

Pain. Your leg crushed, its now separate parts only connected by a thin stretch of mangled flesh. Sylus, gaze never leaving the weasel, bites off his other glove. He snaps his fingers, loud in the snow-muffled forest. The trap dissolves into scarlet and ink ash. You pull Sylus’s own evol into you, push it into the weasel. All three of you make a low, keening noise in your throats as the flesh begins to knit back together, an agony of sutures pulling without anesthetic, a fundamental wrongness as you reverse nature, crush entropy into order, make something whole that’s not supposed to be whole, anymore.

After what feels like a lifetime, the pain slowly fades. You collapse back onto your ass in the snow, breaking the resonance with the weasel, but maintaining it with Sylus. Sylus remains kneeling, looking down into the trap. The light in his aether core fades. The pain in your eye fades.

You’re watching the weasel through Sylus’s eyes. He observes with a faint thread of pride how the little animal uncurls itself. Stretches its leg experimentally. Even wiggles its little clawed toes. It looks up at Sylus with its crimson eyes.

You and Sylus expect that it will now scurry over the edge of the trip, scrabble through the snow and into the night, away from this place of pain and trauma. But it just sits there for a moment, looking at Sylus.

It then sits up on its back legs like a meerkat, and lifts its little front legs in the air.

Sylus stares at it in confusion.

It wants up.

He turns to look at you, incredulous. You see yourself through his eyes. Your beloved, beautiful face, reflecting the moonlight. A face he’d die over and over for, if it prevented the look of fear and distrust that he has seen flash across it as you looked at him in the dark of a theater, over the white linen of a fine restaurant, from next to him on your couch, as you listened to the record playing that he brought for you, as you bathed in starlight on a frozen lake at the end of the world.

You’ve been looking at him from the wrong angle, missing something essential, from the moment you looked up into his disdainful face for the first time.

You haul yourself to your knees, crunching through the snow to his side again. You look down into the trap, where the weasel is still on its haunches, waving its little front legs in the air. You reach down with your ungloved hand, offer it your palm. It doesn’t hesitate. It simply launches itself onto your forearm, scurries up to your shoulder. It leaps from yours to Sylus’s shoulder. It scrabbles at the fully zipped up collar of his parka, and then literally weasels itself under the coat, and around his neck. It settles, then peeks out of his coat next to his jaw.

He grimaces. Its fur is still matted with its blood.

You shrug. What, is the coat dry clean only? You tease him. Small price to pay for your new pet.

Excuse me? He lifts his eyebrows.

You wrap your arms around him, hug him tightly, rest your cheek against his chest. His big body slumps, and you feel the relief, the affection, the hope that fill him.

What’s a good name for a little albino weasel?

Sylus hugs you tightly. How do you know it’s an albino?

Arctic weasels don’t normally have red eyes. This little guy has red eyes, so I doubt his coat will turn brown in the summer.

You feel his pleasure at your sharing your knowledge with him, his pride that his beloved is so smart. You snort.

Knowing trivia about cute, cuddly things isn’t necessarily a sign of intelligence.

Sylus dismisses your self-deprecation. I know you’re smart for other reasons, kitten.

You let it go. Let’s go home.

There’s a pause after your thought, as if Sylus is holding his breath, trying to keep a leash on his feelings.

You look up, resting your chin on his chest. Two pairs of bright red eyes look down into your face. Home? His question is tentative.

You send him an image of the cabin. Luke and Kieran. Of his own face.

Will you stay? For the New Year?

For longer, if the invitation is still open.

In answer, he leans down, squeezing you so tightly your booted, snow-shoed feet are lifted from the snow. He presses his full lips to yours. You feel him, feeling you. Soft lips, and then tongue, your mingled breath misting up into the still air. He kisses you, and you feel a little tiny tongue on your cheek. You pull back, and see that the weasel had licked your cheek curiously since you were so close.

Sehnsucht. We’ll call the little guy Sehn for short.

Sylus laughs. Is this some sort of jab at Mephisto’s name?

An open declaration of war. Poor Mephisto, named for something so cynical.

And where will Sehn live, beloved?

At the base. Luke and Kieran can look after him when I’m not around.

I can look after him when you’re not around. A petulant thread of jealousy is wrapped around his grumpy thought. Then he rests his forehead against yours. Does this mean that you’ll be at the base more often?

Your bait was too good. I can’t resist anymore. You’re stuck with me, now.

Sylus laughs out loud, a full, rich sound. It echoes through the trees. It took you long enough to bite.

Maybe next time don’t initially traumatize the fish you’re trying to catch.

There will be no next time. There has only ever been you, and I fucked up at the beginning. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up again. But I will never, ever want to release you. 

Good, no refunds. You tug on him. Bend down, pick up your glove and slip it back on your cold hand. Let’s go. I’m fucking cold. And I’m still pissed that we’ll never know what depraved piece of shit did this to Sehn.

Sylus hums a little, and you feel a wall drift into place around some of his thoughts, feelings. You look at him in confusion. 

Don’t overthink it.

You decide to trust him. If he wants to keep a secret from you, well. Not knowing every single thing about each other is healthy in a relationship

You, Sylus, and Sehn walk slowly back to the cabin in companionable silence, the resonance ocean soft and deep between you and your new boyfriend.

You don’t notice later, when he slips out of bed while you’re sleeping, returns to the place where you found Sehn. Places trail cameras with satellite links to several tree trunks in the area. Keeps an eye out for when the piece of shit returns to check on his trap.

You don’t hear the gunshot from a high powered rifle, meant for bears, in the quiet distance.

You don’t see the missing posters that go up in the nearest town as you’re passing back through on the way to the airport, when your holiday finally ends.

You just enjoy the snow. The quiet. The stars above. Finding yourself under mistletoe that the twins must have hung over every doorway in the house, even though Christmas was over. An attempt at helping their boss get what he had already, successfully reeled in. Because you had already spent a lot of time leisurely kissing him, his tongue hot in your mouth, his thigh shoved between your legs. 

You enjoy watching Luke and Kieran invent toys for Sehn to play with, Sehn who they’ve nicknamed the Noodle, who trips down the stairs like a slinky, and curls up in your lap as you read, before Sylus nudges him out of the way and puts his head there. Sehn then curls up on Sylus’s chest.

You enjoy the promised sauna. Holy shit, the sauna. The traditional wood burning stove heats the water that you pour over the hot stones with a big, wooden ladle—the resulting steam bellows, filling the space with the scent of pine, mint, whatever essential oils Sylus chose to drip into the water. You recline against him, naked, your bodies sweating, slick against each other, until you’re dizzy. You both run into the snow and you get to hear him yelp, whimper, over and over again, from the shock of cold. He drapes himself over you, claiming it’s to keep him warm as you stand in the snow for as long as you both can stand it, until you race back to the sauna, do it all over again. You feel thoroughly detoxed afterwards, and you sleep like the dead in his arms.

On New Year’s Eve, you wake up, find Sylus in the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs. You think it’s supposed to be Auld Lang Syne.  It’s absolutely earsplitting. You will never understand how someone with such a rich, deep, beautiful voice can butcher a song as thoroughly as Sylus Qin can.

The twins are placidly reading on the couch. You look at them in astonishment as Sylus warbles, pulling something out of the oven. It smells delicious, some kind of roasted meat. They look up at the same time, mirror images, and smirk at you. You narrow your eyes. They point at each others’ ears.

Ear plugs. Luke mouths, as Kieran nods sagely.

If you hadn’t known you loved him already, based on how you felt, imagining never seeing him again, you would know that you love him because you refuse the twins when they offer you a pair of your own earplugs. You sit at the kitchen island, head propped up in your hand, and listen to him sing for the rest of the morning as he cooks a feast for New Year’s Eve dinner. He bends down, squints at his phone at the cooking tutorials—apparently his phone has some sort of fancy satellite reception since there is no cellular reception—that he’s consulting to prep the meal. You tease him, call him ‘old man’ as you make your way upstairs, fetch his gold-rimmed reading glasses, and bring them back down to him. He looks so happy when you sit back down to continue listening to his atrocious serenade—it’s worth all the damage to your already damaged eardrums.

At midnight, Sylus pulls you into his arms, kisses you softly. You’re slow dancing in the warmth of the bedroom. A record is playing softly on the dresser. Something instrumental, piano. The Northern Lights fill the sky through the expansive window. I would have taken you to see the fireworks, if we were in Linkon City. But for once, my luck is good. We get to see nature’s fireworks instead. Satisfaction pulses through him, through you, as you resonate together again.

You kiss him, slowly, your bodies soaked in the curtains of light drifting through the arctic sky as you sway together. A thought occurs to you.

Why didn’t you come meet me when I arrived at the airport?

He hangs his head. Rests his forehead on your shoulder. I didn’t trust myself not to level the place if you didn’t walk off the plane.

You can’t stop yourself from asking the obvious question. The question he has already answered, in so many ways, in every gesture, in every invitation, in every sent gift.

Why?

He lifts his head, looks into your eyes, savoring the way they glitter in the night’s light. You admire his eyes in return, his wine gaze more intoxicating than any of his fancy labelled bottles.

You should know by now how much I adore you. No love is purer than mine.

You smile, relieved. Let your own feelings wash through you, into him. Happy New Year, Sylus.

He smiles in return, kisses your forehead, continues to sway you slowly under the arctic stars. We'll ensure that it's the first of many.

[torawro]

LIKE SPECKS OF SUNLIGHT IN THE EARLY MORN. ( p. a.)

portgas d. ace & marine!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine it as such! everyone is welcome to read <3 reader wears glasses, and is a marine stationed on an unnamed island at a base along the grand line. ‘lazy morning’ / ‘morning after’ kind of vibes so, a bit of pillow talk (?) . references to smut & making love (it already happened). contains some angst & angsty themes throughout (i.e., ace dealing with his self esteem issues, low self worth, etc..) otherwise it’s supposed to be fluffy ( the quiet, somber kind i think ) ! descriptions of kissing & borderline making out. ace is kind of lovesick and clingy but it’s subtle-ish. lots of introspection and reflection on both him and the reader’s part. kind of based on mitski's "my love, mine all mine", definitely had that song on repeat as i wrote this. romantic and deeply poetic rhetoric but y’all already know that’s just how i write lol. told from omniscient point of view (third person). proofread this as i was feeling sleepy, so please excuse any mistakes or things that don’t make sense!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! guess who's baaaaack.....! i know it's been a while since i have published any original work and i want to apologize for that. lately it's been difficult finding the energy to write something for more than five minutes and honestly, i think i just need to rediscover what drives me so i can tap into the zone more often. i missed it though, and hope i get to write more this year <3 anyway, first fic of 2025 and it feels right to make it about second commander of the whitebeard pirates, portgas d. ace. this fic is my late birthday 'gift' to him and something of a love letter because ohhhhh i miss my pookie bear so much :(( this entire idea started as just me thinking about kissing each of his freckles because i have the personal hc that he doesn't really like them, the reason for it is inherently tied to his distaste for his father and by extension himself :/ and then it just turned into this lmao. i hope ace doesn't behave too out of character here, as this is also my first time writing for him in any context, so pls be gentle with me. REBLOBS + COMMENTARY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED.

IT WAS NOT THE LIGHT chirping of small birds that awoke you, nor was it the ringing of your biological clock telling you that the dawn was near. Instead it was a familiar tugging sensation within the pit of your stomach— the need to relieve yourself— that caused your eyes to peel themselves back slowly and with struggle, slumber from the previous night hasn’t been completely washed away yet.

It took your brain several more moments to dust off enough of its sleepy exhaustion before you attempted to sit up from your comfortable position in bed, but were immediately met with some light resistance.

The resistance in question was a long, muscled arm thrown around your soft torso, blackened ink of a tattoo staining the skin on its bicep. It was still too dark and you were still too tired to make out the sharp angles of the marking, but you knew what they were; your eyes have gazed upon it more times than you could count, and it has made a home in your memory.

That’s when your ears registered the rhythmic and almost nasal snores that flowed from the mouth of the man who held you so securely against his chest, and you almost smiled at how completely at ease and relaxed he seemed. 

At times like this, when things were still or you had a moment to yourself, you still could not wrap your head around the fact that you had gotten yourself involved with Portgas D. Ace— willingly at that. 

The first time was a fluke at best. That’s the excuse you were going to go with. You didn’t realize he was a pirate— an infamous pirate with hundreds of millions of Beri to his name— until your clothes were already halfway off and you were feverishly grinding down onto his lap like some touch-starved whore who’s been aching to feel something. That ‘fluke’ was one spurred on by alcohol, a particularly rough week at sea, and a sizable lapse in judgment, but you hadn’t felt that…… alive in a long time. But now, two years have passed since you have been seeing Ace in secret like this, and you have long since given up blaming it on a fragile emotional constitution further weakened by alcohol. You knew good and well what you were doing, and you could no longer deny the way your heart was constantly set aflutter whenever you spent any amount of time with him.

You did try your hardest to not let yourself enjoy how … domestic it all seemed: waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep entangled with each other at night, having him hide out at your cozy apartment for days at a time, cooking him meals when you were relieved of your duties for the day. You wouldn’t— shouldn’t let yourself enjoy such content thoughts too much, because you also knew it could all be over in the blink of an eye. The world could be cruel that way if it wanted to.

But still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be grateful for these moments. From what you could tell, Ace seemed to enjoy this arrangement as much as you did. And for now, that was enough.

Lightly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you carefully lifted his arm from around you, moving slow so you wouldn’t wake him up. Once you’ve successfully loosened his hold, you sat upright, a muted ache shooting through your lower body as you shifted around to stand. The ache mostly resided in between your legs, and a flood of memories from just hours ago rushed over you at once, causing a tingling warmth to bloom underneath your skin. Ace had poured so much into you, it never failed to leave you equal parts stunned and breathless when you witnessed his passion overflow from the brim of his being. His hands, calloused palms that always ran hot, had been everywhere— your body could still feel the heat of where they had laid, caressed, groped, smacked, and squeezed. And you involuntarily jolted as you recalled where his fingers and lips had been, how it felt to be pressed so closely against him as he simultaneously took you apart. 

After another moment of being lost in your own reverie, you pulled yourself out of it and filed those memories away in a separate corner of your mind, so that you may more fully indulge in them later. As you carefully removed the blankets and climbed over the sleeping pirate, one bare foot had hardly hit the cool wooden floor before a hand wrapped itself around your wrist. 

A quiet grumbling noise vibrated from behind Ace’s lips, his eyes remained closed as he spoke, indicative that he was barely awake. “Wh…where y’goin’....?” His words were slurred and thick with sleep, his deep voice reaching the depths of your being to spark something to life in the pit of your belly. But you promptly ignored it for now. 

“To the bathroom, I gotta pee.”

He replied with another mumbling sort of noise, presumably one of acknowledgment or begrudging acquiescence— you couldn’t be sure. “M’kay, just . . . hurry back t’bed, will ya? M’cold.” 

You found amusement in the inherent irony of his claim that he was ‘cold’  when he always ran a little warmer than most— not to mention his devil fruit powers— but also in the fact that despite his urging you to take care of your business swiftly, he hasn't released his hold on your wrist yet. In fact, he tugged you a little closer to him, as if he was trying to pull you back into bed. 

A small smile began to curl at the corners of your lips as you moved to manually pry his fingers from your arm so you can make your way out of the bedroom and down the hall.

For the next several minutes, Ace was left alone. 

He stirred in his partially-awake state as he made himself comfortable again in bed, but one eye managed to pry itself open by a few millimeters. It was unfortunate he was roused from his deep  sleep, but he was sure he’d doze off again soon enough. 

From what he could see, the room was still dark for the most part, his surroundings washed in a rich, navy blue color, a telltale sign that the sun would rise within the next hour or so. Aside from the faint rustling coming from the bathroom, the air was occupied by a serene silence, meaning his innermost thoughts became that much more perceptible to his mind’s ear. 

Sometimes, a part of Ace felt like fate had shined upon him— just a little, just this once— when his mind mulled over his…unique relationship with you, and all the events that led up to this exact moment. He too understood the implications of seeing you like this, but he couldn’t find it within himself to let go and move on. There was just…something about you, something special. 

Even now, he still couldn’t quite understand why you were taking such a big risk and basically throwing your life away by getting comfortable with a pirate like him. The both of you came from two different worlds, the morals embedded within those worlds constantly pitted you against each other. 

But you willingly ignored them, and so did he. 

Perhaps that was the ‘special’ quality about you and this relationship that he still struggled to articulate, how pure and genuine it all felt— how you were. Either way, he was grateful that he wasn’t the only one being a little selfish. And every now and again, Ace might silently thank the universe for allowing him this one thing, even though he hasn’t, and probably never will do anything, to deserve it. 

The increasing volume of footsteps pulled Ace from his thoughts, and soon enough you reappeared in the doorway, making your way back to bed– back home in Ace’s arms.

Your lips parted in a yawn, putting your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, before carefully climbing over the taller man to reclaim your spot next to him. Ace wasted no time encasing you against him once more, one arm laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting under your neck, acting somewhat as a pillow of sorts.

“...took too long,” the pirate muttered under his breath, the low, vibrating sound of his voice so close to your ear did nothing for your fiercely pulsating heart. It was the only organ in your entire body that seemed to be fully awake right now.

“I wasn’t even gone for that long, ya big baby. Prob’ly less than five minutes.” A soft sigh punctuated your reply, snuggling more into the toned front of Ace’s chest and abdomen as he adjusted the thick blankets over both of your bodies. The covers, as well as the gentle warmth radiating from his exposed skin, provided a steady stream of heat that battled against the crisp morning air, both sensations nearly enough to lull you back to sleep. You enthusiastically pushed aside the fact that you had to get up again in two and a half hours for your shift to patrol around the city.

“Shuddup, let’s go to sleep.” Ace grumbled, pulling you even closer to him so that very little space existed between both of you, and nearly nuzzling his face in the bonnet you wore on your head. A soundless chuckle rumbled within your chest, finding his sleepy and almost pouty tone both amusing and adorable.

However, despite his own request, and the fact that his own eyes were barely open, Ace was finding it difficult to once more quiet his thoughts enough to drift back to sleep. They were still a bit too loud and knocked against his skull too much. 

Such thoughts only seemed to intensify when both of his eyes managed to peel themselves open this time in order to observe your form next to him. From what he could see based on where he laid, Ace silently took note of how tranquil your expression was as your breathing began to even out, how long your eyelashes actually were without your glasses obscuring them, and the small birthmark on your cheek that he developed a habit of kissing. His dark eyes roamed across every inch of your face, and he relished in the soft flesh of your stomach underneath his fingertips, giving it a feather-light squeeze every now and again.

You were here with him— in this bed, hardly wearing anything at all, and practically clinging to the arm wrapped around your abdomen— bound together with a kiss on that fateful night two years ago. You wanted to be here, he knew that. So why was it he still had to wrestle with the phantoms of doubt in the darker sectors of his mind? Why did they haunt him so, and prevent him from just plainly accepting this for what it is? Accept that it was okay to indulge, okay to claim this one thing as his and his alone? He didn’t even claim his own father, but this— you? Oh, how he wanted to be greedy, he yearned for it. But something in him, some dark, caustic, unforgiving thing, made him feel like he shouldn’t.

But didn’t he deserve something nice too? Something that wasn’t, or could no longer be tainted by the wicked and unloving world they were born into?

Ace knew that you cared for him— quite a lot, more than you should. There was a four letter word he might have used to label the way in which you cared about him, and he about you, but he dare not say it. He dared not say it in fear that the universe would snatch it away the moment it left his lips, and reveal that it was only playing a heartless joke on him.

“Hey. Are you… okay? Okay with this, I mean.” The words left his lips without putting a real thought behind them, for his mind was preoccupied with trying to keep itself afloat above the sea of negative ones that tried to carry him off to a place he did not want to visit.

Your left eye opened, then your right, as if opening them would help you better process his sudden question. Your brows furrowed next, digging deeper into your forehead in order to figure out the hidden meaning behind his words— or if there was one to begin with. “I…this position is fine, and I’m comfortable. Unless you want to be closer to the window?” You replied with your own question, uncertainty of what he was asking about thick in your tone. And judging by the way his arm tightened around you by a fraction and the nearly inaudible sigh that left his lips, it became clear that’s not what he was truly asking.

“No, I meant…are you okay with us?” Ace’s already husky voice quieted even more, nearly tapering off into a whisper. But he was pressed close enough to you that you were still able to hear him loud and clear. Something about the way he phrased his question rang a silent alarm in your head, indicating that the forthcoming conversation was going to take a more solemn turn.

With that in mind you shifted in his arms, turning around so that you were now facing Ace directly, still so close that the tips of your noses nearly touched each other. His hold on you readjusted as a result, the tattooed arm once more staking its claim on your waist and effectively trapping you against his front. His sable tresses fell unceremoniously across his face, a few strands nearly covering one of his eyes. Your fingers didn’t miss the opportunity to brush them away. 

“Yes.” Your reply was simple, and you thought it important to make that clear first because something, an emotion you were unable to categorize, flickered in his still-hooded eyes. And something about it worried you. “I am more than okay with us. There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now.” The fingers lingering on his skin suddenly became your entire palm, as you were now cupping the side of his face.

Ace burned even warmer here compared to the rest of his body, and you found physical comfort in the sensation. His skin seemed to ignite under your touch despite his sleepiness, and the dark-haired pirate was internally grateful that it was still quite dark in your room, so you were unable to see the light flush that was beginning to form underneath his freckled cheeks. 

“Why are you asking?” Your inquiry was as tender as your touch, and it made his chest ache. 

It took Ace several seconds to search for his next words and arrange them in a sentence, for your straightforward reply admittedly caught him off-guard. Now he was unsure if there was a need to continue at all.

But the specters of doubt were ever persistent.

“I just…” The words faded away on his tongue before he could say them and instead, your response rang loud in his head. 

‘There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now’.

Did you mean that? Have you always felt that way? Did you just happen to say that because he asked a question, because somehow you knew that’s what something in his soul wanted to hear?

And then, Ace found his words again. “You can do better, you know.” His voice turned more gruff, rough around the edges, as if he had to forcefully tug those words from the back of his throat. As if it hurt to say that. “You could, if you wanted. You’re gorgeous. Intelligent, resourceful. You have a respectable career, and you can cook damn good.”

You released a soft chuckle at that last part, finding it comical how he always found a way to talk about how good your food was. But whatever uptick on your lips faded as soon as it came once Ace parted his lips to speak again.

“You don’t have to spend your time, money, or energy on someone like me. You didn’t have to spread those pretty legs of yours for me, either. Didn’t have to let me stay here whenever I come to town. You didn’t even have to let me sleep in this bed so close to you.”

He paused, the muscles laying against and wrapped around you tensed briefly, his eyelashes met the apples of his cheeks when he allowed his eyes to close for a moment. When he opened them again, he found it harder to look at you— if he did, he might crumble away. “You could do better than a pirate like me, who has nothing going for himself except for instability, anger and…and hate. So, why?”

The next words reverberated in the air without Ace even having to say them. Why choose me? Why risk all of that for me?

Similarly, something throbbed uncomfortably within your chest as you listened to him speak, even after he finished and silence descended upon the both of you. 

You could only wonder where this line of questioning originated from. It was uncharacteristic of Ace to voice thoughts of this nature, even more so when there was no prior word or action to lure them forward. You continued to observe him in the quiet, not even realizing that you had been softly caressing his cheek all this while until your hand came to a halt.

Why? Why were you with Ace, entangled in every sense of the word and jeopardizing the life you’ve built for yourself for his sake? The answer seemed so simple, but not as much now that you had to consciously think about it; you somehow struggled to put it into words. 

Ace was like the rays of sunlight that peeked through heavy drapes in the early morning— much like they would soon be in a few hours— or like the flickering flames of a small fire that offered you solace on an unkind wintery night. He was warm and intense, but mellow and tender at the same time, in his own way. He offered you comfort when you needed it, stirred up something in you when you wanted it, brightened your life when you didn’t even realize how dull and monochrome it was. Ace was…

“Allow me to offer a question of my own. Why are you taking an equally significant, if not greater risk, just to curl up in my bed with me? Why come back so often to this town, risking capture, if only to hold me close, eat the food I make, and to make love to me?”

Your inquiries seemed to tug you forward, motivating you to scoot a little closer to Ace so that there was hardly even an iota of space existing in between your faces. His breath hitched quietly in his chest at that, more so when you leaned forward and simply placed your lips on his cheek, right on top of the dozens of prominent and faded freckles that resided there. Something about the gesture felt intentional— like you did not kiss his face, but the light specks on top of it. And thinking about it like that made his taut chest twinge again in a manner he could not describe right now.

Your breaths against his flesh were soft and leveled, and successfully fanned the flames of an even pinker flush to blossom across his visage.

He struggled to give you a coherent answer to your questions because his inner thoughts seemed to reset every time your plush lips came in contact with his face— all gentle like he would break if you applied too much pressure. He never associated that word with himself before, nor had anyone else in his entire life.

So why did he do it? Why did he do any of it? Why was he so attached to you, to your existence, your presence, and everything that reminded him of you? 

Ace knew the answer. 

He fears he’s known it for some time now.

But would it be right— would it be okay to label it with the word that was sitting on his tongue? Did he truly have the capacity to bear the weight of it? Would this blissful reality he found himself nestled in start to unravel the moment he said it? Would the universe truly let him have this one thing to himself, forever?

A feathery, open-mouthed kiss from you onto his nose cut off his thoughts, but confirmed his answer. 

A bleary sort of smile, edges softened by his affection for you, tugged the corners of Ace’s mouth upwards. The hand that encased your waist traveled further downwards to take the meat of your thigh in its grasp, and toss it over his own hips. He had slung your leg over himself in an attempt to hold your bodies inexplicably closer, the feeling of his fingers gliding lazily across your exposed skin caused your pulse to quicken.

“I understand. Thank you.” 

Within another second or two, his mouth eventually met with yours. His lips and yours seamlessly molded together, like they were two carved parts of the same whole. It was a slow, saccharine thing, ultimately leading your fingertips to slide back and thread themselves through his dark locks, and the calloused, hot palm on your thigh to grip the area ever tighter— as if you’d evaporate if he didn’t do so.

Ace loved you— was in love with you. His heart thrummed against his chest when he tossed that fact around in his head, gradually accepting it to be true as he steadily deepened the kiss.

He murmured those three words into your mouth after languidly coaxing it open with his tongue so the wet muscle could slither inside and make a home there. It was barely intelligible, but somehow you knew what he’d said. Such a declaration was only reserved for you, so of course you recognized it. Ace didn’t even want the words to linger in the air, lest the universe heard what he had said. He still thanked it though, grateful to whatever deities thrusted you into his path that night so that he could have this moment with you, and build similar ones like this hereafter.

You reciprocated it, quietly sighing the words back into him and he eagerly swallowed them up, giving your thigh an affectionate squeeze in response.

Briefly, you pulled back, but only by a millimeter— not wanting the cold air of the early morning to catch you yet— and your palm ended up on Ace’s jaw. The pad of your thumb brushed over the sheet of freckles with no particular pattern or rhythm, and you absently thought about how they might be your favorite feature on his entire body. As if to emphasize this point, you pressed a lingering kiss onto its surface again, and for a moment, Ace thought he might shut down. He simply could not comprehend the loving nature behind such a simple act, or why it affected him so; all he could do was offer a small, fond grin.

Time still marched forward, but it graciously allowed the pair of lovers to bask in each other for a little while longer. The sky’s hue would slowly shift from a deep navy blue to a slightly brighter one, causing the dimness of the room to inch back into its corners for the day. The sunlight would soon come.

( # ) @icy-spicy @triangularz @pookieace @ichore @valentineluvu

[novaursa]

Hello:) I love your writing and I saw that you're still taking requests, so I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in writing about my idea??

So the whole idea is Cregan x wife!reader where (before her marriage) she was from a more southern house that's closer to Kings landing (Tyrell, Lannister etc. you can choose)

Now, the main plot is that she wants to help during the war, but she's not that good at fighting and also has no dragon. However, she wants to prove that she can help.

So she fakes/has a little argument with Cregan and then, after a cute goodbye, infiltrates the greens in Kings landing.

There, she acts as if she's no longer close to cregan because he is a black supporter and because of her previous house, she's a green loyalist (in reality, she's team black and a true lady stark)

While she's there, she infiltrates them and sneaks information to cregan and rhaenyra etc. While both of them (or at least cregan worry about her)

Larys and aemond are obvi kind of suspicious of her.

You can choose how you want this to end. If it's angsty because she gets caught or happy even though she got caught, or maybe she doesn't get caught at all. You can choose, with your writing, I'm sure you'll find a great solution:)

The whole scenario is inspired by "She Wolf" by shakira (I hope you know the song😅)

For the rating 16+/18+ depending on the violence/gore/sexual themes.

(Also I wanna thank you for actually considering and writing about my idea for your harwin story "chasing the inferno". I was the anon)

I hope the idea isn't too confusing. Have a great day :)

The Silent Game

- Summary: When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂 That idea you had (about Chasing the Inferno) was brilliant. And just what I needed to continue the plot, as my imagination was at the halt at that time. And I know that song. I was in my Shakira era when it came out. 😄

The North had always been a place of bold contrasts: the cold and the warmth, the silence and the howling winds, the dark nights and the flickering lights of Winterfell. You were still adjusting to these contrasts, even after months of marriage to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North. Your union had been one of strategy, a lioness from the Westerlands joining forces with the wolves of the North. But in time, your marriage had grown into something deeper, something that transcended the cold calculations of politics.

Yet now, as the war between the Greens and the Blacks brewed, you found yourself increasingly restless. Winterfell felt like a prison, even with its ancient walls and the comforting presence of your husband. You longed to be more than just a silent supporter; you wanted to take action, to show Cregan that you were his equal in all things, that you could be the lioness who fought alongside the wolves.

But Cregan’s attention had shifted, as it often did with the coming of autumn. The Wall and its endless duty had consumed him, and the war in the south seemed a distant concern compared to the threats of the North. It was a reality you understood but did not accept. You needed to contribute, to show your devotion to him and his cause—Rhaenyra's cause.

Tonight, as you sat by the fire in your shared chambers, the flames casting long shadows across the stone walls, you decided to act. You would provoke Cregan, force him to send you away, to the very heart of the enemy’s territory—King’s Landing. There, you could serve as his eyes and ears, a lioness among snakes, sending back crucial information to the Black faction and to your beloved husband.

The plan was simple in theory, but your heart clenched at the thought of deceiving him, even if it was for a greater purpose. You had to make him believe that you no longer wished to stay in Winterfell, that you felt suffocated and out of place in the North. The thought of causing him pain was unbearable, but you knew it was necessary.

Cregan entered the chamber, his dark hair still damp from the cold air outside. His grey eyes softened when they met yours, and he offered you a small smile as he moved to sit beside you. His presence was comforting, a reminder of why you had fallen in love with him.

"You've been quiet tonight," he observed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very stones of Winterfell.

You looked into the fire, gathering your resolve. "I’ve been thinking, Cregan. About our place in this war."

He frowned slightly, not out of anger but concern. "Our place is here, in the North. The Wall needs me, and Winterfell needs its lady."

His words were reasonable, grounded in the reality of your lives, but they ignited the spark of frustration you needed to fuel the argument. "And what of the war in the South? What of Rhaenyra? Do we not owe her our loyalty? Our support?"

Cregan’s brow furrowed further as he regarded you. "We support her, but our duty is here. The North is vast and unpredictable; it cannot be neglected."

You stood up, letting your anger seep into your voice, even as it tore at your heart to speak such words. "I am a Lannister, Cregan! My brothers are in King’s Landing, one serving on the Small Council of the Greens. How can I sit here, idle, while they plot against Rhaenyra and our cause?"

Cregan stood as well, towering over you, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "You would leave Winterfell? Leave me?"

The pain in his voice nearly broke your resolve, but you pressed on, knowing this was the only way. "If it means contributing to this war, then yes! I am not some helpless maiden to be kept in the North while the world burns. I want to fight, to serve, to show that I am as much a Stark as I am a Lannister."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you feared you had gone too far. "You think I don't need you here? That I don’t want you by my side?"

You softened your tone, taking a step closer to him. "I know you do, Cregan. But I need to prove my worth, not just to you, but to myself. Send me south. Let me be your eyes and ears in King’s Landing. I can be of more use there than I am here."

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his desire to protect you and his understanding of the larger game at play.

"I cannot send you into the lion’s den, not when your brothers are part of it," he said finally, his voice strained.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "They are my brothers, yes, but they are also men who have chosen the wrong side. They may not trust me, but they will allow me close enough to gather information, to play the part of the loyal sister while serving Rhaenyra and you."

Cregan’s gaze returned to you, searching your face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. "This is dangerous. You know that."

"I do," you whispered. "But I am willing to take that risk for you, for our house, for our future."

He closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening. "You ask too much of me," he murmured. "But how can I deny you when you speak of duty and love in the same breath?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushed away before he could see. "Then you will send me?"

Cregan opened his eyes, the decision made but the weight of it clear in his expression. "I will. But promise me, when this is done, you will return to me. I cannot lose you."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I promise, Cregan. I will return."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you would slip away then and there. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, committing this moment to memory. 

When he released you, his expression was one of determination mixed with sorrow. "I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll leave within the week."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. But you reminded yourself of your purpose, of the love that drove you to this decision. You would prove your loyalty, your devotion, and your love for Cregan Stark, even if it meant walking into the lion’s den to do so.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of your chamber, casting a muted glow over the room. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your very bones. You had spent the night sleepless, lying in the large bed you shared with Cregan, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Today was the day you would leave Winterfell, your home, and your husband, to embark on a dangerous mission to the South.

The thought of leaving him, of being apart from the man you loved, filled you with a deep ache. But this was necessary. For Rhaenyra, for the Blacks, for Cregan. You had to believe that.

A soft knock at the door drew you from your thoughts. You sat up, wrapping your robe tightly around yourself as the door creaked open, revealing Cregan. His expression was a mixture of sadness and resolve, a reflection of your own emotions. He entered the room silently, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other.

"You’re leaving soon," he said quietly, his voice rough from the early hour.

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. You knew that if you spoke, your voice would betray the turmoil inside you.

Cregan crossed the room to stand before you, his large hands gently cupping your face. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you savored the moment.

"I wish there was another way," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "I wish I could keep you here, safe, by my side."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I know, Cregan. But this is what needs to be done. For Rhaenyra, for the North...for us."

His jaw clenched, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. "I hate that you have to do this, that I have to send you into danger."

You placed your hands over his, squeezing gently. "You’re not sending me into danger, Cregan. I’m choosing this. I want to help, to do my part. And I know you would do the same if our positions were reversed."

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you close against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath, and you closed your eyes, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The thought of being without him, of not feeling his warmth beside you at night, was almost unbearable.

"You must be careful," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you’ll stay safe, that you’ll come back to me."

You tightened your hold on him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. "I promise, Cregan. I will return to you. I will always return to you."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "If you find yourself in danger, if things become too perilous, you must come back. The war, the cause—it’s not worth losing you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You needed to be strong, for him, for both of you. "I will be careful, I swear it."

Cregan leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss full of love, of longing, of a desire to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. You returned it with equal fervor, pouring all your emotions into that kiss, as if it was the last one you would ever share.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other, neither wanting to let go. But eventually, you knew the time had come. You stepped back, breaking the embrace, and Cregan’s hand lingered on yours as you moved away.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Winterfell will be waiting for you."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him for a long while. But you had to stay strong, for both of you.

Cregan escorted you to the courtyard, where a horse had been prepared for your journey. The Northern wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely felt it. All your focus was on Cregan, on the way his hand gripped yours, as if afraid to let go.

As you approached the horse, Cregan helped you mount, his hands lingering on your waist, his touch warm even through the thick layers of your clothing. Once you were settled, he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You’ll have a small escort until you pass the Twins, just enough to keep you safe without drawing too much attention," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I trust you, my love. I trust you to do what needs to be done."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And I trust you, Cregan. I will send word as often as I can."

He gave a small, tight smile. "I’ll be waiting for your letters, but more than that, I’ll be waiting for you to return."

You looked down at him, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him behind. But you steeled yourself, knowing that this was the path you had chosen.

"I will come back to you, Cregan," you promised, your voice firm. "No matter what happens, I will return."

He reached up, his hand brushing against your cheek one last time. "Goodbye, my lioness. Until we meet again."

With a final nod, you urged the horse forward, the sound of hooves on the stone courtyard echoing in your ears. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might lose the resolve to go through with this. Instead, you focused on the path ahead, on the journey south, on the mission that awaited you.

But as Winterfell disappeared behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of you was being left behind, with the man you loved.

The towering walls of the Red Keep loomed ahead as your carriage (courtesy of Lady Frey when you rested in the Twins) rolled through the gates of King’s Landing. The familiar, oppressive weight of the capital settled on your shoulders the moment you crossed into the city. You had grown up in these streets, and while the grandeur of the Lannister seat at Casterly Rock had always called you home, there was something about the Red Keep that felt equally like a gilded cage and a battlefield. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead.

The journey south had been long and grueling, but that was nothing compared to the task you now faced. You had to convince your brother, Tyland, that your presence here was born out of desperation and exile, not strategy and loyalty to Rhaenyra. Every word, every gesture would need to be calculated, yet natural, to ensure he believed you were truly the sister he thought he knew.

The carriage came to a halt, and before you could fully prepare yourself, the door was pulled open by a Lannister guard. You stepped down, your legs stiff from the journey, and barely had time to straighten your skirts before you saw him—Tyland, rushing down the steps of the Keep, his face etched with worry.

"Sister!" His voice was strained with concern, and he reached you in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace. It had been years since you’d last seen Tyland, and despite everything, despite the sides you had chosen, he was still your brother. The scent of his familiar cologne brought back memories of a simpler time, before the realm had been torn apart by dragons and treachery.

"Tyland," you breathed, your voice trembling as you wrapped your arms around him, drawing on the emotions you needed to sell your story. "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again."

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he scanned your face, searching for any signs of harm or distress. "What happened? Why are you here? Why are you alone?" The questions came in a rapid, breathless stream, his eyes wide with worry.

You looked down, feigning shame and sorrow, before meeting his gaze with a carefully crafted expression of despair. "Cregan found out about our family’s support for King Aegon. He was furious, Tyland. He said he couldn’t have a Lannister—a traitor, he called me—living in his house. He… he exiled me. Sent me away with nothing but a few guards and this carriage. I had nowhere else to go."

Tyland’s face darkened with anger, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "That bloody Northern savage," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare he treat you like this? How dare he?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you allowed yourself to lean into the role you had to play. "He said he never wanted to see me again, that I was nothing but a stain on his honor. I begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. I had no choice but to come here, to you."

Tyland’s expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he pulled you into another embrace. "You’re safe now," he murmured against your hair. "You’re with your family, where you belong. We’ll protect you, I promise."

You nodded, clinging to him as if for dear life, even as your mind raced with the lies you had spun. "I was so afraid, Tyland. I thought he might… I thought he might harm me. The way he looked at me…"

Tyland pulled back, his eyes fierce with a protective fury you hadn’t seen in him before. "He’ll pay for this, I swear it. But you’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it."

You allowed yourself to sag against him, letting out a shuddering breath as you feigned relief. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I didn’t know where else to turn."

He stroked your hair gently, guiding you back towards the Red Keep. "You did the right thing, coming here. The war… it’s tearing everything apart, but you’re safe with us now. We’ll figure out what to do next."

You let him lead you inside, your heart pounding with the fear that he might see through your act. But Tyland was focused on comforting you, on reassuring you that you were home now, that you were safe. The gods old and new were merciful, it seemed, as he didn’t question your story, didn’t probe deeper into your supposed exile.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, Tyland kept a protective arm around you, guiding you towards the chambers that had been hastily prepared for you. His anger at Cregan, his love for you, were palpable, and you leaned into that, praying silently that you could maintain this charade.

When you reached your chambers, Tyland dismissed the servants, wanting a private moment with you. He led you to a chair by the fire, urging you to sit, and then knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll protect you. The Greens will win this war, and when they do, you’ll be safe, and you’ll have your place in the new order."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on his as you forced yourself to believe in the role you were playing. "I just want to do what’s right, Tyland. I want to support our family, to do whatever I can to help."

He smiled, a hint of the boy you once knew shining through the hard exterior he had built over the years. "And you will, sister. You will. We’ll make sure of it."

As he stood to leave, you squeezed his hand, forcing yourself to look vulnerable, desperate for his protection. "Please… don’t let anyone else know what happened. I don’t want to be seen as a failure, as someone who couldn’t hold onto their marriage."

Tyland nodded, his expression serious. "Of course. We’ll keep this between us. No one will think less of you for what that Northern brute did. You’re a Lannister, and you’re my sister. That’s all that matters."

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, you allowed yourself to collapse into the chair, your hands shaking with the weight of the deception you had just woven.

The Red Keep was your tie to home, but now it was a den of enemies, a place where every word, every action, could spell disaster if you were not careful. You prayed to the gods old and new, begging them for strength, for cunning, for the ability to play this dangerous game.

You had convinced Tyland, but there were many others who would not be so easily swayed. You had to be vigilant, careful, and above all, you had to keep Cregan in your heart. You would send him word when you could, slip information back to him and to Rhaenyra. But for now, you had to be the lioness among lions, playing your part in this deadly dance.

And all the while, you prayed that Tyland, or anyone else, would never see through the mask you had so carefully donned.

The grand halls of the Red Keep were as cold and imposing as ever, despite the ornate tapestries and blazing hearths that lined the corridors. You had grown accustomed to the hollow echo of your footsteps as you navigated this labyrinth of stone and secrets, but today, the weight of your task felt heavier than ever. The shadows seemed to cling to you, whispering of the dangers that lurked behind every corner.

In the privacy of your chambers, the faint scent of burning parchment still lingered in the air. You had just destroyed a letter—one that had arrived under the cover of darkness, smuggled into your hands by a loyal servant of the North. The letter had been from Cregan, your heart's anchor in this sea of deception.

You could still feel the warmth of his words lingering in your chest, a reminder of the love that bound you to him, even across the distance. He had written of his worry for you, of the nights he spent staring out over the frozen landscape of the North, wishing you were there beside him. He thanked you for your courage, for the sacrifices you were making, even as he admitted how much it pained him to have sent you away. His words were full of love, but also fear—a fear that you would be caught, that the game you were playing would turn deadly.

My brave lioness, he had written, I know the strength you carry within you, but I cannot help but worry for your safety. Every day, I pray to the old gods to watch over you, to keep you safe in the den of our enemies. You are my heart, my soul, and I am so proud of what you are doing, even though it tears at me to think of you so far away. Return to me, my love, when this is all over. Until then, be careful, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

You had read the letter several times, allowing yourself a few moments of vulnerability as you traced the familiar curves of his handwriting. But you knew that every word was dangerous, that keeping such a letter would be a risk you couldn’t afford to take. So, with a heavy heart, you had burned it, watching as the flames consumed the last tangible connection to your husband.

Now, as you walked through the Red Keep, you carried the memory of that letter with you, tucked away in the deepest part of your heart. You had to be careful, more so than ever before. The walls had ears, and the slightest misstep could unravel everything.

As you rounded a corner, heading towards the private dining chamber where you were to meet Tyland for dinner, you caught the tail end of a conversation that sent a chill down your spine.

Aemond Targaryen’s voice, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed down the hallway. "It’s impossible that Rhaenyra could have known about the ships. Someone must have tipped her off. The fleet from the Free Cities was our best chance to cut off her supply lines at the Gullet!"

You slowed your pace, your heart beginning to race as you listened. Larys Strong’s voice, oily and calm, responded in a tone that made your skin crawl. "It is troubling, my prince. We must consider that there may be a leak within our ranks, someone feeding information to the Blacks. We cannot afford any more missteps."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the gravity of their conversation. Rhaenyra had been warned about the ships—a piece of information you had managed to send north discreetly through one of your own messages. If they suspected a spy in their midst, it would only be a matter of time before they began to scrutinize everyone, including you.

As you continued down the hallway, forcing yourself to remain calm, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You turned your head slightly and saw Aemond and Larys watching you from the shadows. Aemond’s single eye glinted in the dim light, his gaze sharp and assessing. Larys’s expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to set your nerves on edge.

You met their gazes briefly, offering a small, polite nod as if nothing was amiss, before continuing on your way. The chill that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had felt before, a cold, creeping fear that settled deep in your bones. They had seen you, and you could only pray that they did not suspect you of anything more than passing by.

As soon as you were out of their sight, you quickened your pace, eager to reach the safety of your brother’s chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to maintain a composed exterior. You couldn’t afford to show any sign of fear or guilt—especially not now.

When you finally reached the private dining chamber, you found Tyland already seated at the table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening into a smile.

"Sister," he greeted, rising to embrace you. "You look troubled. Is everything all right?"

You returned his embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your brother, but the tension in your shoulders refused to ease. "I’m just tired," you lied smoothly, offering him a weary smile. "The journey was long, and the atmosphere here… it’s oppressive and difficult to adjust in a few months."

Tyland nodded, leading you to the table where a simple but elegant meal had been laid out. "The war weighs heavily on all of us," he said, pouring you a glass of wine. "But you’re safe here, with family."

You accepted the wine, taking a small sip as you tried to push the encounter with Aemond and Larys from your mind. But the memory of their scrutiny lingered, a constant reminder of the precarious position you were in.

As the meal progressed, you made light conversation with Tyland, discussing family matters and memories of your childhood at Casterly Rock. He seemed genuinely pleased to have you back in his life, and his presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. But even as you laughed at his stories and shared in his plans for the future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking on a knife’s edge.

Every word you spoke, every gesture you made, was calculated to keep up the facade. Tyland must not suspect anything—nor could anyone else. You were playing a dangerous game, and the stakes were higher than ever.

As the night wore on, you excused yourself, claiming fatigue from the journey, and Tyland kissed your cheek warmly before you left. "Rest well, sister," he said, his voice filled with affection. "We’ll speak more in the morning."

You nodded, offering him a final smile before retreating to your chambers. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. You had made it through another day, but the fear remained, gnawing at your resolve.

You crossed the room and knelt by the hearth, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Closing your eyes, you whispered a prayer to the gods old and new, asking for their protection, their guidance. You needed every ounce of strength and cunning to survive this—to complete your mission and return to Cregan’s arms.

As the night deepened, you crawled into bed, but sleep eluded you. Instead, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your deception pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. The memory of Cregan’s letter played over in your mind, a reminder of why you were doing this, of who you were doing it for.

No matter the danger, no matter the fear, you would see this through. For Rhaenyra, for the North, and for the love you carried for the man waiting for you in Winterfell.

But as you drifted into an uneasy sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep the truth hidden, how much longer you could play this deadly game before someone discovered the lioness in their midst was indeed a wolf.

The skies above King’s Landing were thick with the smoke of burning ships, the sound of clashing swords and the cries of the wounded echoing through the streets. The city had fallen, its walls breached by Rhaenyra's forces, and now the Blacks had taken control of the capital. The Red Keep, once a symbol of power and authority under the Greens, had become a battlefield, its halls filled with the triumphant and the defeated.

You stood in the throne room, surrounded by the black and red banners of House Targaryen, your heart heavy with a mixture of relief and dread. The mission you had embarked upon months ago had finally reached its conclusion. You had done what you had set out to do—played your part in the fall of the Greens from within their own stronghold. But the price of your success now weighed heavily on your soul.

At the far end of the hall, Rhaenyra Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, her dark hair cascading down her back, her gaze as fierce as the dragons she commanded. Daemon stood beside her, his presence as menacing as ever, his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory. The throne room was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers alike, all of them awaiting the queen’s judgment on those who had opposed her.

As you approached the throne, your heart pounded in your chest, knowing what was about to happen, dreading it. Tyland had been captured along with the other members of the Green council, and now they awaited their fates. You had pleaded with the guards to see your brother, to speak to him, but they had refused. You had been kept away from him, kept in the dark until this moment.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you as you curtsied before Rhaenyra. "King’s Landing is yours, and the Greens have been defeated. I am at your service, as always."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, a rare moment of warmth in the midst of the chaos. "You have done much for our cause, my lady. Your loyalty and bravery have not gone unnoticed. It is thanks to your efforts that we were able to anticipate their moves, to strike where they were weakest. For that, you have my gratitude."

You bowed your head, accepting her praise, but the words felt hollow. Gratitude could not ease the tension that coiled in your gut, the fear that gripped your heart as you awaited her next words.

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened again as she turned her attention to the prisoners being brought before her, shackled and defeated. Among them was your brother, Tyland, his face pale but his expression resolute. He had always been a proud man, and even now, in chains, he refused to show fear.

"Tyland Lannister," Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, echoing through the throne room, "you stand accused of treason against the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You served the usurper Aegon and conspired to destroy House Targaryen. For your crimes, there can be but one punishment."

You felt the blood drain from your face as the words you had feared most were spoken. "No," you whispered, barely audible, before finding your voice and stepping forward, your heart in your throat. "Your Grace, please, I beg you to spare him."

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as you spoke, all eyes turning to you. Rhaenyra’s gaze was sharp, questioning. "He is a traitor, my lady. His actions led to the deaths of many, and he must answer for them."

You sank to your knees, desperation in your voice as you pleaded for your brother’s life. "He is my brother, Your Grace. He may have been misguided, but he did what he believed was right, just as we all have. I know his loyalty was to the wrong cause, but I beg you to show mercy. Let him live, and I swear he will never pose a threat to you again. He is all I have left of my family."

Tyland’s eyes met yours, and for the first time since you had reunited in King’s Landing, you saw something break in his stern facade. The love and concern in his gaze were unmistakable, and you felt your heart wrench as you saw your brother—the man who had always protected you, who had stood by you when no one else did—now reduced to this.

Rhaenyra’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the conflict in her eyes. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, a sister. She knew what it was to love and to lose, to be torn between duty and family.

"You ask much of me, my lady," Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured. "Tyland Lannister’s hands are stained with the blood of my loyal followers. Mercy for him could be seen as weakness, a precedent that might encourage others to rise against me."

Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, then to Tyland, and back to Rhaenyra. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and calculating. "Mercy is a luxury we cannot afford in these times, Rhaenyra. Traitors must be dealt with swiftly, without exception."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t afford to be weak now, not when your brother’s life hung in the balance. "Please, Your Grace," you implored, "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. Just spare him. I will leave the capital, return to the North, or anywhere else you command. I will serve you however you wish, but please, do not take him from me."

The silence that followed your plea was deafening. Rhaenyra looked at you, truly looked at you, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing your words, considering the options. You held your breath, praying that the love you had for your brother, and the service you had given to her cause, would be enough to sway her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rhaenyra spoke. "Tyland Lannister has committed grave crimes against the realm, crimes that warrant death. But in recognition of the service you have rendered to my cause, I will grant him his life." 

A gasp of relief escaped your lips, and you bowed your head in gratitude, tears now streaming down your face. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you."

"But know this," Rhaenyra continued, her voice stern and unwavering. "He will live, but his life will be one of exile and dishonor. He will be stripped of his titles and lands, and he will be sent to the Wall. He will live out his days in the service of the Night’s Watch, far from here. He will never again set foot in the South."

You nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed with a mix of relief and sorrow. It was a harsh sentence, but it was life. Tyland would live, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

Tyland was led away, his eyes lingering on you until he disappeared from view. You rose to your feet, still trembling, and Rhaenyra gestured for you to approach the throne. 

"You have done much for me, and for that, you have my thanks," she said quietly, so only you could hear. "But remember, this mercy I have granted comes with a cost. Loyalty must be earned and maintained. See to it that you do not waver."

You met her gaze, understanding the weight of her words. "I will not forget, Your Grace."

With that, you turned and left the throne room, your heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose. Tyland would live, and that was more than you had dared to hope for. But the road ahead would be long and treacherous, for both of you. You had made sacrifices, and you would have to make more. But as long as you could keep the people you loved safe, it would all be worth it.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the echoes of your footsteps accompanied by the distant sounds of a city under new rule, you prayed once more to the gods old and new. You had survived this day, but there would be many more challenges ahead. And through it all, you would need to stay strong, for yourself, for your brother, and for the North that still awaited your return.

The road to the North was long and arduous, the chill of autumn creeping steadily into the bones of everyone who traveled it. The once green fields had turned to barren landscapes, the sky a constant blanket of grey. You sat in the carriage, wrapped in furs, the bitter cold seeping through the heavy fabric. Beside you, Tyland sat quietly, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window at the bleak countryside.

The silence between you had stretched on for days, the weight of everything that had happened in King’s Landing hanging heavy in the air. You had saved his life, but at a cost. Tyland had lost everything—his titles, his lands, his place in the South. And now, he was being sent to the Wall, to a life of exile and duty in the farthest reaches of the realm. You knew he struggled with the reality of his new fate, and the words he had not yet spoken weighed on your heart.

As the carriage rumbled along the rough road, you finally mustered the courage to speak, breaking the silence that had settled between you like a shroud. "Tyland," you began, your voice soft but steady, "I know this is not the life you envisioned for yourself. I’m sorry for what has happened, for the choices that led us here."

Tyland turned his gaze from the window to you, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he sighed, a heavy sound filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up. "You did what you thought was right," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness but also a hint of resignation. "You always were the clever one, the one who saw the bigger picture. But I can’t say I’m not angry, or that I’m not filled with regret."

You nodded, understanding his feelings all too well. "I had to make a choice, Tyland. I couldn’t let you die, not when there was another way. But I know the Wall is not what you wanted, and for that, I am sorry."

He leaned back against the cushioned seat, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the weariness of the past few months. "The Wall," he muttered, almost to himself. "It’s a place for criminals, for bastards, for those who have nothing left to lose. And now I am one of them."

"But you’re alive," you said gently, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "And you’re still a Lannister, no matter where you go. The North may be harsh, but there is honor in serving at the Wall, especially now that winter is coming. The realm will need men like you, strong and capable, to defend it."

Tyland looked at your hand in his, then back at you, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You always did have a way of making the worst situations seem bearable. I suppose that’s why you’re still alive, too."

You smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "We do what we must to survive, Tyland. But that doesn’t mean we have to face it alone."

The rest of the journey was spent in a tentative peace, the bond between you and Tyland slowly beginning to heal, though it would never be the same. He had accepted his fate, though with a heavy heart, and you had accepted the burden of knowing that your actions had brought him to this point. But as the carriage drew closer to Winterfell, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

When Winterfell finally came into view, its ancient walls standing tall against the sky, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. This was home now, the place where you had found love and purpose, and where you would begin the next chapter of your life. As the carriage rolled through the gates, you could see the figures waiting in the courtyard—Cregan among them, his tall, broad-shouldered form unmistakable.

The carriage came to a stop, and before you could even step out, Cregan was there, pulling the door open and helping you down. His hands were warm, his touch grounding you as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and cold air that clung to him.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his furs.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Every day, every night, I thought of you. But now you’re here, and that’s all that matters."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his eyes. "I brought Tyland with me. Rhaenyra spared his life, but she sent him to the Wall."

Cregan’s gaze shifted to where Tyland was stepping out of the carriage, his expression unreadable. He nodded in acknowledgment, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "Lord Lannister," he greeted, his tone respectful but formal.

Tyland straightened, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a mixture of pride and resignation. "Lord Stark," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "I’m here to serve, as ordered."

Cregan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "The Wall is not a punishment, Tyland, but an honor. The Night’s Watch may be seen as a place for those with no other options, but the truth is, it’s a place for men who understand the weight of duty. The realm needs protectors, especially now, with winter coming. You will find purpose there, and in time, perhaps even a sense of belonging."

Tyland’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded in agreement. "I will do my duty," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "If this is my fate, then I will embrace it."

Cregan’s expression softened slightly, and he extended his hand to Tyland. "Then you have my respect, and the respect of the North. You are welcome in Winterfell until you take the black."

Tyland accepted the handshake, and for a moment, the two men stood in silent understanding. You felt a sense of relief wash over you—there was no animosity here, only a shared understanding of the burdens they both carried.

As the three of you made your way inside Winterfell, the warmth of the great hall enveloped you, the familiar scents of wood smoke and roasted meat filling the air. You felt a sense of peace settling over you, knowing that you had done what you could to protect your family, and that here, in the North, you would find the strength to face whatever came next.

That evening, you and Cregan sat together by the fire, the weight of the past few months slowly lifting as you shared stories of what had transpired. Tyland joined you, his demeanor more relaxed than it had been since his capture. The three of you spoke of the future, of the challenges that lay ahead, but also of the hope that lingered just beyond the horizon.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced on the stone walls, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The North was harsh and unforgiving, but it was also a place of honor, of loyalty, and of love.

The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving only the soft glow of embers to illuminate the room. The heavy furs that covered the bed provided a cocoon of warmth, sheltering you from the cold that seeped in through the stone walls of Winterfell. Outside, the wind howled, a reminder of the harshness of the North, but here, in Cregan’s arms, you felt only the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you lay entwined beneath the blankets, your skin still tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking. It had been so long since you had been together like this, since you had felt the press of his body against yours, the way his hands knew every curve and hollow of your form. You had missed this—missed him—with an ache that had grown unbearable during your time apart.

Cregan’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch light but possessive, as if he was reminding himself that you were truly here, that you were his once more. You pressed closer to him, your head resting on his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was a sound that had become your anchor, a reminder that you were home.

"You’re quiet," Cregan murmured, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "What’s on your mind, my love?"

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace. "I’m just… grateful," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Grateful to be here, with you. I missed this, missed us."

Cregan shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so that he could face you, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim light. "I missed you too," he said, his voice low and full of emotion. "Every day you were gone, I thought of you. Wondered if you were safe, if you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you."

You reached up, your fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw, feeling the roughness beneath your fingertips. "You were always on my mind," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions. "There were times I didn’t know if I’d make it back, but the thought of you, of us… it kept me going."

His expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You’re here now," he whispered against your skin. "And I won’t let anything take you away from me again."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. "I don’t want to be apart from you ever again," you said, your voice fierce with determination. "I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here, with you, in the North. This is where I belong, where we belong."

Cregan’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. "You’re my wife, my love," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Nothing will keep us apart again. We’ve been through too much, and we’re stronger for it. This is our home now, and we’ll face whatever comes together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. It was true—together, you could face anything. The challenges you had overcome, the dangers you had braved, had only strengthened the bond between you. And now, here in the safety of Winterfell, in the warmth of Cregan’s arms, you knew that you could finally allow yourself to rest, to trust that you were where you were meant to be.

Cregan’s lips found yours again, the kiss slow and tender, full of the love and longing that had built up during your time apart. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting to lose yourself in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you savored the closeness between you. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as a breath.

"I love you too," Cregan replied, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. More than the North, more than duty, more than life itself."

You smiled, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. There was nothing more important than this, than the love you shared, the life you were building together. And after everything you had been through, you knew that you were ready to face whatever the future held, as long as you had him by your side.

The two of you lay together in silence for a while, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, the quiet intimacy that had been so hard-won. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, in this moment, you were safe. You were loved.

As you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Cregan’s chest once more, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them with the strength of the North in your veins and the love of your husband in your heart. And that, you knew, would be enough.

[esmedelacroix]

All the ways you disappoint me.

pairing: boyfriend!miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: The honeymoon phase confirmed it's existence for the second year of dating Miguel. Your love life went from flourishing to one-sided the day Miguel revealed to you that he was Spiderman.

cw: ooc miguel, very angsty, depressive behaviors, alcohol abuse

a/n: I have been on hiatus for a very long time. I've been in a very dark place this past month. I lost a very good friend of mine that I have known since middle school. Which really threw me off track. I have a bunch of works in progress coming out soon. I finally feel like I'm in a mentally okay spot to pick up writing again. This is lowk just word vomit but its something.

*listen to this song on loop for the best experience !

miguel masterlist | next part

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Disappointment. A feeling you you felt often. Maybe even too often. You were very familiar with disappointment. He only ever came around late at night. Disappointment would wrap his arms around you as if he wasn't the reason why there was a wet spot on your pillowcase almost every night.

All Miguel O'Hara ever does is disappoint you. "So why are you still with him?" your good friend Jess asked over hot morning tea.

"What am I supposed to do without him?" you questioned.

"That's not a very healthy mindset to have. You know that," Jess said putting a firm comforting hand over yours.

You look away for a moment. Eyes trailing out the window of the Spider Society Café that reeked of coffee and broken promises. Miguel O'Hara was married to the barista who would hand him five coffees minimum a day. He chose to marry the barista and work and not his own girlfriend of three years.

As you watched the birds create an arrow in the air flying north over the firey trees below. Part of you wished that you were a bird in this very moment flying away from the problems that devoured your brain from the inside. "You still with me?" Jess asked worriedly.

"Yeah," you sighed turning back to her.

"So you'll talk to Miguel tonight?" Jess commanded. She did that a lot. She would ask a question that sounded like an order which made you feel the need to obey. You simply nodded bringing your mug to your lips and sipping on your now-cold Earl Grey tea.

"Isn't it strange how quickly tea gets cold?" you thought out loud.

"Well that's kind of how tea works hon'," she answered.

. . .

You stopped waiting for Miguel to come home ages ago because you didn't think there was a point in it. Just like how you didn't see the point in trying to talk to him about putting effort into your relationship. In the same way you shouldn't have seen the point in staying with him after your last thousand arguments. You felt your eyelids get heavier with every passing hour you spent staring at the ceiling waiting to hear the door swing open.

Like you summoned him with your mind, you heard the door. The keys. The sigh. And the footsteps. Your heart began to race. Why am I nervous? You asked yourself. You stood up and walked out of your shared room.

Miguel's usual routine was to get home eat the food you prepared for him hours prior, shower, and go to bed. As you walked down the hallway leading to the kitchen, you stopped yourself before turning the corner. Inhale. Exhale. You stepped out into the kitchen and his head shot up immediately. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he asked. That’s new. An apology, from Miguel. You thought to yourself.

"No, no, I was having trouble sleeping," you answered in a quiet voice.

"Everything alright?" he questioned as he scraped the last bit of food on his plate into his mouth.

"Yeah, I've just been thinking," you started.

"About?" he asked urging you to continue.

"Miguel do you still love me?" you blurted out.

"Of course I do," he replied in a fraction of a second. He sounded almost hurt that you had even asked that question.

Moments like these make you forget the status of your relationship. Moments when Miguel would forget that he's supposed to be cold to you. The moments when he allowed himself to let his guard down around you. Those fleeting moments that should have never left your relationship. "Then why don't we spend any time together? I want to be around you Miguel, I don't care if we sit in silence in the most boring place on the planet. I just want to be in your presence," you admitted. He gave you that little hurt expression again.

"I—I've just been busy," he stuttered. Miguel would often do this thing where he would begin to say something and then cut himself off and choose to say something else.

"Miguel, you know you can tell me anything," you insisted.

"I just—can we please not do this right now?" he pleaded.

You gave him a frown. "Can we sleep it off? Talk about it in the morning?" he sighed rubbing his face.

"Will you even be here in the morning?" you ask under your breath.

"I'll see," he said putting a hand on your shoulder as he walked past you into the bathroom. He did it again. He cut off the conversation the moment it got hard for him. Why are we so complicated? You asked yourself as you lay your head on your moist pillow. Will there ever be a night where I don't cry because of him? A night where he doesn't confuse me with his actions?

. . .

That night as you lay in bed with his back faced away from him, you couldn't help but cry. You felt like you were drowning in your tears. Like they were holding you back. You tried to be as quiet as possible. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. You repeated to yourself.

The only happy thoughts you could think of were of Miguel. Or the Miguel you used to know. The person he used to be before he started using his job as an excuse to neglect you.

Just then when your breathing slowed and you calmed down a bit with tears still streaming down your face. He wrapped his arms around you. He cuddled you from behind. He did that often. When he thought you were asleep. It was almost as if different versions of himself occupied his brain. You liked the one that took the spotlight at night.

The one that would cuddle you. Nuzzle his nose into your hair. The one that would rub your back and. Apologize. To. You.

. . .

Apology fell asleep that night and disappointment woke up at the ass crack of dawn because there was another Spider-verse that needed saving.

You woke up later that morning to the usual chilling feeling of Miguel not being there. You got up stretching your arms as you walked to your kitchen. You made yourself a cup of tea and an omelette, and ate alone, in silence. Thinking. About him. Again.

For the second time this week as if you called for him with your heart, you heard the balcony door slide open and a masked man swing in. He took his mask off and shook his head adjusting his hair. "Good morning," you said with a stupid smile on your face. Why? You couldn't tell. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually here in the morning like he said he would be.

"Good morning. You’re in a good mood," he chuckled.

"Well you're here," you smiled.

Miguel gave you a look. You weren't sure how to feel about it. But it wasn't a bad look. It was nice. Kind of sweet. He prepared a pot of black coffee and talked about his morning in Peni Parker's universe catching a difficult anomaly. For a moment, you could feel little fireflies set off in your stomach seeing him talk about something he was passionate about.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked as he took a seat next to you.

"Just about us and our recent slump, I guess?" you started.

"I'm listening," he hummed as he sipped his coffee.

"I want to spend more time with you Miguel. I want to not argue with you about how much time you spend at work. I want to know what's on your mind. I want to know how you really are and not just how you say you are," you admit. Miguel stayed quiet for a while in thought.

"I don't know what to say to that," he said; his voice cracking a bit.

"You don't have to say anything just—let me be your shelter, please?" you suggested.

. . .

That night Miguel didn't come home. He didn't come in the middle of the night. He didn't come to eat either. He didn't come to wrap his arms around you. And he didn't come to apologize.

. . .

I don't like it when my friends tell me I have a drinking problem. How could it possibly be a problem if it makes me feel better about all the things that rack my brain? Being vulnerable is much easier said than done. Especially, with the girl I love. Of course, I want to tell her things. I want to tell her everything. I want her to know me as well as she knows her hometown. As well as she knows her childhood cat. And as well as she knows how to navigate Pinterest.

But I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll cry and she'll think I'm weak. I'm afraid she'll think I'm unworthy. I know she would never think those things about me. But how could anyone think anything differently if I think that way about myself?

That's why I turn to the friend that won't let me down ever. Endless Modelos. Because I'm so weak that I can't even open up tp my girlfriend. Every time I feel like I am finally ready to tell her what I'm going through, I stop myself because I am afraid.

. . .

To your great surprise, Miguel wasn't there in the morning. Or the next, or even the one after that. By the third you hadn't seen him it was beginning to stress you out. You wondered if he was safe. If he was even still alive. You decided to go to the Spider Society.

After talking with Jess for a while and babysitting Mayday for a bit. You were finally free to go see Miguel in his office. You opened the door and called out to him but the only thing you heard from him was a sniff. Then two. Followed by a third.

"Miguel are you up there?" you asked as you climbed the stairs to his his platform.

"No?" he said in a shaky voice.

"Is everything okay?" you asked. You saw your answer in the form of 10 too many emptied beer bottles on his desk and on the ground.

You rushed towards him discarding your purse on the ground. He brought his hands to his face and he hid. From you. Your heart sank to the lowest pit in your stomach it could reach. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulders and crouched down next to him. "Miguel, talk to me, please?" you whispered.

Nothing.

. . .

The worst way Miguel could ever disappoint you happened. You had imagined it happening in so many other ways but not like that. You never thought of him as the type of man to give up on something so good.

For the last time in your relationship, Miguel O'Hara disappointed you when he told you he wanted to break up.

. . .

next part → All the ways I defy you

[horeformilfs]

I have an ask for you. So this can either be with Alcina, Donna, or any of the Dimitrescu daughters.

All I really want is like reader going absolutely ape-shit on some kind of foe. For whatever reason you want. Whether it be Eathan or just some random person trying to hurt her lover. The circumstance is completely up to you.

Oh, and if reader could have some kind of power, plant manipulation, shape-shifting, whatever, that would be loved.

Aaaanyway, thank you very much for even reading this. If you don't like it, just ignore me. No harm done. Have a fabulous day/night, and stay safe!

💐💐

I love this idea and made it kinda angsty

I'll Protect You...Because I Love You

Dimitrescu Family x Fem!Reader

TW: Arguing, Drinking, Fighting, Stabbing Blood, Fainting, Ethan Winters being a dick, Death

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

In the dimly lit corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N moved with practiced ease, her footsteps echoing against the ancient stone walls. She had become accustomed to the labyrinthine layout of the castle during her time as Lady Alcina Dimitrescu's maid, navigating its sprawling halls with a sense of familiarity that bordered on intimacy.

But Y/N's relationship with Alcina transcended the boundaries of employer and servant. Over the course of eight months, their connection had blossomed into something far deeper—a love that defied the constraints of their disparate stations. Alcina's formidable presence had initially intimidated Y/N, but beneath her regal facade lay a woman of unparalleled complexity, whose icy exterior belied a warmth that Y/N found impossible to resist.

Despite the differences in their status, Y/N and Alcina had forged a bond built on mutual respect and unwavering devotion. In the quiet moments between their duties, they stole fleeting glances and exchanged whispered confessions, their love growing with each passing day.

And it wasn't just Alcina who had captured Y/N's heart; her affection extended to Alcina's three daughters—Daniela, Cassandra, and Bela. Initially wary of their mother's new paramour, the sisters had gradually warmed to Y/N's presence, finding in her a kindred spirit who shared their love for the sprawling grounds of Castle Dimitrescu.

Y/N's connection to the Dimitrescu family ran deeper still, for she harbored a secret that she had kept hidden from Alcina and her daughters—a power as ancient as the castle itself. Y/N possessed the ability of chlorokinesis, the power to manipulate and control plant life with but a thought. It was a gift she had inherited from her ancestors, one that she had honed in secret, fearful of the repercussions should her abilities be discovered.

But despite the challenges they faced, Y/N's love for Alcina remained steadfast, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf them. And as the sun dipped below the horizon and the castle came to life with the flickering of candlelight, Y/N knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, she would face them with unwavering courage, guided by the love that bound her to Alcina and her daughters.

As Y/N approached the door to their shared bedroom, she could sense the tension radiating from within. The air crackled with an uneasy energy, sending a shiver down her spine. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit chamber.

Alcina sat at her vanity, her usually regal posture slumped with frustration. Y/N's heart ached at the sight of her beloved in such turmoil, her concern outweighing any fear that lingered in the air.

"What's wrong, Alcina?" Y/N ventured softly, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the room.

Alcina's response was immediate, her words tumbling forth in a torrent of anger and resentment. "That blasted Miranda! She thinks she can dictate every aspect of our lives, as if we're mere pawns in her game!"

Y/N listened in silence as Alcina ranted, her heart breaking with each word that fell from her lips. But before she could offer solace, Alcina's frustration reached a boiling point, her hands clenching into fists as she unleashed her fury upon the unsuspecting vanity.

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room, mingling with Alcina's ragged breaths. Y/N moved closer, her instincts urging her to comfort her lover in her time of need.

"Alcina, please," Y/N pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand in a futile attempt to soothe her. "Let me help you."

But Alcina's response was sharp, her eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down Y/N's spine. "Stay back, Y/N! This is none of your concern!"

Y/N recoiled at the venom in Alcina's voice, her heart pounding in her chest as she took a cautious step backwards. The sight of Alcina unsheathing her claws sent a wave of fear coursing through her, the primal instinct to flee warring with her desire to stand by her lover's side.

With a heavy heart, Y/N made her decision, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "I'll leave you alone, Alcina. I... I need some air."

And with that, Y/N turned on her heel and fled the room, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as she made her way downstairs, the weight of Alcina's anger heavy upon her shoulders.

As Y/N entered the dining room, her steps heavy with the weight of her emotions, she failed to notice the three figures huddled together at the far end of the room. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela exchanged concerned glances as they watched Y/N's distant demeanor, their hearts aching at the sight of her pain.

With a shared understanding born of years spent in each other's company, the sisters moved as one, their footsteps silent against the polished floors as they approached their beloved Mămica. Y/N's shoulders sagged with the weight of her burdens, her trembling hands reaching for the crystal decanter of whiskey that stood sentinel upon the table.

The clink of glass echoed through the room as Y/N poured herself a generous measure, her movements mechanical as she downed it in one swift motion. The sisters exchanged worried glances, their concern deepening as they watched a solitary tear slip down Y/N's cheek.

Bela, the eldest of the sisters, stepped forward first, her voice gentle as she addressed Y/N. "Mămica, are you okay?"

Y/N startled at the sound of Bela's voice, her eyes widening in surprise as she met the concerned gazes of the Dimitrescu sisters. She attempted to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered at the edges, her facade crumbling under the weight of her emotions.

"I... I'm fine," Y/N replied, her voice betraying the turmoil raging within her.

But Daniela wasn't convinced, her keen intuition sensing the truth behind Y/N's facade. "Did you and Mamă have a fight?"

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering between the three sisters as she struggled to find the words. "Yes, but it's nothing for you to worry about."

Cassandra reached out a hand, her touch gentle as she brushed a stray tear from Y/N's cheek. "You don't have to pretend. We're here for you."

Y/N felt a sense of comfort envelop her as she sank into the plush cushions of the living room couch, Daniela nestled in her lap like a protective shield against the storm raging within her. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows across the room, a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil churning in Y/N's mind.

Daniela, ever the embodiment of affection, wrapped her arms around Y/N, seeking solace in the embrace of the woman she regarded as her other mother. Y/N returned the gesture, her touch gentle as she ran her fingers through Daniela's hair, the rhythmic motion a balm to her frayed nerves.

With a deep breath, Daniela ventured to broach the subject that hung heavy in the air. "Mămica, what happened? Why are you so upset?"

Y/N hesitated, her heart heavy with the weight of her confession. "It's... it's nothing, darling. Just a disagreement with Mamă."

But Bela, ever perceptive, sensed the gravity of the situation, her gaze piercing as she pressed for answers. "But why did you leave? You always stay with Mamă when she's upset."

Y/N's resolve wavered at Bela's question, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Because... because Mamă got so angry... her claws came out."

The revelation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the depths of Alcina's fury. The sisters exchanged shocked glances, their concern for Y/N mingling with a sense of unease at the thought of their mother unleashing her wrath upon the woman they held dear.

"That's... that's never happened before," Cassandra murmured, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Y/N nodded, her own disbelief mirroring that of the Dimitrescu sisters. "I know. That's why... that's why I had to leave."

And as the flames danced in the hearth and the night stretched on before them, Y/N knew that no matter the challenges they faced, they would navigate them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

As the warmth of the fire bathed the living room in a soft glow, Y/N found solace in the embrace of the Dimitrescu sisters, their presence a comforting reminder of the love that bound them together. Cassandra and Bela nestled into Y/N's side, their forms molded against hers as they sought refuge from the storm brewing outside. Meanwhile, Daniela remained perched in Y/N's lap, her attention focused on the book in her hands as she read aloud in a soothing cadence.

But their tranquil moment was shattered by the arrival of Alcina, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her frustration. She swept into the room, her icy gaze fixing on the group gathered before her.

"Why aren't you all in the dining room? Dinner should have been ready by now," Alcina demanded, her tone sharp with irritation.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under Alcina's gaze, her protective instinct kicking in as she sought to shield the girls from their mother's anger. "We were just spending some time together, Alcina. We'll be there shortly."

Alcina's response was a dismissive roll of her eyes, her frustration palpable as she turned on her heel and made her way to the dining room.

As they sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the strained silence punctuated only by the clinking of silverware against porcelain. Alcina's mood cast a pall over the table, her brooding silence a stark contrast to the usual lively chatter that filled the air.

The daughters exchanged uneasy glances, their resentment simmering beneath the surface as they grappled with their mother's recent outburst. Y/N's heart ached at the palpable discord, her own frustration mingling with a sense of helplessness in the face of Alcina's wrath.

But amidst the awkwardness and resentment, Y/N found solace in the unwavering support of the Dimitrescu sisters, their presence a reminder that no matter the challenges they faced, they would weather them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

As Y/N raced downstairs, her heart pounded in her chest with each step, adrenaline coursing through her veins at the revelation of Ethan Winters' presence in the castle. She found Alcina in the main hall, her imposing figure a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them.

"Alcina, what's happening?" Y/N's voice trembled with urgency as she approached her lover.

Alcina's gaze flickered with a mix of fury and determination as she turned to face Y/N. "Ethan Winters has escaped Heisenberg and infiltrated the castle. But don't worry, I'll deal with him."

Y/N's mind raced with a myriad of emotions, fear and concern warring within her as she processed Alcina's words. "What about the girls, Alcina? Are they safe?"

For a moment, Alcina remained silent, her expression unreadable as she locked eyes with Y/N. In that brief exchange, Y/N sensed the truth—the girls were still in the library, unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N broke into a sprint, her feet pounding against the cold stone floors as she raced towards the library. Alcina followed close behind, her presence a reassuring presence in the face of uncertainty.

As Y/N rushed towards the library, her heart pounding with fear and urgency, she flung open the doors, relief flooding her as she laid eyes on the girls, safe and sound within the comforting embrace of books.

"Mămica, Mamă, what's going on?" Daniela's voice cut through the tension, her brow furrowed with confusion.

Before Y/N could respond, a deafening gunshot shattered the tranquility of the room, the sound reverberating off the walls as time seemed to slow to a crawl. Instinctively, Y/N moved to shield Bela, her body tensing in anticipation of impact.

But she was too late.

The bullet struck true, searing pain tearing through Y/N's abdomen as she staggered backward, the force of the impact sending her crashing to the ground. Shock and disbelief painted the faces of Alcina and the girls as they watched in horror, their cries of alarm echoing in the chaos that ensued.

Ethan Winters emerged from the shadows, his presence a menacing reminder of the danger that lurked within the castle walls. Y/N fought through the pain, her voice strained as she addressed him.

"Why are you here, Ethan?" she pleaded, desperation coloring her words.

But Ethan remained silent, his gaze cold and unyielding as he turned his attention to the Dimitrescu sisters and Alcina. Panic surged within Y/N as she watched him advance, her instincts screaming at her to protect her family at all costs.

With a fierce resolve, Y/N pushed herself to her feet, her body protesting with each movement as she positioned herself between Ethan and the ones she loved. "Stay back!" she warned, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain and determination.

But Ethan showed no signs of relenting, his gaze locked on his targets with a chilling intensity. With a resigned sigh, Y/N braced herself for the inevitable confrontation, her mind racing with thoughts of how to keep her family safe in the face of overwhelming odds.

As Y/N summoned the vines with her chlorokinesis, her focus shifted solely to protecting Alcina and the girls from the imminent threat of Ethan Winters. The tendrils of greenery twisted and coiled around Ethan, ensnaring him in a tight grip as she launched herself into the fray.

The girls and Alcina watched in stunned silence as Y/N unleashed her power, their eyes wide with astonishment at the revelation of her hidden abilities. The air crackled with energy as Y/N and Ethan clashed, each blow resonating with the weight of their opposing desires.

But despite Y/N's valiant efforts, Ethan proved to be a formidable opponent, his desperation driving him to strike out with renewed ferocity. As he delivered a final, devastating blow, piercing Y/N's abdomen with a merciless stab, a cry of anguish tore through the air.

With the last of her strength, Y/N summoned forth a vine, twisting it around Ethan's neck in a desperate bid for survival. With a sickening snap, his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the threat he posed extinguished in an instant.

Exhausted and wounded, Y/N collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with the effort of her exertions. Alcina and the girls rushed to her side, their expressions a mix of concern and disbelief as they surveyed the scene before them.

"Daniela, keep her awake!" Alcina's voice rang out, laced with urgency as she knelt beside Y/N, her hands trembling as she sought to staunch the flow of blood from her wounds.

The youngest Dimitrescu sister nodded frantically, her hands gentle as she cradled Y/N's head in her lap, her voice trembling with emotion. "Stay with us, Mămica. Please, don't leave us."

Y/N's vision blurred as she struggled to remain conscious, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she met Alcina's gaze with unyielding determination. "I'll protect you because... because I love you," she whispered, her voice barely a whisper before darkness claimed her, her body succumbing to the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With tender care, Alcina lifted Y/N into her arms, cradling her gently as she carried her to their room, the girls trailing behind in solemn silence. The journey felt endless, each step a testament to the weight of their collective worries as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Castle Dimitrescu.

Upon reaching their sanctuary, Alcina laid Y/N upon the bed with infinite gentleness, her touch reverent as she began to tend to her injuries. With practiced precision, she cleaned and dressed Y/N's wounds, her movements deliberate as she worked to ease her lover's pain.

The girls watched with a mixture of awe and concern, their hearts heavy with the realization of Y/N's sacrifice. As Alcina finished her ministrations, they crawled into bed beside Y/N, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

Bela nestled close to Y/N's side, her touch light as a feather as she draped an arm over her, while Cassandra snuggled against her other side, her breaths soft and steady against Y/N's skin. Daniela settled in the crook of Y/N's arm, her presence a soothing balm against the ache of her injuries.

Alcina took a seat in a large chair nearby, her eyes never leaving Y/N's form as she held vigil over her beloved. With a book in hand, she settled in for the long night ahead, the pages offering little distraction from the weight of her worries.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Y/N stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of the Dimitrescu sisters gathered around her bedside, their faces radiant with relief and joy.

"Mămica, you're awake!" Daniela exclaimed, her voice filled with unrestrained delight as she threw her arms around Y/N, her embrace warm and comforting.

Bela and Cassandra echoed their sister's sentiments, their smiles bright as they showered Y/N with affectionate hugs and whispered words of gratitude.

Alcina watched from the foot of the bed, her heart swelling with love and relief at the sight of Y/N awake and alert once more. With a soft smile, she approached Y/N, her gaze tender as she spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Alcina began, her voice laced with sincerity. "For what happened last night, and for the hurtful words I spoke. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make amends and to work on controlling my temper."

Y/N's heart swelled with gratitude at Alcina's apology, her own forgiveness offered freely as she reached out to take her lover's hand in hers. "Thank you, Alcina. I know we'll get through this together."

With the tension of the previous night lifted, the day unfolded with a sense of newfound peace and harmony. The Dimitrescu family spent the hours together, basking in the warmth of each other's company, the laughter of the girls filling the air with joy.

As they shared meals and shared stories, the bond between them grew stronger, their love for one another shining brightly amidst the shadows of their shared past. And as the day drew to a close, Y/N found solace in the embrace of her family, grateful for the second chance they had been given to cherish the moments they shared together.

[nrhshm]

Hello!! May i please request an angsty hc/drabble where he patted reader's head or cupped her cheeks,her expression goes :0 and then she starts crying because she rarely received affection from anyone when she was little? with sabo/law and female reader please :)

Right away~~

Sabo and Law with an affection-depirived reader.

. Sfw

. Spoiler free

. Reader is gn (1st pov)

Sabo

The air smelled of fresh blooms, mingling with the earthy scent of the village cobblestones. Your flower stall was modest but well-kept, adorned with colorful arrangements that brought a touch of life to the quiet streets. It was a life of simplicity, one you had built after so many years of darkness.

The villagers were cordial enough—polite smiles and brief greetings—but you knew the truth behind their careful distance. You were the former slave who had been freed by Fisher Tiger. While you were grateful for the life you had now, the shadow of your past loomed large, casting a cloud of fear over the people around you.

But there was one person who always stood out.

Sabo.

He had been a regular at your stall for months now, always buying daffodils. He never said why or who they were for, but his warm smile and gentle demeanor made his visits a highlight of your day. His sunny personality, paired with the sparkle in his eyes, had a way of making you forget the weight of your past, even if only for a few moments.

---

It was a quiet afternoon when the incident happened.

An old woman approached your stall, her expression already sour. “Do you have carnations?” she barked.

You shook your head politely. “I’m sorry, we’re sold out for today.”

Her face twisted with irritation. “Sold out? What kind of flower seller doesn’t have carnations? Useless!”

Her voice rose, drawing the attention of passersby. You tried to remain calm, offering a small smile and a soft apology, but she wasn’t finished.

“You think you can just stand here, pretending to belong in this village?” she spat. “Everyone knows what you are. A slave. A walking liability! How long before the government comes and razes this place because of you?”

The words struck like a physical blow. Your chest tightened, and your breath came in shallow gasps. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The crowd had gathered now, their eyes on you—judging, pitying, or worse, agreeing.

---

“Enough of this.”

The voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Sabo stepped forward, his usually lighthearted demeanor replaced by a calm authority that silenced the murmurs of the crowd. He stood between you and the old woman, his presence commanding and unyielding.

“This behavior is unacceptable,” he said, his tone firm yet composed. “No one, no matter their past, deserves to be treated like this. She’s done nothing but contribute to this village with her kindness and hard work. What have you done, exactly, besides spread bitterness?”

The old woman bristled. “I was just speaking the truth! People like her bring trouble—”

Sabo interrupted her with a polite but pointed smile. “The truth, ma’am, is that she has more strength in her little finger than most of us will ever have. And if you have a problem with her, then perhaps you should reconsider who the real troublemaker is.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. The old woman, her indignation faltering, grumbled something under her breath and walked away.

Sabo turned to the onlookers. “Show’s over, folks. If you don’t have anything kind to say or do, maybe it’s time to get back to your day.”

The villagers dispersed, their curiosity satisfied, leaving the two of you alone.

---

Sabo’s expression softened as he turned back to you. Kneeling slightly, he picked up a daffodil that had fallen during the commotion and gently placed it in your trembling hand.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and soothing. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You stared at the flower, your fingers trembling around its delicate stem. His kindness was like a balm to the raw ache in your chest.

Noticing you were still shaken, Sabo stepped closer and placed a hand gently on your head, his fingers lightly ruffling your hair in an affectionate gesture. “You don’t deserve any of that. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re less than amazing, okay?”

His words broke something inside you. Tears spilled down your cheeks as the weight of years of judgment and loneliness came crashing down. Without thinking, you threw your arms around him, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you afloat.

Sabo stiffened for a moment, clearly surprised, but then his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

You sobbed into his chest, his steady presence grounding you as his words washed over you. For the first time in your life, someone had seen you—not your scars, not your past, but you.

---

When you finally pulled away, you wiped your eyes, feeling lighter yet raw. Sabo gave you a small smile, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

You nodded, though your voice was still shaky. “Thank you… for everything.”

He grinned, a hint of his usual playfulness returning. “Anytime. Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

A question lingered in your mind, and you found the courage to ask it. “Sabo… why do you always buy daffodils?”

He blinked, caught off guard, before a soft chuckle escaped him. “Daffodils are a symbol of good luck,” he said. “I like to keep a little luck with me wherever I go.”

His gaze met yours, his smile turning slightly mischievous. “But, you know, I’ve been starting to think it’s not the flowers that bring me luck. It might just be the person selling them.”

Your cheeks flushed, and Sabo laughed, a light, carefree sound that made the heaviness in your chest dissolve.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing to your stall. “Let’s fix this up. You’ve got a business to run, and I’ve got more flowers to buy.”

As the two of you worked side by side, you couldn’t help but feel, for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, the future didn’t have to be so lonely.

Law

The Polar Tang was quiet save for the hum of the engines. The usual raucous energy of the Heart Pirates had settled into an uncharacteristic stillness, a quiet born from the long day of storms both inside and out. You sat in the ship’s medbay, fidgeting with a roll of gauze in your hands, your mind wandering to the events that had left you here.

The mission had been dangerous—too dangerous, according to Law. He had explicitly warned you and the others to tread carefully. But in the heat of the moment, when you saw one of your crewmates in danger, you didn’t think. You rushed in, shielding them, ignoring the pain that came when debris struck your side. You pushed through the fight, brushing off the blood that seeped from your wound.

No one noticed your injury at first. You didn’t let them. Because that’s what you always did—gave everything you had to make sure everyone else was okay, while quietly swallowing your own pain.

It wasn’t until the adrenaline wore off that you collapsed on the deck, the shocked gasps of your crewmates the last thing you remembered before waking up in the medbay.

---

“You’re an idiot.”

Law’s voice was sharp as he entered the room, his steps deliberate as he approached. He didn’t look at you at first, busying himself with medical supplies on the counter.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, your voice betraying your exhaustion.

He turned then, his gray eyes narrowing. “No, you’re not. You could’ve been seriously hurt—or worse. Do you think that’s fine?”

His tone was cutting, but beneath it, you heard something else. Worry.

“I was just trying to help,” you muttered, your gaze dropping to the gauze in your hands.

Law sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you were. But you can’t keep doing this—throwing yourself into danger like your life doesn’t matter.”

His words struck a nerve, and you looked away, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat.

---

“You don’t get it,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “If I don’t help, if I don’t give something to others, what’s the point? It’s not like anyone’s ever—”

You stopped yourself, biting your lip.

“Ever what?” Law’s voice was softer now, but it still carried weight.

You shook your head, unwilling to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”

Law was silent for a moment, then he stepped closer, his hands resting on the edge of the bed. “It does matter. You matter.”

The simplicity of his words made your chest ache. You glanced up at him, expecting to see irritation or pity, but his expression was unreadable.

“I don’t—” Your voice broke, and you quickly looked away again.

---

Before you could say more, you felt something unexpected—a hand on your head. Law’s hand. He gently rested it there, his touch firm but surprisingly gentle as his fingers lightly ruffled your hair.

“You don’t always have to be the one giving,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an unusual warmth. “Sometimes, it’s okay to let someone take care of you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and tears stung your eyes. You weren’t used to this—someone comforting you, showing you even a shred of affection. You had spent so long being the one who gave, the one who protected, that you had forgotten what it felt like to receive anything in return.

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, and a soft sob escaped you. Law didn’t pull away, his hand still resting on your head, grounding you.

“Why…” Your voice cracked. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Law’s lips quirked into the faintest of smirks. “Because you’re part of my crew. And I don’t let my crew fall apart—not even the stubborn ones.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made your tears flow even harder. Without thinking, you leaned forward, burying your face in his chest as your emotions overwhelmed you.

---

He stiffened slightly at the contact but didn’t push you away. Instead, his hand moved from your head to your back, giving you an awkward but comforting pat.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” he asked, his tone dry but not unkind.

You laughed through your tears, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “What gave it away?”

Law sighed, shaking his head. “You’re a mess,” he muttered, but there was a softness in his eyes that belied his words.

As the tension in the room eased, you found yourself smiling through your tears. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, standing and grabbing a nearby clipboard. “I still have to lecture you about following orders and not getting yourself killed.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “Maybe I should’ve just stayed unconscious.”

Law smirked, his usual stoicism giving way to a rare moment of humor. “Don’t tempt me to use Room to keep you in check next time.”

Despite everything, you laughed, the sound light and genuine. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone.

[jezebelblues]

saturn bound | h.s

summary: in which the world ends in your point of view, alongside your husband.

cw: death, angsty-ish i guess? unedited, grammatically correct in upper case if that tickles ur fancy.

word count: approx 1.4k. she’s a shortie

| this is in first person! (perspective of you, as reader) i was iffy about a 1st perspective so i edited in both 2nd and 3rd, but 1st person felt right. sorry if u hate, ladies.

masterlist

No one would remember me as YN, no one would remember my husband as Harry.

As the world crumbled into its final moments, you’d think that chaos would envelope everyone whole. That people would be running, screaming, fighting, as if they could somehow wrestle with the jaws of fate. Mothers clutching their children, fathers desperately barking orders to no one, families collapsing under the weight of hopelessness. Dogs howling into the wind after their selfish owners sped off, children sobbing as the air itself seemed to shudder with terror. A cacophony of fear.

You’d imagine fear cause these people knew their life was going to end.

And it was there undeniably, fear. Not the frantic kind, though. A different one—a quiet terror that settled deep in the bones, cold and ancient, like the Earth itself had finally whispered its last breath into our ears. It didn’t matter what was ending us—whether the dead were clawing from their graves, or if the sky had split apart and let loose the fires of heaven, or some disease had snatched us, unseen, from within. It didn’t matter. Not really. Because the truth was simple, inevitable: today, all life on Earth would be snuffed out, and we would become nothing—a floating spec of a forgotten afterthought.

There would be no future, no one left to carry the stories of humankind forward. No history books filled with our triumphs and tragedies. There would be no mourning of our extinction, the things we took for granted. Earth would be a blank—unknown, just one of countless casualties of time. If there was anyone out there in the universe with us, the children of this planet, would be memories swept away like dust, if even that. There would be no tears shed for us. The universe, so vast, would hardly notice our passing.

Some prayed. Desperation forced them down to their knees, begging for salvation, for some kind of afterlife, something more beautiful than their end. The thought of death so terrifying that they’d hope and pray they’ll end up in heaven—hell, even. Anything other than nothing, than eternal darkness. I understood, in a way, because nothing is scary—we’re alive, we’ve never experienced it—it’s impossible to wrap your mind around nothing.

Others drank. I joined them, a bottle of tequila in hand, the burn numbing me just enough to make peace with the fact that I would die today. And my Harry, the man that gave me his last name, would die beside me.

Harry Styles, the man the world adored, the man I called my husband—sat next to me, his head resting softly against my shoulder. We watched as Saturn, impossibly close now, loomed over us, over our home, like an executioner asking for our final words. Its rings shimmered, casting a glow that drowned out the stars. The air was thick with sobs, with whispered prayers. People clung to each other like lifelines, as if the touch of another human might hold them here, in this world that was no longer theirs. Some screamed, but most just stood and stared, watching death arrive with a strange, defeated calm—a cobra swaying in dance before striking its prey.

Harry’s hand found mine, gripping it tightly as if to stay grounded. He tried to pray, the fingers on his left hand trembling with the grasp of his cross pendant, but his voice cracked, breaking on the words. Tears ran down his face, but I couldn’t cry. There was nothing left in me to give to hope or fear. Once, faith could’ve been my anchor, but now it felt like a lie I might tell myself to feel safe. There was no safety here. There was no escaping this.

And so I watched, as those I had once called neighbors, friends, fought against the inevitable. They ran, though there was nowhere to go. They screamed, though no one could hear. They prayed, though no god would answer. It was almost pathetic, the way they clung to the last shreds of life. But maybe it gave them some comfort. Maybe that was all anyone wanted in the end—their last conjured thought to be at least I tried.

"You know-” he trailed off softly, his voice breaking the stillness between us, "I always thought we'd have more time. That mayb-” He sighed. “Maybe we'd get old together."

His words struck me like a blow. "I thought so too." I whispered, feeling the ache in my chest grow heavier. It felt so cruel, to have found this love, this overwhelming, all-consuming love, only to have it ripped away after two years of marriage. "We deserved more, H.”

My husband’s thumbs ran circles upon the back of my hand, his tears glistening in the glow of Saturn. His lip quivered, voice shaky. “We can be old now.” He sent me a sad smile, pressing a kiss into my temple. “Happy fiftieth anniversary.” He murmured, playing with the ring on my finger.

I couldn’t stifle the whimper that fell from my grin, nodding to his words. I stared at his wedding band that shimmered in the light before passing the bottle of tequila between us—a toast. To fifty years of marriage. That would’ve something to drink to.

One swig turned into three, three turned into five. It had helped stopped the tears eventually.

Harry turned to me, his face inches from mine, and I could see the weight of the world in his eyes—a humorous irony, really, now that we really are practically weightless as we pull into Saturn’s gravity. He raised a hand, cupping my face so gently, as though I were something precious that he didn't want to break.

"If I could choose how it all ends," he whispered, his breath warm against my lips, "I'd choose this—here with you. If this is the last thing I feel, the last thing I see, then maybe it's not so bad."

Alcohol couldn't stop the tears then. They spilled over, warm and unrelenting, because what else could I do? I pressed my forehead against his, our breaths mingling as the world began to fall apart around us. The rumble of the Earth cracking, the low roar of Saturn's tug—it all seemed so distant, so unimportant.

"I don't want to lose you." I choked out, my voice barely a whisper.

"You won't, YN." His voice was unwavering, as if he had the book of answers hidden in his pocket. His thumb brushed over my cheek while his lips parted once more. "You'll always have me. Always."

And then he kissed me. It wasn't desperate or rushed. It wasn't the kiss of two people saying goodbye, just an I’ll see you later. It was slow, soft, full of everything we had been to each other. His lips were warm, delicate, and for a moment I could pretend the world wasn't ending. I could pretend that all we had was time.

Saturn’s light bathed the earth in colors that had never seemed so tragically gorgeous—deep purples, blues, and grays, all spinning around the our dying planet. The rings twisted and churned in the sky, pulling our world apart piece by piece, and the wind howled as if it cried for us. The stars dimmed, one by one, turning away from the spectacle of our destruction, unable to bear witness. Maybe they chose to die along side us, not letting Earth go through it alone.—like they were the only ones who’d mourn our death. I silently thanked them, though inanimate, I swear I could feel their empathy.

Harry gripped my hand tighter, his skin warm against the cold air. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles. Our foreheads met again, a united front. His green eyes met mine, full of sorrow, of love, of things unsaid. I wanted every one of the five senses to envelope only him. Our last moment to be together, not watching the world collapse, but here, in this space we had carved out between us.

I kissed him. One last time. The taste of salt from his tears mingled with the liquor on my lips. “I love you.” We whispered together, our voices lost in the roar of the sky falling apart.

And then it was gone.

The cold sank into my bones, but it no longer mattered. My heart slowed, and the world around me faded. No more breath in my lungs, no more blood in my veins. Just the void. And as we drifted into that nothingness, I held onto one final hope—that there is some sort of afterlife, so I could find my Harry again.

Yet, the Earth was gone. It dissolved into the void like dust. The stars, too, blinked out one by one, and the universe spun on, indifferent. We were forgotten, nothing left to even decompose in our boundless grave. Perhaps the dead stars that’ll become something more will be our headstones—an indication we were once here.

But for now, it was as if we never existed in the first place.

btw if you feel like you’ve seen this before, i originally wrote this on wattpad in 2017. it was horrible :D but i liked the concept, so this is it readjusted. hope u enjoyed even just a lil <3