#but they graciously surrendered it

[mysunfreckle]

chew cardboard and screm

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

HEAR ME OUT!! ollie thinking felix is single right, hanging out at oxford and everything and then one night felix is nowhere to be seen and he finds him with a girl. turns out feliz is vv much not single but ollie knows her as the smart girl of the school so he's shocked by the pairing?!?!?!

Who would've thought? || Felix Catton x reader

A/n: I actually hate how I did this but oh well, also, my first felix catton fic did so well so quickly!!!! so happy you guys enjoyed it :)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, drinking, idk rlly im so bad w my warnings 😭

Wc: 764

Felix Catton Masterlist

"Gorgeous, isn't he?" Your voice causes Oliver to flinch as he whips his head to where the sound of your voice came from. "W-what-" He stammers. You giggle at his behaviour, taking a long drag from the cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it.

"I see the way you stare at him, Ollie. I don't blame you though, he's a sight for sore eyes," You sigh, leaning your head against the wall, watching Felix with his friends.

Oliver didn't know what to say. He only stared at you before gravitating his gaze back to Felix. Oliver knew you as one of the smartest girls at school, your grades rivalling with his.

"You can admit it. He's gorgeous." You open your mouth again, turning your head at Oliver with a grin. He gulps. "I-uhm-" He began before you interrupt him, "Come on, Ollie" Your tone was playful.

"He's gorgeous." Oliver quickly replied as you smile. You push yourself off the wall, patting Ollie's shoulder before leaving him standing there dumbfounded.

~

"Fuck!" You curse as you feel the hot liquid cascade down your front. You let out a loud groan, throwing your coffee cup in a nearby bin. "I'm so sorry-" "It's fine! Completely fine," You mutter to the idiot who bumped into you because his eyes was trained on a book.

You let out a deep sigh, checking your watch. You would be late if you turned back around to change. "Hey! Y/n!" You hear a voice call out from behind you. Turning your head you spot Oliver coming your way on his bike.

“Hey?” you greet him with a hint of confusion. Without a word, he unzips his backpack, pulling out a plaid shirt. “Wear this to cover the spill,” he suggests, a warm smile accompanying the gesture. You conceal any distaste with a subtle expression, graciously accepting the offered shirt.

“Uhm-” “Just return it later when you can,” he cuts you off, not giving you time to answer before riding off. You stand there, looking down at the plaid shirt, before letting out a sigh and slipping it on.

“Cute shirt, babe,” your boyfriend chuckles, and you respond with an eye roll, sitting down with a loud huff escaping your lips. “Don’t even. Some idiot bumped into me on the way here,” you mutter, opening your notebook aggressively.

Farleigh strolls in, joining the two of you, “Woah, loving the shirt, y/n. Where’d you get it from? The charity shop?” He jokes, prompting you to scowl at him. He raises his hands in surrender as Felix’s chuckles resonate beside you.

“Jesus, what’s got your panties tied up in a knot?” he laughs, taking a seat beside you while you choose to ignore him. Suddenly, Felix exclaims, “Oh, shit! Farleigh, we gotta go. Professor Davies wants to see us,” checking his watch before swiftly getting up.

Farleigh vents his frustration with a groan, “Sorry, babe. See you later?” Felix plants a kiss on your cheek, and you nod in response, waving the two boys off before redirecting your focus to the notebook in front of you.

“Hey,” you raise your head to find Oliver approaching. Flashing a warm smile, you greet him with a friendly, “Hi Oliver,” your attention briefly returning to your book as he stands there, exuding a hint of awkwardness.

“I’ll make sure to return your shirt once it’s washed,” you reassure him, receiving a silent nod in acknowledgment. Returning to your book, you shift your attention back to him, “Is there anything else you need?” He nervously scratches his neck. “Do you mind if I study with you?” His question catches you slightly off-guard.

“Absolutely, feel free,” you graciously respond, rearranging your belongings to create space for him to settle. A warm smile graces his face as he takes the offered seat, expressing gratitude with a simple “Thanks.” You reciprocate with a light chuckle, assuring him, “No problem at all.”

~

“He is such a nerd,” Farleigh snorts as you roll your eyes, your fingers moving to play with Felix’s necklace around his neck. Noticing your quietness, Felix looks at you on his lap. “You okay?” He says quietly as you hum, taking a sip out of his glass, before pressing your cheek against his, your eyes wandering around the table.

“I should probably go now, I don’t wanna study too late,” You let out a quiet sigh as you get up from your boyfriend’s lap. Felix lends a helping hand to adjust your skirt, smoothly guiding the denim down while playfully patting your ass, accompanied by a mischievous grin.

“Where are you going? It’s still so early!” Annabel shoots you a disapproving frown from across the table. “I really need to study for that test tomorrow,” you respond, the playful boos from others resonating as you playfully roll your eyes.

“Listen, I’ll buy the next round yeah?” Your offer is met with enthusiastic hoots as you chuckle. Rounds tend to be costly, especially with our group, but being part of a wealthy family, the expense doesn’t faze you.

Felix joins you in fetching the drinks before you wave at your group and make your exit. Outside, the cool night air embraces you as you walk down the stairs, and a twinge of regret sets in over your choice of attire.

Lost in thought, you accidentally collide with someone. Looking up, you find yourself face to face with Oliver, whose initial surprise transforms into recognition. “Oh, Oliver, hey,” you manage a smile, and he reciprocates it warmly.

“Hey. You headin’ back?” He gestures behind him with his thumb, and you nod, “Yeah, studying for that test we have tomorrow morning.” A chuckle escapes you as he nods, an awkward silence settling between the two of you.

“Is it, uh, busy in there?” Oliver speaks up. “Hm? Oh. Uhm, no, not really,” you shake your head. Another moment of silence follows. “Listen, Ollie, I should really get going,” you purse your lips as he moves aside. “Yeah, of course,” he offers you a warm smile, and you nod your head, walking away.

~

Over the course of the next couple days. Felix and Oliver had become very good friends. You would hear Felix’s recounts of his day when the two of you were entangled in each others arms and it always included Oliver.

The party rolled around and you found yourself dancing with Felix, your ass on his crotch as the two of you seamlessly moved to Sexyback.

With one hand cradling a red plastic cup filled with alcohol, and the other clasping a partially smoked cigarette, Felix guided your hips skillfully, his touch resting casually on your hipbone.

“You look so fuckin’ hot,” Felix exclaimed loudly over the music as you smirk to yourself, already abit tipsy. “Do you wanna go somewhere?” You reply back to him, turning around as he eagerly nods.

You giggle to yourself, knowing what the rest of the night would consist of. Fucking Felix. You stumbled as Felix pulled you along the house. “Fuck, these heels,” You moan in annoyance.

Eager to reach his dorm quicjly, Felix scooped you up in a bridal carry, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. A light squeal escaped you, drawing the attention of those around, their curious stares following the two of you.

The second he shut the door behind him, your clothes littered his room as he ravenously attacked your lips, his hands roaming around your body as you let out quiet moans, enjoying the way they groped every inch of your body.

Meanwhile, Oliver was roaming around the party, completely and utterly bored. He first wandered around looking for someone he knew, but that was only three people. You, Felix, and Michael. Michael wouldn’t even be there, so just you or Felix.

Acknowledging the fact that neither you or Felix were here, Oliver’s gaze fell on Farleigh at the other end of the room. With a joint in hand, reclining on the couch, Oliver decided to test his luck and headed in Farleigh’s direction.

“Do you know where Felix is?” Farleigh looks Oliver up and down before raising an eyebrow at him. “Why do you wanna know?” His tone was flat, bored from talking with Oliver already.

“Just wonderin’,” Oliver shrugged awkwardly. Farleigh, taking a long drag, nonchalantly answered, “He went back to his dorm, I think,” his tone uninterested as he flicked ash from his joint.

“Thanks,” Oliver nods his head before turning around. The walk to Felix’s dorm was all too familiar for him, often spending time there whenever he and Felix hung out.

He knocks on the door. No response. He knocked again. Still no response. Oliver then tried the door handle, twisting it only to find it unlocked. Opening the door with a loud creak as his eyes look around the dimly lit interior of Felix’s room.

“Felix-“ Oliver cuts himself off as he realises what he just walked in on. A feminine gasp reached his ears as he instinctively tried to avert his gaze. “For fuck’s sake, mate!” Felix’s irritated voice resonated, accompanied by the rustling of sheets in the room.

Felix quickly moves to cover the both of you as you screw your eyes shut. “Can’t you fuckin’ knock Ollie?” Felix exasperates as he slips on his boxers, his frame still covering you from Ollie’s eyes.

"Sorry, the door was unlocked, so I thought-" Oliver began, but Felix cut him off, "Yeah, well, you thought wrong," accompanied by an annoyed chuckle. You reached for Felix's shirt, slipping it on as you sat on the bed.

Oliver couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity at who Felix was fucking; there was no denying it. It couldn’t have been Annabel or India—two girls he's often heard talking about Felix as if they were together—both of them were at the party when he left. So who was it? “Seriously mate. If I don’t answer, I’m either not here or don’t want to answer,” Felix runs his hands through his hair.

He was very bothered that he was interrupted. Felix hated being interrupted in the middle of things. Especially sex with you. “Felix, it’s okay,” You rest your hand on his shoulder as he looks back at you.

Oliver's jaw hung open, frozen in a momentary state of shock, as your head playfully emerged beside Felix. His eyes widened as he tried to process the unexpected sight before him. A cascade of questions flooded his mind, evident in the incredulous expression on his face. "Hi, Ollie," you greeted with a light chuckle, amusement dancing in your eyes as you observed his stunned reaction.

The air seemed charged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity as Oliver stammered through his words, attempting to articulate the myriad of questions racing through his mind. "I- What- Are you two-" he fumbled, his sentences colliding in his attempt to understand the situation unfolding before him.

Felix, ever nonchalant, cut through the awkward tension with a matter-of-fact tone. "She's my girlfriend," he stated, his words hanging in the air. As if to emphasize the point, you casually moved to sit on Felix's lap.

A moment of stunned silence enveloped Oliver. Felix had a girlfriend, and it was you. The revelation hit him with unexpected force, leaving him momentarily breathless. Questions swirled in his mind, and he couldn't comprehend why no one had ever mentioned it before.

"Why do you look so shocked, Ollie?" Felix chuckled, a lighthearted tone in his voice, while you added to the teasing atmosphere with a playful giggle. You could practically sense Oliver's head spinning with the unasked questions, creating an intriguing air of mystery around the situation.

Oliver's eyebrows furrowed slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise as he processed the unexpected pairing. He released a nonchalant shrug, attempting to mask the internal whirlwind of thoughts.

"No one’s ever said anything about it, I just assumed you both were single," he admitted, his eyes fixed on you and Felix. Oliver's head continued to shake in a subtle attempt to grasp the reality of you being in a relationship with Felix.

A faint smile played on your lips as you tilted your head at him, a touch of amusement in your gaze. "You never asked," you pointed out casually, your words hanging in the air. Oliver's lips formed a perfect 'O' as he absorbed the implication, silently nodding in acknowledgment.

The room was then engulfed in an awkward silence, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the atmosphere. Sensing the discomfort, Oliver took the initiative to break the tension. "Uhm, I should get going," he announced, his hand absently scratching the back of his head. Felix, understanding the unspoken cue, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, go ahead."

Oliver's lips pursed, his gaze flickering between you and Felix, caught in a moment of realization. With a slightly awkward smile, you innocently waved at him. "Bye, Ollie!" you chimed in a light-hearted manner, attempting to alleviate the awkwardness as he leaves the dorm.

Felix couldn't hide his amusement. "You really didn't tell him?" he asked, breaking the silence with a playful smile as he looked down at you. In response, you innocently shrugged. "I didn't think it was that necessary to bring it up, besides, he really never asked."

[fatguarddog]

You're the heir to the royal family of a kingdom besieged by demons and during a surrender, are offered up to one of the Demon Lords as a prize of battle. Don't worry, he assures you with a warm yet devious smile, you'll soon 'grow' to love your new life with him

You're taken back to his manor and draped in a lavish, yet skimpy outfit, one that really shows off your body and highlights the slight curves of your features. Your new Lord sits you down at a huge banquet table and takes his seat across from you. All manner of succulent and delicious foods are lined up before you, you take a moment to really take in the size of this hulking, handsome demon and assume he must eat like a beast. But when his impish servants are done setting the table, he just brings his elbows onto the table to rest his head in his hands. He smiles at you,

"You've nothing to fear. Eat."

His voice is so commanding. Nervously, you load up your plate with foods that seem the most familiar to you. Roast chicken, potatoes, various vegetables and a bread roll. It's delicious. With the effect the war has had on your kingdom, you can't remember the last time event he royal family could assemble such a sumptuous selection to feast upon... so you end up forgetting yourself a little and eating until you're quite stuffed. You lean back in your chair and graciously thank your Lord for the meal, shyly paying your compliments to the chef

"Good," he smiles wider and snaps his fingers. "Eat."

A surge of warmth courses through your body. With some demonic intervention, everything you'e just eaten rapidly digests within you and you feel hungry again. Your frame even grows a little bit softer, though not enough for you to notice just yet. You blush and oblige his order, you brain trying to rationalise what's happening. A display of dominance, perhaps? Or did he notice how much you were enjoying the food after having had so little for so long and just wanted you to get to enjoy that more? Was something bad coming after this, or was he actually a good demon somehow?

All of your questions seemed to melt away as you dug in to the feast again, this time trying the honey roasted ham, sweet fruits, leg shank and more. Once again you eat until you feel completely stuffed. Once again you thank your Lord for such a wonderful meal... and once again he smiles at you with fiery eyes from across the table, his own plate still empty and untouched,

"Good," another snap of his fingers. "Eat."

That familiar surge of warmth strikes again, but this time you notice how much plumper you look after, especially in your skimpy clothes. You look up at your Lord in shock and confusion, but he just gestures to the food in front of him. You timidly shake your head, yet your stomach growls audibly in the large dining hall

"Perhaps you'd be more in the mood for wine and cheese?" the demon snaps and the feast before you changes to a decadent cheese plate with crackers and dried meats abound. "Or would my royal prize prefer dessert?" Another snap and the table becomes stacked with cakes, pies and pastries alongside jugs filled with custards and creams, all so sweetly mouth watering The look of disbelief doesn't leave your face. Your stomach growls louder, more painfully as your owner laughs

"Better not to ignore your hunger, my dear. It'll be much more pleasurable for you if you just. Eat."

The command rings through you and sends shivers down your spine, you want nothing more than to stuff your face with every dessert in sight. Your hands reach forward greedily and you begin to eat your fill as your Lord looks on, almost lovingly at you

"So good, so obedient, I'm going to like you a lot," he stands and gently makes his way all around the table to your side, his towering form standing behind you, gently rubbing your now slightly pudgy shoulders. "I'll spoil you so much, feast after feast, night after night of pure pleasure to make you into the perfectly fattened up image of hedonism," his hands feels so good and warm on your soft skin as you gorge yourself. "Just think how demoralising it'll be for your kingdom, to see how easily their royal heir fell to demonic corruption... but I must say from a personal standpoint, I do just think you look so beautiful enjoying yourself like this. I'll have a bath ready for us after I think you're done here, there we can really relax and get to know each other, my dear. But for now, please keep eating. I told you you would grow to love it here."

[solarmorrigan]

The Phantom Menace (no, not that one)

For the @steddie-spooktober day 28 prompt: Mask Rated: T | Words: 1118 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Eddie Munson is a menace, Eddie Munson is whipped, Steve Harrington is a tease, for the good of everyone present at the Halloween party Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie is a menace.

And a goddamn pain in the ass.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t love him – Eddie is very lucky that Steve does love him, in fact, because Steve would otherwise have lost his patience about half an hour into this shit and ditched him to find his own ride home from the Halloween party.

And Steve had even liked Eddie’s choice of costume at first. He’ll admit that he hadn’t been super into Phantom of the Opera when they’d watched it—a little too theatrical to really be up Steve’s alley—but he’d definitely seen the appeal in Eddie’s Phantom costume.

The waistcoat he’d thrifted had been a hell of a find; it fits him almost perfectly. He’d sewn a cloak that he’d had entirely too much fun twirling around in when he’d finished it. The white half mask had given him an alluring air of mystery, and with his hair tied back? The whole thing had added up to a very attractive picture.

Until the night of the party, when Eddie had decided to be, as previously mentioned, a fucking menace.

He’s been fucking with people all night; nothing mean or destructive (Steve supposes they should all count themselves lucky that Eddie isn’t playing with fire), but irritating as shit. He’s jumping out from around corners and scaring people, he’s stealing things off the snack table and leaving them in weird places, he keeps changing the music from generic Halloween shit to opera (no one is sure how he’s doing this, since access to the Bluetooth speaker is being carefully guarded), he laughs maniacally every time someone expresses annoyance with his tricks, and he’s refusing to stop unless he’s paid 20,000 francs.

Robin offered him a dollar to stop tugging the back of her shirt and running away any time she turns her back to him; he’d argued that the offer was far too low, but had graciously accepted after she’d threatened to smother him with his own cloak.

The most annoying part, however, is that he absolutely refuses to answer to his name. Any time someone snaps out some variation of “Eddie, cut it the fuck out,” he dramatically asks “Eddie? Who is this Eddie? I am The Phantom!” before turning away, flourishing his cloak like Batman as he goes.

“You’re his boyfriend,” Robin insists, leaning up against the counter beside Steve; he’s been hiding in the kitchen for the last half hour, hoping no one will remember that he and Eddie had shown up together, “can’t you make him stop?”

“You think I have literally any control over him?” Steve asks. “He’s like a tornado; you just have to wait him out and hope insurance covers whatever damage he causes.”

Robin snorts. “Okay, but can’t you use, like, your wiles?”

Steve stares at her. “My what?”

“Your wiles. You know, be sexy at him, or whatever.” Robin wiggles her fingers vaguely in Steve’s direction. “That man is weak for you. I’m willing to bet he’ll do anything you ask if you flash your cleavage at him.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, hiding the way the shirt of his Indiana Jones costume is halfway unbuttoned, gaping open to reveal a decent (or maybe slightly indecent) amount of skin. “I do not have cleavage.”

“Whatever.” Robin rolls her eyes, then perks up at the sound of Eddie’s crazed chuckling coming close to the kitchen doorway. “Oh! Here he comes! Do it!”

“I’m not going to–”

“Do it,” Robin hisses, tugging on Steve’s arm until he comes away from the counter and giving him a shove in the direction of the doorway just as Eddie comes sweeping through.

Robin skirts around him, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then jabbing a single finger at Eddie, the universal sign for I’m watching you, as she goes by, and Eddie holds his hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to send one more look over her shoulder at Steve before she leaves, and, well – Steve guesses he might as well try it, before someone actually decides to murder Eddie.

“Hey, Phantom,” Steve says, approaching the kitchen island.

Eddie, halfway through ladling punch into a plastic cup, looks up at Steve and grins. “Hello, there.” His voice is deeper than usual, a dramatic affectation for his costume, and any other time, Steve would appreciate the sexy rasp; unfortunately, it’s currently attached to Eddie in full pest mode.

“So,” Steve drawls, leaning his forearms on the island, making sure to angle himself so his shirt falls open just a little bit farther, “I’ve been meaning to ask: I don’t suppose you’ve seen my boyfriend, Eddie, around, have you?”

It takes Eddie a moment to answer, his eyes glued to the span of skin and chest hair Steve’s putting on display. “Eddie?” he finally asks, gaze snapping back up to Steve’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.”

Steve hums, a little, disappointed noise. “That’s too bad,” he says, giving Eddie a bit of a pout. “See, I thought his costume was pretty hot tonight, and I thought maybe we could… y’know, slip away from everyone else, so I could show him just how much I liked it.”

Eddie swallows. “You don’t say,” he says, voice gone a little faint.

“Mm.” Steve sighs. “But since I can’t find him, and you haven’t seen him, I guess I just won’t–”

“Actually,” Eddie cuts in, almost frantically, “now that you mention it, I think I might have seen him.”

A slow smirk draws across Steve’s face. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods quickly. “Let me just– I’ll go see if I can find him for you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Steve says sweetly, leaning a little further onto the island (he does not, whatever Robin says, have cleavage, but if the move pushes his pecs up just a bit more, well – that’s just a bonus).

Eddie turns away, entirely forgetting to flourish his cloak, and ducks out through the kitchen doorway.

He reappears moments later, his white half-mask in hand, one side of his face still a little red and sweaty from where it’s been resting all night.

“Steve!” he exclaims, arms thrown wide. “I haven’t seen you all night! But, uh, someone told me that you’ve been looking for me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, coming around from behind the island; committed to the bit to the bitter end, that’s Eddie.

Somehow, Steve wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Someone was right,” Steve says, hooking a finger beneath Eddie’s bowtie and tugging him closer, leaning in to meet his lips in a deep kiss.

The Phantom doesn’t make an appearance for the rest of the night.

[c0mbatchameleon]

@jegulus-microfic April 21st, prompt: run, words: 1160, nsfw

aka regulus comes until he cries? that’s basically it yeah (+t4t jeg)

He shouldn’t cry.

It’s what Regulus has heard since—well, as early as he can remember. Crying is a vulnerability he can’t afford, a sign of weakness, and the Black family are anything but weak. Don’t be a baby, they’d say—to the literal fucking baby.

The last time Regulus cried was when he was 7 years old, he thinks—his mother certainly made sure he never did it again. And even long after he left that house behind, left his family and everything they stand for, found a new family, found a new home and new self unrestrained by hatred and abuse, transitioned, finally became comfortable with himself, his identity—after all of it, this is what he’s held onto. The belief that he shouldnt cry.

At least, it was what he held onto.

Now, as Regulus finds himself bent over the kitchen counter, nails dragging down the cool granite that he’s pressed flush against, he’s beginning to think crying isn’t so bad after all.

The tears started falling after his second consecutive orgasm, streaming freely down his face as he convulsed around James’ strap. James only slowed his thrusts to something deep and drawn out as he leaned forward and cooed, “That’s it baby, let it out,” hot breath cascading down Regulus’s ear and neck, hand stroking his hair gently. Languid kisses pressed down his neck and shoulder as he twitched and softly gasped in overstimulation.

He barely got a chance to catch his breath before—

“How ‘bout one more for me, yeah?” And just like that, James was drawing out and ramming back into him with a brutal pace. Regulus let out a choked gasp as his vision whited out, back arching, legs shaking. All he could respond was a tear-streaked string of oh fuck oh fuck oh fu—ah—please as James continued chanting soft praise and encouragement, railing him into a new fucking plane of existence.

That leaves him here, hurtling head first towards a third orgasm and choking on intermittent sobs and moans in rhythm with James’ thrusts. Each one is hitting that spot that sends a line of white-hot electricity up his navel, fraying his nerves until his entire body feels like an exposed wire. His hands grab for purchase on the countertop, unsuccessfully, as he tries to drag himself up, away, anywhere to put distance between himself and the onslaught of pleasure-pain that’s spreading like a fire across his whole body.

But James only digs his hand into Regulus’ curls and pulls, the other wrapped around the front of him so Regulus’ cock grinds into it with each movement of their hips. “Where are you trying to run off to, love?” he teases as his grip tightens and holds Regulus in place.

“Oh fuck— I can’t—“ Regulus’ own moan cuts him off, loud and lacking shame. “S’too much,” he whines.

“But you love it, don’t you?” Soft lips trace up behind his ear. “You don’t want me to stop, love, do you?” Regulus’ eyes roll back into his head. The hand presses down further on his cock and another sob escapes him. “C’mon, tell me how much you love it when I take you apart like this,” James coaxes, pulling him up further by his hair so that he has to balance on his forearms, his head falling back.

And, here, in this state of over-saturated, pure white static bliss where Regulus can barely distinguish reality, the world around him, anything other than James’ hands and James’ lips and James’ sweet-honey voice and James and James and James, the only thought he can form amidst the haze is the one James has supplied for him so graciously, so giving as always: that he loves it.

You love it, don’t you?

And Regulus does.

He loves having his walls taken down, brick by brick until he’s bare, surrendered to pleasure and to release. God, he fucking loves this release. The kind he never allowed himself before, the way it washes over his whole body and builds up like a dam, the way it flows in and out of him, completely open, running rivers down his face and sending shocks out from his core, chest heaving, bones melting, transcending his own body and yet more grounded in it than he’s ever been. He’s nothing but skin and shaking muscle and neuron and nerve ending and pure, unfiltered feeling, and, yes, he loves it. So, he does what he’s told and voices it, let’s it flow out of him like the rest of the dam, frantic and breathless.

“I love it, I—ah—oh—I love it, I love it I love it I—fuck—“

“That’s good, that’s right, fuck, you’re doing so well, baby. You look so pretty when you cry like this” James praises, breathless now, tone soaked in awe and pure adoration as he watches Regulus repeat the phrase like a mantra, an oath, a prayer, the words melting together to the point of near incoherence: I love it I love it Iloveitloveitloveitloveloveitloveit.

“That’s it, I know, baby,” he tugs on Regulus’ curls again, pulling him up against his chest. The new angle makes his cock drive deeper into Regulus, drawing a strangled moan out between his quick, gasping breaths. “Why don’t you show me how much?”

His fingers move in quick circles on Regulus’ cock, other arm wrapping around his shoulders to hold him up. “C’mon, let go for me one more time, Star.”

The simple order is all it takes. When Regulus comes, it’s with stars behind his eyes and tears flowing freely and a scream tearing through him, head hanging back on James’ shoulder, back bowed, clenching down on silicone as shudders rack through his body in waves. James works him through it with a slew of there you go and so good for me and so perfect and show me how good it feels, baby, that’s it.

He collapses back onto James, boneless, and breathes. Shakily. James squeezes him tight. All that concentrated flame has simmered and spread out into something soft and warm and buzzing all throughout his body. A small whimper escapes at the feeling of James pulling out, his core still throbbing around nothing.

James scoops him up easily, laying him down gently on the couch in the next room, and kneels down to cradle his face with his hands.

“Okay?” he asks softly, kissing Regulus’ forehead.

Regulus keeps his eyes closed and smiles in delirious dream-state bliss, just barely aware that he’s still sniffling. “Love it,” he mumbles, and James snorts as his thumbs swipe back and forth under his eyes. His head is still cloudy, his body floating somewhere with it. “Love you,” he adds dazedly.

“Always so sweet after you come,” James remarks. “Think if I get you to five next time you’d propose to me after?”

If Regulus had the energy, he’d roll his eyes. Instead, he reaches out and runs his hand through James’ hair, down the back of his neck, along the scars on his chest, down his arm where he grabs his hand and pulls it into his own chest, body curling around it like he’s hoarding it. James doesn’t seem to mind. “We’re already married, James,” Regulus mumbles. “I literally proposed.”

James chuckles softly, fondly. “I love you, too, Star.”

[iridescana]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚...𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡

.☘︎ ݁˖ 𝐬𝐲𝐧. 𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦'𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 ᥫ᭡. 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭. 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 ༯ 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑫𝑵𝑰

...word count: 1.1k

...note from irene: don't ask.

nanami kento rests languidly on the edge of the bed, your back in his view as he graciously takes the mantle of an attentive husband.

“i literally can’t with you. you’re a natural at this stuff,” you huff, somewhere between a vent and a bout of praise that he found endearing nonetheless. he raises an eyebrow, albeit dazed by the hypnotic show of you being able to reach your own zipper - who’s a natural at what? you, who resumes your tirade with an obliviousness towards his wandering eyes, is a natural at enchanting him. your hair was blown out, almost reaching your shoulders in cloudy tufts - that had been the last mission of tonight, a hairstyle more laborious than the act of lifting weights. “you can easily get away with being stand-offish, which…i’m not saying you are but…”

he releases a soft chuckle, adjusting his cufflinks, “now, humor me for a second, my love. when have you ever seen me get defensive?” 

“huh?” you tilt your head in confusion eyeing him expectantly through your reflection as you secure your earring. 

“you don’t need to worry about insulting me, darling. i can take it. if you think i’m stand-offish, just say it.”

you briefly turn to face him, bestowing a histrionic look of indignation. “i wasn’t saying that! okay—” you raise your hands in surrender, “you are quite stoic. does that do you justice?”

he offers a hum, one of satisfaction, an invitation for you to continue to the point you had intended to make. and you do just that, bending over the vanity to apply your lip gloss as kento’s attention blithely averts to the curve of your ass. “so, yes. you could get away with what will earn me, at best, some auntie in the corner asking me if i’m okay like…please! i’m fine! i just wanna be left alone!” 

he chuckles along with you again, silently basking in your mirthful exchange… until he notices it. within seconds. the brief drag of hesitation as you began working on your hair. your makeshift puff remains put, arms raised for your hands to take the temporary role of a hair tie and…

…oh dear.

you were staring at your underarms again. in acute disdain. 

he needn’t say a word - this conundrum was as foreign to him as a blue sky. but you’ve only complained about it once, a main focus on the fruitlessness of your spending. all these regimens, remedies and receipts the length of the great wall of china for them to still be there - sizable splotches of pigmentation that you just can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how hard you try.

once, you’ve verbally lamented. 

but more than once, you’d been reluctant to don anything without sleeves, participate in anything remotely related to summer - and if you did, not lifting your arms was the war you were prepared to die in. and tonight, well, you’d had the misfortune of learning life’s indifference. the thin straps of your silky, cream white dress were well in torturing you with a reminder.

a click of the tongue bounces off the walls of your bedroom, and kento tries to think less about how your beauty terrifies him, opting to soothe you with his adeptness in subtlety. 

“darling,” he begins, standing to walk towards you, “i think you should wear your hair down.”

“hm, i think so too,” you smile warmly at him through your reflection, conducting his suggestion by letting go of your hair and instead opting to comb it out, “let’s just hope it doesn’t rain tonight. i honestly don’t get the appeal of outdoor parties.”

all that follows is a soft hum, one of admiration. truly, you are an angel sent from heaven. more than just the angelic glow of your skin under the vanity light, your smile - your soul - can account for that. he watches you, deftly pulling at your coils to maintain the perfect shape - watching you fruitlessly strive to perfect the one thing that has always been just that. you. perfect.

“what?” you meekly acknowledge his stare with a shy smile, halting your movements. 

“my love,” he drags, moving close enough for his hands to reach your hips. your attention moves away from your hair, prompting you to put your comb down and heed the sensation of his chest meeting your back. kento’s hands are calculated, a dexterous trace of your curves striving for a different kind of tenor - a lead from one thing to a delectable other. he moves his lips towards your ear, hazel eyes meeting yours through the mirror in a wordless declaration of unabashed desire. “you know that every inch of you is perfect, right?”

you shiver, at your best to conceal your want to reciprocate by scoffing playfully, “fancy, i’ve never pegged you for the corny type.” 

“i mean it,” he rejoins, ignoring your jest, softly kissing the shell of your ear before he performs the unexpected, a hand moving to gently grab your wrist, lifting your arm up above your head. “every…inch.”

oh. 

he really means it.

heat rises to your cheeks, noting how observant he had been towards your behavior earlier - this wasn’t new to you. you could stain a white shirt with pasta sauce and he’d counter your dismay by saying that it should’ve been there when you first bought it. he’d praise any part of you from head to toe. that realization had been made many moons ago. now, as all attention falls upon your exposed underarm, you forgo the need to protest, keeping your arm raised and resting your hand on the back of your husband’s head, fingertips blissfully pricked by the sharpness of his undercut. 

“mmm…every inch, you say?” you murmur with feigned cynicism, a grin rising as Kento’s hand gently slides down the tricep of your raised arm. 

“mhm…every…inch” your heartbeat is the toms of an acoustic drum set, as he reaches your underarm, lightly grazing the skin with his fingertips, prompting you to shiver at the ticklish sensation. “god, you’re breathtaking…”

he breathes it out like it’s the first time, and the sight before you is…sinful? a burlesque plays out in your reflection, a hand sensually caressing your hip whilst the other continues to draw reverent patterns on the area you’ve detested for eons. your husband, so fucking handsome, buries his face in crook of your neck, inspiring every last bit of your scent, and you still can’t help but huff in amusement, “hm, my black armpits were the ones to bring you to that revelation?”

“you amuse me, my love,” is the muffled, half dismissal towards your counter, followed by a kiss on your neck, “now, let me enjoy you.”

you giggle softly, meek at how your husband's brief praise towards your underarm has ever so slightly titillated you, “we’re gonna be late, you know…”

he perks up, privy to the suggestion you so dared to make, “if memory serves me correctly, it’s you who fails to see the appeal in these outdoor parties.”

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | vi.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

An eternity seems to fly by as you wait for Coriolanus to do what you’re too terrified to do on your own. During the agonizing minutes, you picture William’s face. The confusion, the hurt. Tears skip down your cheeks as you curl over the blankets, knees against your chest.

Hopefully your reckless actions haven’t ruined what you two have. Maybe one day, you’ll even jest about it, the pre-wedding jitters that caused you to hide for a week.

It’s the meager hope you cling onto as the soft tap on the door draws you from your thoughts.

Coriolanus nudges the door open, a silver tray between his hands. A matching porcelain kettle and cup sit on the tray.

The mattress sinks as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing the steaming teapot at your bedside. Your gaze drags over the colorful roses painted on the porcelain set. 

Tearful eyes rising to his face, you ask “H-How did it go?”

His long fingers drape over your cheek, wiping your tears as he smiles down at you. “Everything’s alright.” His deep soothing voice brings you comfort as it rolls over you. “Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, just like I promised you.” He collects the tea cup from the tray. The steam rising from it caresses your face.

“It’s my own personal blend of chamomile, peppermint and lavender, for your nerves.”

“I don’t need that.”

Concern sways in Coryo’s blue orbs, his thumb collecting another stray tear.

“You had an emotional day. It’ll help you sleep, trust me.”

You don’t reply, laying the side of your face against the pillow. Do you even deserve to sleep soundly after causing the people in your life so much unnecessary distress?

Maybe this is what you deserve, unending nights wrestling with your own mind while you drown in a river of your own tears. After all, if you hadn’t overindulged in alcohol that night, you wouldn’t be here. You still remember the way Coryo described it. Were you truly that desperate to bury Sejanus’ memory, to forget?

Coriolanus strokes the crown of your head.

“I just want you to get one good night of rest. You need it. Do you really want to spend the entire night torturing yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong?”

For a while, silence hangs between the two of you, Coriolanus letting you weep as he patiently cups your face. The aromatic scents of the herbs he mixed in the tea tickle your nose. You have to admit, it smells heavenly. Like peace. The thing you’re craving most at this very moment. For your thoughts and emotions to fall silent, allowing you to drift into a dreamless slumber.

So you surrender.

You sit up and graciously accept the cup Coryo offers you. As soon as the first few drops of the warm liquid coat your tongue, a heady, pleasant feeling swaddles your mind. It makes your body feel heavy, pleasant warm tingles swirling over your flesh.

“I’m starting to feel…”

Coryo’s beaming face starts blurring in your line of sight. Your grip on the cup weakens. He assists you in holding it, tipping the rim against your lips so you gulp another sip.

“Drink more. All of it.” You heed his instruction. The drowsiness grows tenfold. Your lids sag. Your body slumps over the pillows. You feel the soft brush of Coriolanus’s lips on your forehead. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

You awake from the best sleep you’ve had in literal weeks, a wide smile stretching over your lips as you unfurl from the sheets.

Unlike the nights before, you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, crying or tossing and turning in bed.

You pivot to the sun rays spilling from between the curtains. You bask in the rejuvenating warmth kissing your skin. For a while, you stay like that, in awe that your mind isn’t crowded with anxious thoughts. Instead, you’re calm, rested, your head light as feathers. Even your grief is a faint noise when it’s usually so loud, its uproarious presence twisting your heart first thing most mornings. 

It’s a newfound serenity you haven’t known in many weeks.

Even the bone-deep ache sitting in your limbs cannot cast a pale on the day. As you step in the rose-scented bath that’s been drawn for you, the soreness lingers. You grimace a little.

Perhaps you slept so heavily, your entire body is tense from it.

But as you lie back and let the hot water work its magic, the pain starts to fade. You let the strange sensation melt away, smiling once more.

You enjoy your bath. A bright, wonderful day awaits you.

When you’re done, you put on one of your favorite day dresses and hop down the stairs.

You find the entire Snow clan having breakfast in the dining room.

Coriolanus peeks from above the morning paper, his face brightening as his gaze flicks over you.

As you approach the empty chair near Grandma’am, Coriolanus rises and pulls it for you.

“Good morning,” you chime while plopping into your seat.

Tigris beams at you. “Good morning. I see someone’s feeling better.”

You tuck your hands into your lap as a maid places a scrumptious plate of eggs and meat in front of you. Your stomach growls at the sight and you pick up your fork, excited to dig into the food. You haven’t had a proper meal since you left Ma and Dad’s house.

Although, even that is a fuzzy memory, as you can’t remember the last time all of you sat down and had a proper breakfast as a family since Janus passed away.

It’s been too hard.

Shoving the fork into your mouth, you acquiesce, “Much better.” You hum as the flavors melt on your tongue.

The corner of Coriolanus’s lip quirk as he observes you. He returns to his seat and bends forward.

“I take it you’ve had a restful night, princess?”

“Yes, and I have you to thank for that. I don’t know what’s in that tea exactly but it works wonders.”

“I’ve had the opportunity to experiment with many natural remedies while working under Dr Gaul.” A glint dances in his blue eyes. “Some plants have the most…fascinating benefits.”

“I think I’ll take some with me home, if you don’t mind. Not just for me but Ma has struggled with sleep ever since…”

Your voice dwindles as an abrupt wave of sadness passes over you.

Tigris grabs your hand and squeezes it across the table.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Coriolanus nods in agreement. “She’s right. Take it one day at a time, princess.”

You ponder what he just said. You are feeling markedly better today, but you loathe thinking about your mom and dad alone.

You swallow a wide lungful.

“Maybe I should go back home tomorrow.”

Coriolanus’ gaze narrows, his smile vanishing momentarily before sliding back into place.

“This early? Shouldn’t you rest a bit more first? It’s clear that you need it.” He studies you for a long time. “You can’t be here for others when you aren’t healed yourself.” You shudder. Sometimes the blond seems to possess the uncanny ability to peer right inside your head. He reaches over the table to place his hand over yours. “Don’t rush it. Like I told you before, our home is your home.”

You don’t find it in yourself to argue, Coriolanus’ gentle yet firm grip on your hand and his smile chasing away your doubts.

“O-Okay.”

Satisfaction glimmers in his gaze at your response.

As Coryo advises, you remain with his family a little while longer. Everyday, he finds gentle words to convince you to extend your stay. It doesn’t take much for you to believe him as you trust him fully, his caring demeanor reminding you of your brother. If Coryo thinks you need a bit more time, he must be right. He only wants what’s best for you.

So a few days turn into a week, which eventually becomes two weeks. Surprisingly, you and the Snows’ daily routines twine with ease. In the morning, you have breakfast together in the dining room. Then you tend to the roses with Grandma’am while she hums songs to herself, an endearing habit you’ve grown quite fond of.

And you usually spend the rest of the day with Tigris, chatting or playing board games, or on your own, reading most of the time. Coriolanus’ library is massive enough to rival the one you have at home. You never run out of things to do in the gigantic penthouse, even sometimes cleaning and cooking to pass the time, efforts Coriolanus never fails to praise you for.

Whenever he returns home to a spotless house or one of your delicious meals, his blue eyes light up with happiness.

And of course, at night, Coryo talks to you in your bed while you dutifully drink your tea, regaling you with stories about his apprenticeship and the University. Most of the time, you never get to learn how they end because you fall asleep.

Thanks to Coriolanus’ herbal mixture, your sleeping schedule is back to relative normalcy. The only downsides are the tea’s peculiar side effects, as near everyday you wake up sore and aching. But the slight inconvenience is minor compared to the benefits you’ve experienced.

All is good and well until one day glimpses of lost memories flash in your brain.

You’re starting to remember the night of Clemensia’s party.

It first happens as you’re gardening with Grandma’am. You’re watering one of the rose bushes when something rushes back to you, something so vivid the watering can in your hand clatters to the ground.

You stumble back, your breaths quickening. Placing a hand between your shoulder blades, Grandma’am helps you find your way to a nearby bench. You collapse atop the bench, your mind whirling.

Her wrinkled features crease in concern.

“Are you alright, sweet girl? Should we call a doctor?”

“I’m fine, grandma’am. Just got dizzy for a bit.”

You smile, hating that you just lied to the older woman. You’re not fine. You’re starting to remember things, things that don’t match up, make no sense.

Terrible things.

I knew you’d feel just perfect around me.

Chills bounce across your spine. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the bench as your breath flows back to your lungs.

You come to a decision. 

You need to talk to Coriolanus. 

Your brows squeeze together in frustration as the balding man checks your pulse and shines a light in your eyes again. It’s the third time tonight. Coriolanus insisted upon it.

“I told you there was no need for a physician, Coryo.”

“Grandma’am said you almost passed out,” the blonde retaliates.

You heave out a deep exhale as you glance at Tigris and Grandma’am standing nervously by the wall. They’re wearing the same concerned expression. 

You wished Grandma’am hadn’t made such a big deal of your little moment in the garden. You feel fine…well, physically at least.

You flash a feeble smile at Coriolanus.

“I didn’t…it was just a dizzy spell. Nothing honestly.”

Brows knitting, he turns to the bespectacled older man at his side.

“Doctor?”

As the man nearly approaches you again, you shoot him a warning glare. You refuse to be poked and prodded once more. Lifting his hands, the man falls back.

He adjusts the stethoscope around his neck.

“I see nothing wrong,” he says. Your shoulders sag in relief. “Still, I’d recommend that your wife takes it easy, sir.”

His words make every hair on your skin stand on end.

“I’m not his wife,” you snap.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks. 

He turns to the others and instructs, “Everyone, leave us alone.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation on Tigris’ face. She lingers at your doorstep after Grandma’am and the doctor take their leave.

“Are you really sure that you’re okay?” she asks.

You purse your lips. “I’d feel better if everyone stopped fussing over me.”

She nods before leaving as well.

As soon as the door to your bedroom closes, Coriolanus sinks to one knee in front of you. He takes your hands in his, his thumbs brushing circles into your skin.

His cobalt eyes are wide and worried.

“Is something wrong?”

Your stomach knots. “Coriolanus…”

“Yes?”

You draw your hands back, placing them on your lap. His gaze tracks the tiny motion and he squints. 

“That night…” You lick your lips, nerves flaring as your fingers bounce. Just these two words have Coriolanus’ attention on you sharpen in a way that turns your blood to ice. Still you gather your courage and continue, “Did I say no at any point, tried to…stop it? Did…Did you, Coryo?”

The moment your doubts are uttered aloud, you loathe yourself. It’s an awful thing to even suggest. But you can't shake the feeling that there is something Coriolanus isn’t telling you. 

And maybe you always felt that way, like something isn’t quite right, but you craved so badly to have a piece of your brother near that you ignored the glaring signs. 

Shock paints Coriolanus’ handsome face.

“What? I already told you everything that happened, that I was drunk, we both were.”

You peer at Coriolanus. It hurts. So goddamn much. A knife twisting in your chest, again and again. Especially that look of utter betrayal on his face. You don’t want to casually toss those kinds of accusations at your friend. 

But your mind…

It’s bursting at the seams, moments you’re beginning to recall seeping through the cracks. You can’t ignore that. Not the sick echo of Coriolanus’ lustful tone. Not the terrifying glint swaying in his blue eyes. Not the way he panted and grunted above you as you told him to stop. Or at least you think you told him?

You’re not even sure. You’re torn. Coriolanus wouldn’t do that…right? Someone you trust. Someone Sejanus trusted…with you.

Tears swell in your eyes, threatening to break past the confine of your lashes.

Anger flashes in Coriolanus’ eyes. “Really?” he scoffs, bolting to his feet. “You don’t trust me?”

He blurs in your tear-stained vision, distorting to hazy colors you don’t recognize anymore.

“Coryo…” you sob.

He hunkers in front of you again. The anger vanishes, making space for disappointment and sadness.

He cradles your face, his tone softening.

“I would never hurt you,” he mumbles. “How could you even imply…after everything I’ve done for you.”

A shaky breath flutters through your lips. You search Coriolanus’ face, hoping to find something. A truth, an emotion, a lie. Anything, really. Any proof that you’re not crazy, that your mind isn’t just spinning wild stories out of thin air.

Nothing comes up. Coriolanus’ face is a perfect mask of genuine concern and sincerity, right down to his glistening gaze. Doubts even begin to creep inside you beneath his intense stare. 

But the longer you look into his eyes, the more unnerved you grow. 

Something is off. No one can convince you otherwise. Not anymore.

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

“I-I think I need to go home now, Coriolanus.”

You don’t want to be here anymore, in this house you don’t know, with this man…you’re beginning to realize you don’t know either.

You want to be back home, your real home. You crave the safety of your own bed, of Ma’s warm embrace, of the familiar walls of your childhood home.

Instead of acknowledging what you just said, Coriolanus flashes you a bright grin.

“We can discuss it tomorrow.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you. You frown.

“But Coryo-”

He leans to place a tender kiss on your forehead and you freeze. Every cell in your body longs to flinch away from him but gut-gripping fear keeps you in your spot.

“Tomorrow, princess,” he whispers. He fondles your cheek. You can’t tamp down your shudder. Coriolanus’ brow pinches as he gets to his feet. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed.”

Coriolanus heads for the door. 

“Sweet dreams,” he coos, smiling. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

When the door slams shut, a sound you never heard before echoes from outside. The sound of a key slotting and turning inside a lock. The kind of sound suggesting you’re now trapped in the room.

Your gut sinks.

You find yourself wondering; will tomorrow ever come?

[hyvyinjie]

CHANCE.

TW! implications of death.

bittersweet! melancholic

t. muichiro x f. reader

graciously requested by @muuumuiiii ! thank you so much for requesting, you sweet lovely lad<3

who would have anticipated it? the mist hashira, of all individuals, displaying a concern that surpassed anyone else's for you—the spirit pillar; a warrior whose technique came at the steep cost of a gradual erosion of your life.

THE MOON; THE BRIGHTEST PEARL SUSPENDED IN OUR VELVET SKY THAT FLOODED THE INKY DARKNESS WITH ITS SILVER GLOW.

a radiant disc it was. casting its ethereal glow upon the shadows of the night, while also heralding the relentless onslaught of a few infamous entities—demons.

a symbol of hope, this pale sentinel embodied a goddess-like presence, standing as a timeless guardian, observing the earth with an unwavering gaze as warriors valiantly battled the monstrous creatures scattered throughout.

above, the luminous orb commanded the vast expanse of stars, illuminating them all. yet, even in this peaceful night, two particular slayers found themselves immersed in the serenity, although one seemed burdened by a more pressing concern, far beyond the tranquility itself.

in a world where such creatures roamed, the perfect harmony would remain elusive.

thus, what purpose did survival serve if death constantly loomed, a persistent visitor at one's very doorstep?

well, the purpose of life is to be happy. or at least, that's what this young man believed.

said boy possessed an acute understanding of this belief, as if it had become ingrained in the very fabric of his being—an awareness that, perhaps, bordered on the excessive.

the sheer ecstasy of savoring every moment of existence, embracing its essence in its entirety, was undeniably a remarkable achievement—a feat that deserved to be celebrated with fervor.

thus, he found himself utterly incapable of comprehending—indeed, he never had—how she could nonchalantly dismiss the imminent cessation of her own existence, as if it were a trifling matter. the weight of her disregard for her own life gnawed at him, like a persistent ache that defied understanding.

..then again, had he been any different?

"—and…now you’re spacing out, again.”

ah, the sound of that melodious voice; both longed for and dreaded, resonated within him and snapped him out of his reverie. even though he had incessantly poured out his thoughts to her since he awakened from his coma, with her faithfully by his side, deep in slumber—despite her own exhaustion—she had remained.

as your words echoed in his ears, he shifted his gaze to meet your own—and oh, those eyes.

he would give anything to forever witness his own reflection in the depths of your eyes.

in a mesmerizing dance, your gazes intertwined; an exquisite tapestry woven with delicate threads of connection.

he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnificence of your irises—their majesty akin to rare crystalline treasures, gleaming beneath the majestic canopy of the nocturnal sky.

as a gentle zephyr whispered sweet nothings, its delicate touch caressed their beings, a tender embrace from the invisible hands of nature. he watched, his eyelids descending to a half-closed state, surrendering to the enchanting symphony of the night.

the breeze, like a playful sprite, felt as if it alone, could carry away his worries and sorrows, dispersing them into the velvety darkness.

yet, amidst this reposeful tranquility, a question lingered in the depths of his soul, an enigma that remained elusive and enigmatic.

it was one of the few riddles that continued to elude his grasp, an enigmatic puzzle that defied comprehension, regardless of whether he had regained his former self or not.

why, he pondered ever so deeply, did your well-being hold such profound significance to him?

why did his heart ache with an inexplicable yearning to protect you, to ensure the radiance within you remained untouched by the shadows of the world? it was as if his very purpose revolved around safeguarding your light, shielding it from the encroaching darkness threatening to dim its brilliance.

no, he never intended to diminish your worth in any way.

on the contrary—he understood, with a profound certainty, that you’re fully capable of caring for yourself alone.

yet, despite his awareness, a veil of mystery draped over his consciousness—that of a delicate wisp of mist teasing the boundaries of his understanding. it remained tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of his reach, an enigma that eluded his grasp.

similarly elusive was the faint, almost imperceptible yet weighty pang in his heart each time his gaze flickered to your bandages that dressed your wounds.

he struggled to fathom its origins, to decipher the emotions that coursed through him with every glance. was it concern, fear, or something different altogether?

of course, he chastised himself for overreacting. after all, you were healing, weren't you?

...right?

at least, that was the relentless mantra he repeated to himself, like a haunting melody, a lullaby of self-deception.

perhaps it was a lie he constructed, a defense mechanism to shield himself from the harsh reality. deep down, he knew all too well that you were pushing yourself to the brink, sacrificing fragments of your own well-being to save countless others from the clutches of death.

how he yearned to tell you—to implore you—to cease using the very essence that slowly, yet inexorably, eroded your own vitality. the desire to shield you from the self-inflicted harm, consumed him.

yet, who was he to stand in your way?

who was he to dictate how you should pursue your purpose—your solemn vow? who had the right to demand that you discard the only technique you knew, as if acquiring a new skill were a trivial matter?

perhaps, for you, it had maybe once been a tangible option—a plausible alternative.

however, it clashed with the very reason why you chose to persist in wielding the power of spirit breathing, despite its unfortunate and devastating toll on your own being.

it was a conundrum that weighed heavily upon his soul, yet another conflict that tugged at the frayed edges of his limited understanding.

then, abruptly—his consciousness snapped back to reality, like a fragile dream shattered by the gentle sweep of a waving hand.

in that instant, the symphony of your voice, a sweet and melodious tune, graced his senses once more, stirring his spirit from its slumber.

"hello? earth to tokito?"

your words danced in the air, adorned with a delicate blend of amusement and genuine concern—whilst he, silently observed your actions. his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment, as if capturing the essence of your graceful movements.

soon enough, his eyes blinked, like a dormant star awakening to illuminate the night sky, as he finally stirred from his reverie.

with a subtle tilt of his head, he emitted a soft hum—a melodic expression that intertwined intrigue and acknowledgment in response to your beckoning. the notes of his hum danced through the air, a secretive melody that conveyed both his curiosity and the recognition of your presence.

meanwhile, you watched him with an internal sigh of relief.

the young man, whom you had believed to be forever lost in the bewitching realm of his perpetual daydreams, had returned to the realm of the present. the transformation within him, from introspective to effervescent, had you spellbound, never failing to leave you even in but a speck of awe, of these rare moments of clarity that graced his being.

"seems like someone's finally awake."

a faint smile blossoming upon your lips, akin to the first delicate bloom of a spring flower. lowering your hand with graceful grace,

you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position beside him on the edge of the engawa outside the butterfly manor—a perch where you and him had been leisurely spending time together, without a care in the world, rambling on about. relishing in the comfort in one another’s presence—like a normal pair of souls basking in the way of life.

"you’ve been staring at me for quite a while.”

pausing for a breath, you tilted your head—the radiance of your irises blooming with an enchanting glow, as if the secrets of the universe were hidden within their depths.

"what's wrong?"

in the midst of an enchanting moment, a subtle hint of wounded innocence played across your seductive countenance, evoking a mysterious allure.

"do i look that bad?"

your voice, though as mellow and gentle as always, carried an underlying touch of vulnerability.

in an instant, he reacted, tilting his head with a subtle mixture of surprise and denial.

"what? no."

aa he blinked, his words slipped out absent-mindedly, like a whisper from a dreamer's lips.

"far from it, actually."

he confessed, his sincerity palpable.

with a gaze that held a painter's eye for detail, he saw your flaws not as imperfections, but as intricate brush strokes that added depth to the masterpiece of your being. inexplicably, he adored you, to the point where it practically pained him.

and who could blame him? for you were way more than a mere beauty that could be captured in words. you were a tapestry of emotions, a symphony of sensations that defied description.

to him, you are everything.

your brows raised slightly, captivated by his ever-unpredictable nature. truly, like the wind, he embraced the freedom to wander in any direction he pleased.

reminiscent of an owl, you blinked a plenty amount of times, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his flattery. it seeped into the recesses of your heart, stirring a delicate blend of bashfulness and gratitude.

"then..."

unintentionally mimicking his gestures, as if dancing in synchrony with his spirit, you then asked, avidly yearning to explore the depths of his thoughts.

"mind sharing what's got you so..distant?"

although it was not deemed uncommon for him, of all individuals, to maintain a silent disposition, you possessed a deeper understanding—having witnessed something greater, something more.

despite the mere span of a few days, you stood as a crucial observer to the sudden shift in his demeanor. having been privy to a bewildering yet endearingly interactive side of the boy since his awakening, it became slightly disconcerting to witness him potentially regress into his characteristic, distant, and dazed state.

the memory of those extraordinary moments lingered, and it was disheartening to question whether they were mere illusions or if they held the promise of something genuine.

as of now, the male in question pressed his lips together, creating a slender line as his gaze wandered away from yours, as though searching for a brief respite from reality.

seeing this, you reassured him. carefully observing these subtle occurrences with your keen irises.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

responding with a weary shake of his head and a sigh escaping his lips, his gaze flickered back to you, and as his eyes connected with yours once more, a subtle softness overcame them.

truly breathtaking were his eyes. they possessed a hue reminiscent of emerald, yet they gleamed like the replesdent glow of the moon above.

however, what truly captured your attention was the way his brows furrowed just as the corner of his lips downturned, for internally—a cascade of emotions crashed upon him all at once. moreover, a despairing layer seemed to coat his eyes, a poignant sorrow that caught you off guard.

"i don't like it."

he stated firmly, his words hanging in the air, leaving you perplexed.

your head tilted slightly further, eyes widening as you regarded him with curiosity and intrigue.

in response, he raised a hand to the area where his heart resided, his gaze lowering and narrowing towards the ground beneath you both.

"this feeling..."

his voice carried a weight of uncertainty, gaze delicately shifted back to meet yours—and in that moment, you could have sworn you saw his frown deepen as the hint of sorrow on his features became even more pronounced.

"and knowing you could..."

he trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete his sentence. yet, the unfinished words were enough for you to grasp the essence of his meaning.

your brows upturned, sensing the profound depth of emotions he struggled to express fully through words. you had a hunch that it might be something like this, but witnessing his reaction with such intensity was, without a doubt, enough to evoke a painful ache in anyone's heart.

the desire to comfort him welled up within you, an overwhelming longing to ease his burdens. yet, you couldn't help but question how you could possibly offer reassurance.

would it be by telling a blatant lie about something that was inevitable?

now, that would be nothing short of cruelty, no?

to suggest that you would overcome it would only exacerbate the pain. moreover, you were uncertain how to approach the situation without inadvertently triggering a devastating chain of events in the unavoidable future.

truth be told, if he were anyone else, you might have dismissed the matter with a casual remark, wouldn't you?

but with him, it was different.

you couldn't bring yourself to say so.

unable to find the right words in that moment, your gaze somberly shifted away from his, fixating on a distant point ahead. yet, in a sudden and unexpected instant, you were taken aback as you felt the weight of something new but vaguely familiar resting upon your shoulder—soft strands of supple hair gently brushing against you. along with it came a delicate warmth, enveloping you in an oddly soothing sensation.

"you don't have to say anything."

he quietly uttered, his honeyed voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and reassurance. he simply needed to release his thoughts into the open, to let them be heard, even if it was just a single sentence.

there had been no intention to pressurize or burden you, but rather a desire to be the one offering reassurance while subtly seeking comfort himself.

in a silent plea to convince himself that he wasn't caught in a dream, he gingerly leaned his head against your shoulder, and though was making sure not to add any more damage to your wounds, he did so without a hint of regret.

your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his actions. turning your attention back to him, you found solace in this unspoken gesture of support. that tender gesture conveyed a profound understanding, a connection that surpassed the boundaries of words. it was a silent reassurance; of ones comforting presence for the other, especially in the face of uncertainty.

a sentimental smile graced your features as you felt immense gratitude for his selfless deeds. even in this moment, he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, going above and beyond to provide solace. the warmth of his actions filled you with a deep sense of appreciation and reinforced the unmatched bond between you.

"..thank you,"

you whispered in a hushed breath, your voice carrying the weight of profound appreciation.

though the words seemed simple, they held within them an entire universe of gratitude—a universe that bloomed with vivid colors, dreamlike aspirations, and meaningful connections.

with a delicate grace, you lifted your hand and allowed your fingertips to dance upon the canvas of his raven tresses. each strand, like a silken thread, wove a tapestry of sensations beneath your touch.

the texture was soft and supple, akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. as your fingers glided through the ebony strands, you embarked on a journey of intricate care, smoothing out the knots that dared to disrupt the harmony.

in this intimate act, time seemed to suspend, creating a space where the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a transcendent moment. your touch, as mindful as the brushstrokes of an artist, traced a path of tenderness and care. each movement held intention, a pledge to protect and cherish him, ensuring no harm would befall his vulnerable spirit.

It was a silent symphony, where the language of trust and gratitude flowed effortlessly through the whispers of your fingertips.

as you continued this tender ministration, a vibrant tapestry of emotions unfurled within the depths of your heart. gratitude, like a delicate fragrance, mingled with a sense of wonder, weaving a spellbinding combination.

the tenderness you shared painted a tableau, akin to a cherished memory, where hues of warmth, understanding, and appreciation blended harmoniously.

pleased by your touch, a contented hum escaped your companion's lips, his eyes finding solace in the comfortable embrace of closed lids.

a smile, brimming with emotions, blossomed upon his visage, a testament to the profound impact of your presence.

his heart fluttered with a bittersweet ache, caught between the beauty of the present and the uncertainty of the future.

yet, even in the face of daunting odds, a glimmer of hope persisted within him. it discreetly clung to his being, refusing to be extinguished.

it was undeniably a childlike hope, both fragile and resilient; to yearn for the possibility of a miraculous turn of events.

still, muichiro wanted to embrace that chance, to patiently wait for the magic of a future with you.

[crushpunky]

rafe and kook!reader - a cabin in the woods

inspired by "when we are together" by the 1975, enjoy <3 part 1 | part 2 | part 3

When Kelce had mentioned a trip to his aunt and uncle’s farm, the boys had initially been hesitant. A cabin out in the middle of nowhere, no parties, barely any wifi, various farm animals, and no chicks? Hard pass. However, after a week of y/n spouting off all the various activities they could do (“Hiking! Come on, you guys love hiking!” “When have we ever gone on a hike?”), they all caved and packed into Rafe’s Jeep.

Y/n leaned out the window of the passenger seat, the wind blowing through her hair as she listened to the music playing softly on the radio, trying her best to drown out Topper and Kelce’s incessant snoring, before stifling a yawn.

“You’re really not going to go to sleep?” Rafe asked, tearing y/n’s heavy eyes away from the trees racing by them. The soft glow of the moonlight illuminated Rafe’s face, defining his cheekbones and his signature smirk.

“Then who would keep you company?” Y/n said with a grin, which caused Rafe to chuckle lightly. She rubbed her hands along her goosebump covered arms, the coolness of the night finally hitting her.

“Cold?” Rafe asked, his hand gripping the steering wheel loosely as he stole a glance her way. Y/n shrugged, resting her arm next to his on the center console. He elbowed her arm off teasingly before reaching behind her seat.

“Here.” Rafe handed her a crewneck of his he had ditched earlier in the day. She took it, sliding it on graciously. It smelled faintly of smoke and vanilla… it smelled uniquely of Rafe.

“Thanks.” Y/n said, smoothing the oversized sweatshirt along her body. Rafe glanced over at her, a smile tugging at his lips. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved seeing her in his clothes. He knew it was something friends did all the time, and he shouldn’t read into it, but it always made his heart skip a beat when she’d take one of his shirts or ask for a pair of sweatpants. It was such a simple act, yet it felt so intimate…

“So…” Rafe trailed off, his fingertips tapping on the steering wheel. Y/n look at him, her brows furrowed.

“So what, boy?” Y/n said with a chuckle, crossing her arms.

“How’ve you been?” Rafe said nonchalantly.

“‘How have I been’? Rafe, we hang out like every single day.” Y/n teased.

“I don’t know! I’m not allowed to ask?” Rafe grinned, raising his spare hand in mock surrender. Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes playfully.

“I’m good,” Y/n said, “but I’m going on a trip with these three weird boys though so—”

“‘Weird’? Ouch.” Rafe chuckled.

“Well, I like them… they’re pretty cool.” Y/n said with a smile. Rafe glanced over at her and couldn’t help but smile back. She loved his smile. Not the fake, practiced one he put on around his dad’s friends or whatever Kook chick was flirting with him at the party, his real smile. The one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples show.

“Well, I’m going on a trip with a weird girl… I like her too.” Rafe said soft enough to make y/n’s cheeks heat up. She knew he wasn’t trying to be so… irresistibly himself, but his voice and the way the moonlight was reflecting off his face made her stomach flutter.

“Turn into the driveway with the white mailbox.” Kelce said, causing y/n and Rafe to jump, both of them having assumed the boy was still snoring in the back with Topper.

“Jesus, Kelc!” Rafe swore, slamming on the brakes before whipping into the gravel driveway. Y/n grabbed the center console, steadying herself as the Jeep straightened out again.

“How long have you been awake?” Y/n asked, turning around to look at the two boys in the backseat.

“Since you called us weird.” Topper said, rubbing his eyes with a slight groan.

“Here, park next to the fence.” Kelce unbuckled his seatbelt, leaning between the front two seats to point out the window. Y/n turned back, following Kelce’s direction, her eyes landing on the cabin in front of them.

The tall wooden building sat in front of them, the roof almost rising above the trees surrounding it. Sconces adorned the log exterior, illuminating the stone foundation and sizable windows that looked into the cozy home. Along the right hand side, where Rafe put the car into park, a herd of cows gathered near the fenceline.

Y/n opened her door, her feet hitting the gravel harshly before she approached the cows’ curious faces. The animals stared back at her blankly, gnawing on grass.

“Don’t get too attached,” Rafe said, exiting the Jeep. “That’s our dinner for the week.”

“You’re the worst.” Y/n groaned as Topper came up behind her, shaking her shoulders playfully before patting one of the cows on the head.

“Is anyone planning on helping take in bags?” Kelce shouted from the back of the Jeep, his arms filled with various supplies for the week.

“No valet service here?” Rafe joked, grabbing his duffel from the back of the car. Y/n went to grab her bag, but before she could, Rafe picked it up and placed it under his other arm. Her eyes went to meet his, but he had already started off towards the door of the cabin without a second thought. She turned back to the trunk, grabbing an armful of groceries before scurrying to catch up with the boys as they filed into the house.

The interior of the cabin was as beautiful as the exterior. Wooden beams crossed the vaulted ceiling, skylights allowing beams of moonlight to bathe the cabin in a soft glow. A large, stone fireplace sat in the middle of the living room surrounded by couches and chairs. The kitchen sat behind the fireplace, an oversized dining table lined with chairs leading to the thoroughly stocked bar. The subtle scent of oak and cinnamon filled the cabin, mixing with the scent of Rafe that still lingered on the sweatshirt she had on. It was nearly enough to make her autumn-obsessed brain explode.

  “I need this as a candle.” Y/n said, chucking her shoes off before plopping into one of the chairs and inhaling deeply. She felt herself sink into the cushion, soaking in the beauty of the cabin.

“The bedrooms are upstairs,” Kelce said, wiping his shoes on the rug in the entryway. “There’s a set of twins in one, a queen, and a king in the master—”

Before he could even get the words out, the four of them bolted up the stairs, all racing to get to the largest bedroom first. Unfortunately for Topper, Rafe, and y/n, Kelce was the only one who knew where the king sized bed (and bath) were, and flung himself on the bed before any of them could get there first.

“I’m not fucking sleeping with Topper!” Rafe said exasperatedly, his mind thinking back to his obnoxious snoring in the car. Topper scowled.

“You snooze, you lose, Cameron.” Kelce grinned, moving to bring his hands behind his head.

“As the only girl here, I think that I should get the master bedroom. I’m the only one who needs their own bathroom.” Y/n said, crossing her arms. The boys all groaned. She didn’t play the “only girl” card very often, but when she did, it was lethal.

“No! No! I made it here first—” Kelce began to protest before Rafe and Topper hauled him off the bed. Y/n giggled, following them as they tossed him onto one of the twin beds before dogpiling on top of him.

“I can’t fit on a twin bed, looks like the snorers get to sleep together.” Rafe said with a small shrug, leaving Topper and Kelce to stare at each other dumbfoundedly.

“I got us this cabin, I got to the master bedroom first, and now I have to sleep in a twin bed?” Kelce said, flopping onto the bed dramatically.

“But you get to share a room with your bestest friend in the whole wide world—” Topper started to tease but was cut off when Kelce chucked a pillow at his head. Y/n laughed before stifling a yawn, her eyes heavy.

“I’m going to bed,” y/n said, stretching her arms with a groan. Rafe looked back at her, yawning himself.

“Me too.” Rafe said, turning to Topper and Kelce, who simply nodded before waving weakly and crashing onto their respective beds. Rafe followed y/n out the room and into the hallway, the two of them stopping between the doorways to their own bedrooms.

“Thanks for staying up with me.” Rafe said, his voice gravelly from how late it was.

“What would you do without me?” Y/n joked. Rafe chuckled, running his hand through his hair. He knew she was joking, but she wasn’t lying. What would he do without her?

“Listen to some good music, probably.” Rafe retorted.

“Oh come on, you love my music, boy.” Y/n grinned, placing her hands on her hips pointedly. He couldn’t help but smirk, her dramatic pose in his oversized sweatshirt comical. She followed his gaze, glancing down at his sweatshirt before moving to take it off.

“No, keep it. It’s cold in here.” Rafe said, stopping her by grabbing her arm lightly. She looked back at him.

“Thanks.” Y/n said, shrugging the crewneck back down.

“Good night, girl.” Rafe said softly, his eyes not leaving hers as he stepped back towards his bedroom.

“Good night, boy.” Y/n whispered, her hand resting on the door to her room. 

With a final nod, the two of them went off to their respective rooms, their minds still racing with thoughts of each other as they eventually fell asleep.

[blackkatmagic]

for the ask game! how about granta omega?

Sometimes, there are doors to the spirit world in the most convenient places.

Granta slips out of the wild tangle of electric and organic and into the sterile halls of the Senate building, light on his feet in the darkness. The air here hums, heavy and dark, and Granta breathes it in and smiles.

It never fails to satisfy, the fact that so many thousands of benders and Force-sensitives are so desperately chasing one poor, powerless thief around Coruscant, howling like tookas that just got their tails stepped on.

Well. For certain definitions of powerless. And poor.

Pulling his hood up, Granta hums a quiet tune, scanning the Vice-Chancellor’s office. Mas Amedda isn't quite stupid enough to leave proof of his involvement with the Sith out in the open, but it’s a near thing. And he’s certainly not that careful with proof of his corruption. If Granta didn’t know better, he’d think Mas Amedda was outright asking for someone to blackmail him into betraying Palpatine, and, well. Granta will graciously take him up on the offer if he’s so desperate for it.

It only takes a few moments of slicing to find what he needs, and Granta tucks the data chips away in his coat, neatens the office to erase all signs of his presence, and heads for the hall. There’s another door into the spirit world three levels down that opens up in a plain half-consumed by wires that grow and leaf like vines, and from there Granta knows a path through one of the more misanthropic spirits’ territory, leading to another exit deep in the Undercity. As much as Granta enjoys making the Senate Guard pull their collective hair out over his entrances and exits, sometimes it’s more productive to get out with less of a fuss—

Glass cracks, shatters, and the wind howls like an enraged thing, so strong that for an instant Granta is almost spun off his feet. He snarls a curse, wrenches around, and stopping a bender’s power is possible but not here, not suddenly. Getting away is a better plan, because once Granta is out of sight he’ll be faceless, unremarkable even to a clone trooper.

When he goes to run, though, the airborne shards of glass that are supposed to be shatterproof are still spinning through the air, and the trooper in the center of the storm has his blaster up and aimed, perfectly steady despite the gale.

All benders are at least a little annoying, in Granta's perfectly objective opinion, but airbenders are some of the worst.

“Surrender,” the clone says, a clear warning, and Granta rolls his eyes even as he takes a half-step back, gaze flickering up and down the hall. Getting back into the spirit world is possible even without retreating to the door he emerged from, but the idea of giving away what he is so early in the game is disappointing. Granta was hoping to see the Guard scramble around looking for clues for at least another few weeks while he set up all the pieces on the board.

“Little old me?” Granta asks, pitched to faux innocence that’s meant to infuriate. He takes another step back, calculating his odds of getting into Mas Amedda’s office again before the clone can reach it. “I'm just doing my civic duty. Shaking off a few cobwebs, uncovering the truth about our esteemed leaders. Are you really going to persecute me for that?”

“No,” the clone says, entirely, delightfully unimpressed. “I'm going to persecute you for burglary and breaking and entering. Hands up.”

Obligingly, Granta raises his hands, palming one of his knives as he goes. “Really,” he drawls. “How uninspired of you. Commander, wasn’t it? I think I've seen you around before—”

Movement. Impossibly quick, almost as quick as a Jedi, with the force of a hurricane behind it. Granta flings the knife even as he throws himself to the side, hits the ground and rolls beneath a scything kick, a burst of air so concentrated that it leaves a dent in the wall. It just misses him, though, and Granta whirls grabs for the blaster at the small of his back and puts two shots in the air—

Impact, hard enough to steal his breath, and the clone commander slams him up against the wall with all the force of a tornado, grabs for his hood—

The face is as easy to slip into as a new coat, and Granta throws his hands up, turns his cheek like he’s braced for a blow as the dark hood falls away. The commander freezes, breath catching audibly, and Granta looks up at him with a clone’s face, eyes wide.

“Commander,” he says, and it wavers, almost cracks—

“Fox!” another clone shouts, and instantly Fox is moving again, grabbing. Granta throws himself to the side, but Fox follows him, hits the ground on top of him, and Granta laughs as he lets his own face flicker back into being.

“Fox,” he repeats, halfway to mocking. “What a good name.” In an instant he’s pulled that face up, twists out of Fox’s grip as a sleek black fox and flips free, then bolts sideways even as the other clones lunge to catch him. This shape is quicker than a Human, though, and in an instant he’s hurtling back towards Mas Amedda’s office, rounding a corner with Fox scrambling behind him—

One step sideways, a leap, and he’s back in the spirit world, landing lightly amidst a forest of trees with metal-veined leaves, the mortal world falling way behind him.

“Thank you, Mother of Faces,” he says lightly, and when he rises it’s as a Human again. The opposable thumbs are so useful, after all, even if wearing different faces all his life has left him only vaguely attached to any of them.

And then, with a whirling gust, wind sweeps through the forest, rattling the tree leaves and startling Granta. He whirls, and across the half-there shimmer of distance that marks the separation, he can just see Fox in his bright red armor, stalking up the hall and straight towards the spot where Granta vanished. He stops there, close enough to touch, and even if Granta can't hear what he says when he raises his comm, he can guess. Laughs, leans in, and there's no way for Fox to feel the brush of fingertips that aren't in the same plane, but Fox still pauses, turns his head.

“How interesting,” Granta says, and he can feel the shard of the Mother of Faces inside him, present since the moment he was born, turn towards Fox in contemplation. She likes the clones, so set in their identity, forging their own faces out of sameness. And that makes Granta like them, too.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he can't play a few games, particularly when it comes to toying with Fox. The man is interesting, after all.

[youaintnothinbuta]

“Elvis, stop it.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: Drabble where Elvis is being cheeky during dinner preparations, making a comment that has you feeling a flustered. There’s no real plot lol (unless anyone wants a smutty part 2)

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!elvis x reader

Word count: 544

Warnings: fluff, mild sexual innuendos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You, Elvis, and some family were gathered around the kitchen island, everyone fussing and eagerly awaiting the delicious meal you were preparing, having a pizza night at home.

Elvis couldn't resist sneaking over to where you were chopping up toppings and stealing little bites. You laughed as he popped a cherry tomato into his mouth, shaking your head at his antics.

“Elvis, stop it,” you scolded playfully, trying to fend him off with your knife.

But Elvis just laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he reached for another olive.

“I can't help myself,” he protested, his mouth full of food.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

“Well, the more you eat now, the less you'll have on your pizza,” you teased, pushing his hand away from taking more. Undeterred, Elvis wrapped his arms around you from behind, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

“I wanna eat you now,” he whispered into your ear, causing you to blush bright red.

“Elvis!” you exclaimed, playfully swatting at him. “Behave yourself.”

He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek before reluctantly releasing you.

“Okay, okay,” he said with a grin, raising his hands in surrender. “I'll behave...”

With a laugh, you turned back to your chopping, shaking your head at him. Despite his mischievous behavior, you couldn't help but feel grateful for him and the love and laughter he brought into your home. As the delicious aroma of freshly baked pizza filled the room, you all gathered around the table, eagerly digging in. Laughter and conversation flowed freely as you enjoyed each other's company.

After dinner, Elvis graciously offered to take care of the dishes, collecting everyone's plates and utensils and disappearing into the kitchen. You watched him go, a fond smile on your lips, before realizing your glass of wine was empty.

“Elvis, could you pour me another glass, please?” you called out to him, hoping he could hear you from the kitchen.

A moment later, Elvis emerged from the kitchen, a mischievous grin on his face as he approached you.

“Yes ma'am,” he replied, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your cheek before disappearing back into the kitchen. You smiled at his playful demeanor as you watched him pour you another glass of wine. When he returned, he handed you the glass with a flourish, his eyes sparkling with affection.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his hand. He grinned, leaning closer to you.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered, his low voice sending shivers down your spine.

You contemplated for a moment, leaning in close to him, you whispered into his ear, “Does your offer still stand?”

Elvis's eyes widened slightly at your words, and he cleared his throat nervously. “You want me to?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. “Mhm,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear.

Without hesitation, Elvis gracefully removed the glass from your hand and popped it down on the table, sweeping you off your feet, his strong arms effortlessly lifting you into his embrace. As he carried you upstairs, a wave of excitement washed over you, knowing that you were in for one hell of a treat.

Smutty part two here as promised ;)

[outlaw-apologist]

Saved By The Gang | RDR2 x Reader

In which your SO saves you from your kidnappers! This was a request from AO3 :) Characters: Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Sean, Charles GN!Reader Warnings for each story: Arthur: Graphic depictions of violence, cannibalism, and dismemberment Hosea: Graphic depictions of violence and human trafficking Dutch: Graphic depictions of violence, Dutch being himself Sean: Depictions of violence, use of strong language Charles: Graphic depictions of violence. Implied SA Notes: I kinda ended up writing these more from the characters POVs, so I hope that’s okay. I apologize for any errors of if my writing is bad. I’ve been struggling with insomnia so I'm not thinking great rn. I looked at this so much I kinda hate it lmao so I’m just gonna raw dog my mistakes :’) AO3 Link Arthur: Arthur had been gone for awhile doing the craziest things. He didn’t mean to be away from camp for so long, it just kinda happens. He decided to stop in Van Horn to finish up some quick business when he noticed your horse. Was it really-? Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he studied the markings on the horse’s coat. That definitely was your horse but you weren’t the one in the saddle. “Hey there partner.” Arthur made quick work crossing the road with long purposeful strides. “Where’d you get that there horse?”

The rider looked a bit flustered. “Isn’t’e a beaut? I found it just due south of Roanoke Valley all alone. Rider abandoned it so I thought I outta take ‘em in and give ‘em some good old lovin’.” “Roanoke Valley you say?” He scoffed. What the hell would you be doing up there? “Well, I know the owner of this fine horse and they wouldn’t just go off and leave like that. Where exactly did you find it?” “Listen Mister, I don’t want any trouble.” Agitation arose in the rider causing Arthur to throw his hands up in surrender. “No trouble here. I couldn’t care less about the horse. I just wanna make sure my friend is okay.” After careful consideration the stranger finally shrugged. “I found it drinking at the Kamassa river Northwest of Annesburg.” “Thank ya kindly.” Arthur tipped his head graciously. He hadn’t been up in that area before but the stories he heard weren’t great. This undoubtedly meant trouble. Arthur hardly mounted his horse before a bit of gossip reached his ears. “Another wagon disappeared near the mines. This time three women went missing.” “It’s gotta be that Murfree Brood. I heard they eat anyone they capture. Incestuous cannibals the lot of ‘em. Doubt we’ll ever see those poor women again.” “Shit!” A growl ripped from Arthur’s throat. His heels dug into his horse’s sides and he slapped the reigns. What if that were you? Kidnapped with those women? He needed to find you and fast. “C’mon Y/N. You better not be dead.” His heart pounded in his chest, wind whipping past as he cut off other riders on the trail in haste. He didn’t mean to be gone for so long… Away from YOU for so long… He always thought you understood it. His need to be everywhere and anywhere. And you did… You do… Yet, somehow, regret was eating at him like a deranged wolf. Snapping at the back of his mind, replaying memories upon memories of him returning to your arms after being away for ages. Arthur took for granted that you’d always be there when he gets back. He shouldn’t have left you as much as he does. He should have asked you to come with him. If you had business up in this region he could have been there to protect you. That horse is your world, he knows that. Maybe that’s why his mind was racing with so many regrets and thoughts.  That horse is your everything, if you weren’t on that horse you were probably seriously injured… or worse. That realization put a lot into perspective. It was always ‘What if I never return to Y/N?’ and never ‘What if Y/N never returns to me?’ “C’mon Morgan. Keep it together.” He had to shake these stormy thoughts away. Was it possible that he’d find you alright? Maybe a mild injury? Absolutely. But fuck, if it didn’t give him so much anxiety. Upon reaching the approximate area Arthur slowed his horse using gentle praises. “Easy now.” He reached out to pet it appreciatively, allowing his body filled with tension to drop down. Blue green eyes squinted while searching for clues or any sign of his beloved. Luckily Arthur picked up a few things while bounty hunting and it only took him ten or so minutes to find footprints he thinks matches yours. While following them he started noting how far apart your steps were. You were running. ‘Running from what?’ “Christ.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled just as the wind carried over the scent of rotting flesh. Sure enough there was a dead fellow not far from your tracks. The bullet casings surrounding the corps were definitely from your gun. Was this one of the cannibals? Arthur moved the body, flipping it over using his foot. He looked malnourished and white as paper. Even his clothes were rags. Arthur wasn’t really sure exactly what a cannibal looked like but if he had to take a guess, a cannibal would look like this feller right here. “Fuck, Y/N. What’ave you gotten yourself into?” Those sinking thoughts were back, dragging him into a pit of despair. Would he find your half eaten corpse somewhere in the woods? Are you still alive? Were you scared? You’re a shit significant other, Morgan. That’s what he told himself over and over again, shifting trough the bramble. What kind of man doesn’t know what his lover is up to? If he wasn’t so far up the ass of being ‘Arthur Morgan the big bad Outlaw’ he would know. Regret. Regret for not holding you in his arms every night. For not returning to you more often. He should have had more time with you. Should’ve spent every waking moment with you. How could he be so dense? This life was dangerous! He always stressed that to everyone who would listen. So why didn’t he spend all of his free time with you? None of you knew when your last breath would be taken, how could he waste so much precious life away from you? That fear only grew when those scared eyes focused on the disturbing image of human arms sewn together into some kind of hanging tree ornament. A gloved hand covered his mouth to suppress a gag. Gore wasn’t something that usually affected Arthur, but the thought that this could be you made him feel ill. At least he knew he was going in the right direction. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon a couple of the Brood. He couldn’t hear the exact words being said because his ears immediately attuned to your cries of pain. Creeping closer in the grass, hand on his holster, Arthur grit his teeth at the scene playing out before him. Never in his life had he felt so much white hot rage. One of the sick fucks held you by the hair while another tried to pin you down. “We’re just gonna cut yer leg off!” He laughed. “What’re ya cryin’ for?” “No!” You screamed, desperately trying to fight against them. For three nights you watched in horror as the others captured were slaughtered, tortured, and eaten. Carved like Thanksgiving turkeys. For three whole nights you couldn’t sleep, drink, or eat because you were so terrified of these monsters. They saw how scared you were and they loved it. Milking every second of it. Because of your exhausted state fighting against them was grueling. “You killed our brother, it’s only fair.” A scream ripped through you just as your flesh tore against the blunt blade of a rusty sickle. “Get away!” Everyone froze, heads snapping towards the all too familiar voice. “Arthur?” “Y/N.” Arthur caught your gaze, a look of relief washing over him. You’re alive! “Hey! Who do you think you are coming hea-” The Brood member pulling your hair didn’t have enough time to finish his sentence before his head was blown off with a crackling BANG! Silence rang out after the loud pop from Arthur’s gun, then the mans body dropped. “You shot my brother!” “And I’ll shoot you too if you don’t get the fuck outta here!” With a click of his cattleman revolver, the last man scrambled up to run. “Too slow.” A dirty finger squeezed the trigger and down he fell. You simply stared as everything unfolded before you, your cries not subsiding but becoming much quieter. After all your pain and torment… All those people gutted like human sacrifices… Arthur killed your captors so easily. “Y/N.” His voice was gentle as he knelt beside you. Finally you shattered. Sobbing violently as soon as his arms enveloped you securely. You wanted to say his name. To tell him everything that had happened but couldn’t manage anything past blubbering incoherently. Never had Arthur felt so much heartbreak. Not from any loss or any breakup he had experienced so far. You’re one of the strongest people he knew. Seeing you look so small and afraid was devastating. Especially because this should have never happened to begin with. “I know.” Was all he could say. “Shhh, I know. You’re okay.” While embracing you with one arm he peered over to inspect your thigh. “I know darlin’, I don’t wanna let you go but I need to stop the bleeding.” He quickly hushed the whimper that passed your lips upon feeling his body shift away. Arthur’s fingers trembled, fumbling with his bandanna. Christ, this affected him more than he ever could’ve imagine. It took a minute but finally he managed to tie it above your wound to limit your bloodflow before immediately picking you up. Arthur made sure you could hide your face in his chest so you didn’t have to look at any of the hanging dismemberments on your way out. “God Y/N.” His arms around you were tight. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. It’s okay now.” He tried to console you. To console himself. Hell, if he were in your shoes this would be more traumatizing for him than the Colm O’Driscolle ordeal. He could only imagine how you feel. Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to sit you on his horse yet. The moment you were in fresh woods he dropped to his knees and held you. Rocking you, kissing your hair and breathing in your scent. Sweet nothings fell from his lips in soft shaky whispers. Pads of calloused thumbs wiping away every tear from your cheeks. All you could do was cry and cling to him. All he could do was hold you as if it were for the last time. And it almost was. The last time. “How’d you find me?” After what seemed like hours of you two embracing each other, Arthur finally helped you onto his horse and you were on your way back to camp. “Saw some feller in Van Horn ridin’ your horse. Complete coincidence.” Arthur could feel how tense that statement made you so he added quickly, “Don’t worry. I’ll get your horse back. I just wanted to make sure you were safe first.” “Thank you, Arthur. For everything.” “I know how much you love that horse, it’s nothin’.” “No, I mean… Thank you for always being there when I need you.” Silence washed over the both of you. Arthur didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry darlin’.” You could feel him arm gently tighten around you in a loose hug. “I could’ve lost you tonight. I got to thinkin’ and… I know I haven’t been the best to you. I always prioritize everyone else. It shouldn’t be like that.” “Oh Arthur-” “I’m serious. I’ve lost Mary and Eliza. Most of my friends are long cold in their graves. I don’t know nothin’ about gods or divine intervention. Don’t know if something led me to you or not this time around….. I guess I was always feelin’ sorry for you because you’re datin’ a walkin’ target. Thought some space between us might do us some good in case I die. Never did I once consider life without you.” Arthur let out a hollow laugh which lacked any mirth or warmth. “What a fool I’ve been. I ain’t never learn my lesson. Tonight showed me that, that’s for damn sure. I dunno what you were doin’ out here but for now on if I leave camp I’m not going anywhere without you.” An exhausted smile reached your lips. “Good. My handsome man, it’s always been you and me. You just had to ask.” “You and me, huh? I like the sound of that.” You fell asleep in Arthur’s arms long before you reached camp. Arthur held you when you arrived, petting your hair as Ms. Grimshaw stitched up your leg. Arthur was needy after your attack. He never let you out of his sight and would always insist on holding you. Especially during nightmares that plagued you for months after the accident. Arthur stayed up singing to you and rocking you for many many long nights. And, of course, he got your horse back! How he did it or by what means, you didn’t care to ask. Slowly life returned to normal and the incident was long behind you both. Arthur kept his promise to take you everywhere until the very end. ___ Hosea: Five minutes. He took his eyes off of you for FIVE minutes so he could speak to the owner of a fence in San Denis while you waited for him outside, and you were gone. “Y/N?” He called out in confusion, scanning the sidewalks and streets for any sign of you. At first he’s annoyed. Did you wander off without saying anything? Hosea waved over the nearest group of men lingering nearby. “Good day. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my associate hanging around out here, would you? They seemed to have disappeared.” One of the men nodded. “Oh yeah, some nasty business I tell ya.” Well shit. “Nasty?” Hosea cocked his head, resting his hand over his holstered gun. “How so?” “These crazies came and bonked them over the head, saying they owed money or somthin’. Decided to mind my own business because they’re all brandishing guns.” “Money, huh? What way did they go?” “That way.” He pointed Eastward. “Towards the docks.” Tipping his hat, Hosea made his way down the sidewalk. He looked both ways before crossing the road, grabbing onto the trolley as it passes, riding the step until he reached the docks. The sun was setting but he knew your form like the back of his hand. It wouldn’t be too hard to spot you against the fire of the sky. However, you nor the supposed men were anywhere in sight. “Excuse me.” He flagged down a sailor and asked him if he’s seen you. He had not. Neither had the other five people he asked. Hosea knew this wasn’t good. The trail ran cold, leaving him hopeless.  There was nothing he could do but return to Shady Belle with a heavy heart. As your husband he was always supposed to protect you. Never in a million years did he think you’d be snatched away right under his nose. Mounting Silver Dollar, Hosea struggled to hold his tears at bay. The city was starting to suffocate him and he needed to leave in order to breathe and think. The weight of the world was finally settling into his old bones on the ride back. The horror the gang had experienced the last few months was devastating. The Blackwater incident aside – Arthur’s escape from Colm, Sean’s death, little Jack’s kidnapping…. Dutch wasn’t listening to reason anymore. The gang was in shambles and now… He let out a defeated sob, hanging over his horse for privacy. What was he supposed to do without you? You’re all he has left. His entire world. What if he wouldn’t be able to find you? It all happened so quickly. To think only an hour ago you were fixing his shirt collar, hanging on his arm with a smile on your face and now POOF! Gone. This was the last drop in the bucket for Hosea. Suddenly he couldn’t stop his tears no matter how hard he tried. He was tired. So god damn tired. Silver Dollar slowed to a stop just off the road. If anyone who passed-by peered close enough through the darkness they could make out the silhouette of a broken man with his head in his hands. He kicked himself for stalling your rescue. Precious time finding you, wasted. By the time he made it back to camp it was late into the night. Dragging himself up the stairs of Shady Belle he knocked on the door to Dutch’s room. Candlelight could be seen flickering through the crack of the doorway leading to Hosea believe he must still be awake. Silence. He knocked again, this time Hosea could hear the bed squeak. “You better have a good reason to disturb me.” Those words flew sharply through the cold humid air. “Dutch…” Hosea would have cursed himself for sounding so… weak. Calling out his friend’s name with a wavering voice. It was noticeable enough to immediately draw Dutch’s attention. The bed squeaked under Dutch’s weight then heavy footsteps led to the door. Hosea kept his gaze down, watching Dutch’s shadow as he moved until the door creaked open and the faint candlelight illuminated Hosea in contrast against the inky hallway. “Hosea- What happened?” “Y/N… I don’t know, it all happened so fast.” Wrapping an arm around Hosea, Dutch led him inside, guiding him to sit. “What happened to Y/N?” “I was looking for a buyer for the bonds we have left, asked them to wait outside because I was just going to be a moment. I stepped out and Y/N was gone. Apparently a group of men took them towards the docks. I tried not to arouse suspicion, I-… Maybe I should’ve gotten there faster, I don’t know…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Y/N wasn’t there. I may have been too late.” “Someone just took them? In broad daylight?” “Just like that.” Hosea snapped his fingers. “Somethin’ aint right.” Rubbing his chin quizzically, Dutch began pacing the room. “Y/N isn’t stupid, they would’ve screamed or something. You really didn’t hear anything?” He paused to watch Hosea shake his head. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Staring down at his hands, Hosea slowly uncurled his fingers, watching the light dance over his palms. “It was a setup.” “It was a setup.” His friend repeated. “But by who?” “Could be Milton.” “I don’t think so. He’s a thorn in our side. If it were Milton he would’ve showed up in our camp already. Waving Y/N around like a prize.” “That’s very true…” Hosea only looked up when he heard Dutch abruptly halt. “It can’t be….” “What?” “Perhaps… Bronte had a hand in this? I don’t think we’ve done anything to cross him but he’s the only man in the city who could kidnap anyone in broad daylight and not a soul would tell.” He could feel the relief wash through him, the possibility bringing him a weird sense of comfort. He hoped it was Bronte. That would mean you’re probably safe and sound somewhere just like Jack was. “We’ll get Y/N back, Hosea. Let me pull some strings. We’ll find them.” The strings were pulled quite quickly as Hosea found himself waiting outside yet another fabulous party for Arthur to return. “It wasn’t Bronte.” His heart sank. “It wasn’t? Are you sure?” “Pretty sure.” Arthur leaned against the residential fence while lighting a cigarette. He was gussied up to fit the mood. “Asked around ‘n’ nobody had a clue what I was sayin’. I did, however, get this.” Held out between two fingers was a business card. Interested, Hosea accepted it. “Exotic Imports and… Impurities?” “Human trafficking. They apparently have these masquerade parties where rich folk can bid on people anonymously. I think that’s where Y/N is.” God… Was Saint Denis truly such a shit hole? He knew this place was low, but a human trafficking ring? “Are you sure?” Arthur met Hosea’s gaze with the most sincere look he could muster. “Hosea-” “I know you wouldn’t lie to me dear boy.” “I heard someone mentioning there’ll be an auction there this Friday. They mentioned someone who sounds pretty darn close to Y/N’s description in the lineup. I’ll scope the place out, maybe we can rescue Y/N sooner than that. And if not…” Hosea tucked the card into his pocket. “I guess we’re attending the masquerade.” Arthur knows how much you and Hosea are sweet on each other. How hard it was for Hosea after Bessie’s passing and how you brought life back into him. Arthur would do anything for you. So when he had to scope out where the auction will take place he took the job very seriously. He wanted to get you out as soon as possible if you were really there. The place was heavily armed, much to his dismay. An open window was easy enough to sneak into but getting you out was near impossible. He couldn't even find you. However, in a back room Arthur discovered a pile of discarded clothing. A shoe caught his eye, one he knew you wore often. Before he was able to grab it Arthur had to leave as the area filled with guards. “Y/N is in there alright. Too busy for me to get ‘em.” He reported back upon his return to camp. That’s how Hosea, Dutch, Arthur, Bill, Micah, and Charles found themselves attending one of the most unnerving ‘parties’ in San Denis on a muggy Friday evening. They looked expensive, dressed down to the newest shoes on the market. Each donning their own masquerade mask. The building looked beautiful. Expensive. Guest flooded the entrance. “Guns aren’t allowed at this event.” A doorman held his hands out while the gang handed over their weapons. They weren’t worried. If everything was going according to plan John and Javier should already be inside posing as security. Upon entering the mansion, the gang mingled and sweet-talked everyone they could. Trying to get information, word of your safety, anything. One by one they slipped out of the room to John or Javier who gave their guns back to them before joining the guests in the auction room. The auction room was massive, theatrical even. Women in glorious gowns, men who’s suits cost more than a house, they all gathered with glasses filled with alcohol of their choosing. Chatting and laughing as if they’re about to watch a play. Hosea’s stomach churned. The curtains opened to reveal the first person to be auctioned. It was a young girl trembling and sobbing. He gripped the armrest of his seat, knuckles turning white. One by one these people were being bid on. “7,000 dollars. Do I hear 7,000 dollars? 7,500. 8,000 to the man in white!” All of this stress made him want to down glass after glass of alcohol. If he didn’t need to be clear headed he would’ve. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” You were shoved onstage. Even though your face was covered he recognized you immediately. Almost a week ago you were idly waiting outside, gazing down at your clothing trying to fix a button when you were struck from behind. Blurry vision greeted you after, god only knows how long you were unconscious. Blinking it away you tried to move but to no avail. Hands and feet bound, you were left alone in a cold room. Little light trickled into your cell. You could hear the cries and pleas of other people who were presumably prisoners too. Every time you tried to snap at or fight against the guards they beat you. They fed you just enough food and water to keep you barely alive. It was hell. Every night you prayed someone would find you. Anyone! Hosea, Arthur- were they looking for you? It had been so long…. “Get up.” You snapped awake with a groan as you were kicked. The guard pulled you up, dragging you to get washed and dressed. Stumbling into a back room after being shoved, you blinked at all the faces staring back at you. These were the people you heard crying at night. “What’s happening?” You whispered. Only one woman was brave enough to speak up. Her low voice shook with emotion. “They’re selling us.” “What!?” “Be quiet or I’ll make you quiet!” A guard snarled at you, causing you to shy away. For hours you listened silently to the auction from backstage. Was this really happening? It felt so surreal. Fear filled you as the line moved forward until you were next. A bag was forced onto your head so you couldn’t see. Fingers dug into your arms, you could feel yourself being dragged onto the stage, causing you to stumble. “Next up, folks, is person number 9.” Your breath hitched painfully. Heart racing loudly. This is it. You were about to be sold as person number 9. Bracing yourself for the bidding a loud boom crackled beside you, so loud it made your ears ring. Your head snapped in the direction it came from. Not being able to see anything, panic arose within you as the screams and sounds of running reached you. The crowd was fleeing for their lives! Gunshots popped off in the surrounding area. You ducked down in case any bullets flew your way. “Y/N!” “H-Hosea?” The bag was lifted off your head, beaming lights above glared into your eyes causing you to squint. Hosea’s face slowly came into view. He wrapped his arms around you, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’d love to have a romantic reunion with you, my dove, but I’m afraid we’re in the midst of a shootout.” “I can see that.” You groaned, hanging onto him. For an older man he sure did carry you with ease while shooting his way out with the gang backing him up on either side. “Hosea, let’s go!” Dutch shot the guard who blocked off the door. Hosea had to pass you to Arthur, who barreled through a cloud of bullets with you safely tucked in his arms. He was able to reach the rendezvous carriage, placing you inside before anyone else could enter. Hosea slid in and gathered you in his arms. “Drive, damn it!” He called out, causing the carriage to lurch violently before moving. “Oh Y/N. Oh my little dove.” He carefully looked you over as tears filled your eyes. You were shaking, veins pumping with adrenaline. Your rescue happened so quickly it made your head dizzy. Hosea’s hands were gentle as he touched you in case anything hurt or scared you in your shaken state. He examined every inch. Face was pensive, while taking in every mark and bruise on your delicate skin. “Are you seriously hurt anywhere?” “No.” You whispered, pressing against your husband for comfort. He gladly held you, kissing your lips over and over again. “I’m sorry it took me so long my love. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.” Hosea rest his head atop yours and rubbed circles on your back soothingly. “Let’s get you back to camp and fed.” “Thank you.” You nuzzled him, breathing in his comforting scent. “I knew you’d come for me. I missed you.” “I missed you too.” The rest of the ride was quiet. When the carriage parked outside of Shady Belle, Hosea scooped you up immediately. You gasped as the whole gang rushed  over to greet you. “Y/N’s back!” Abigail announced. “Oh Y/N, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Mary-Beth gushed with relief. Even Pearson was there to see you. “Welcome home Y/N. Camp ain’t the same without ya.” “Thank you everyone.” You let out a watery laugh, heart filled with love. You were so appreciated amongst this group and it showed. Hosea brought you inside, cleaning you carefully. He asked if anything hurt or if anyone touched you and you responded with yes or no. He clothed you in his own clothes, hoping his scent would bring comfort. A warm bowl of stew was pushed into your hands. Hosea held you while you ate and snuggled you up until you went to bed. He played with your hair all night, unable to sleep after losing you. ___ Dutch: Dutch doesn’t notice you’re gone until the ransom note arrives. “$3,000 in exchange for your lover?” He scoffed. “Who does he think he is? We’ll light his ass up.” The page was quickly crumpled in his hand. Dutch felt a deadly fury rise in him so great his own blood ran colder than the Upper Montana river. Colm O'Driscoll won’t get away with it this time. Not after what he’s done to Dutch’s past lover and to Arthur. “Dutch, I think we should be cool about this one. He already captured me to draw you in for the Pinkertons. He’s probably not done try’nna cut his deal with ‘em. If we ride in hot-” “Not now, Arthur. A few Pinkertons we can handle. This is Y/N we’re talking about, for Christ’s sake.” He scoffed, face snarling up in anger. “Y/N would have come for you, dear boy, had we known you were taken. Y/N would have come for you.” Arthur heaved out a sigh. He still wasn’t fully well after the green gang shot him up. “I know, Dutch. I love Y/N just as much as anyone. We ain’t ever leave one of us behind. I just think… If they want to draw us in they’ll treat Y/N right. If it’s a trap it’ll make more sense for us to come in quiet and get Y/N outta there safely.” “We don’t have time!” Dutch grabbed his gun, much to Arthur and Hosea’s exasperation. “Dutch, I know you love Y/N, but I think Arthur may be right.” “Who’s side are you on, Hosea? If that were you we would already be on the road.” He waved his gun around before holstering it. The air in camp was tense. Dutch seemed… Unsettled. Unpredictable. His eyes were crazy. Love made him crazy. “Who’s with me? John, Micah, Bill?” John and Arthur exchanged looked while Bill jumped up eagerly. Micah seemed interested but didn’t bother grabbing anything extra like the others. “I’m comin’ with you.” Arthur’s shoulders fell. He followed Dutch through camp up to The Count which Dutch mounted with ease. “No, dear boy. You rest. Watch the camp with Hosea, we should be back before dawn.” “Alright, if you say so. Be careful out there Dutch. Things are getting nasty. Bring Y/N home.” “Oh, I intend to.” With the rescue party ready Dutch rode out with his boys. “If you see an O’Driscoll, shoot. If you see a Pinkerton, shoot. We leave no one alive. Not even the women. If Colm wants to play, we’ll play. By our rules.” John moved up beside Dutch, calling out over the whistling wind. “Are you sure about this Dutch? What if Y/N gets hurt?” “Y/N isn’t getting hurt.” The words were spoken as if John’s idea was ludicrous. “Now you boys know how I feel about Y/N. And I-… Well, call me foolish, but I’ll never let any man, beast, or tycoon lay a finger on the love of my life. The moment we slaughter his sons he’ll know we mean business. Colm is many things, but stupid he is not. He knows hurting Y/N would give us cause to burn his world down piece by piece and I don’t think he could take the heat.” “As is your right, Dutch.” Micah spoke up. “The O'Driscolls should know by now you’re a kind and just man. I’m sure they understand the reckoning hurting their assets would bring.” Feeding into Dutch’s anger pleased the gang leader. “That’s what I thought.” He agreed. The rest of the ride was tense with anticipation. John knew there was nothing he could say. He just hoped you’d survive all of this. Dutch was getting sloppy and with you involved… He would slaughter the whole world if he had to. “We’re here.” Dutch announced. Night had long fallen by the time they reached the O’Driscoll hideout. “Let’s make a little noise. Micah-” Riding closer to the compound, Micah lit a stick of dynamite, throwing it over the fence. Dutch watched with great pleasure as the O’Driscoll boys caught in the blast began to scream. “Let’s show them you don’t fuck with Dutch van der Linde.” The guns came out. Time slowed down, men began to rush at them. The Count reared, spooked by the sudden barrage of bullets. Dutch shot every single O’Driscoll effortlessly, one by one. You were beginning to think Dutch wasn’t coming. Why would he after Arthur outed Colm’s setup a week ago? They had kicked your face in until your mouth filled with blood and your nose cracked in three different places. Breathing was hard with your damaged ribs. The O’Driscoll’s wasted no time in beating you to a bloody pulp before tying you up. The way you were tied was ridiculous. Your hands and feet were tied separately then were tied together to ensure you wouldn’t be able to move an inch. You guessed Arthur’s escape was a sore spot. You struggled and fought until the ropes dug angry marks, rubbing the skin away. In all honestly you usually would have half a mind to spit at or curse any O’Driscoll out, however this seemed different. It was grim, very grim. You remember how scary it was watching Arthur collapse off his horse barely alive and wondered – would you make it? Surely they won’t let an escape happen again... Dutch would probably move camp, you thought. And if you could survive… I don’t know, a week longer, he’ll come and get you. These were the thoughts running through your head while you tried to plan your survival. ‘It’ll be torture, but I can last that long’, you reassured yourself. It didn’t work. Colm killed Dutch’s girl way back, what’s stopping him from doing it again? You knew the man had a nasty streak to him. And Dutch… well... killing you sure would make Dutch slip up enough to get caught. That bastard Colm just wanted to see him hang. Many many thoughts occupied your mind as you dozed off. Aches and pains were screaming at you so being unconscious was probably best. At the brink of sleep you were jolted wide awake by a loud explosion. You froze, halting your breath, straining your ears to listen. Silence. What’s going on? BANG BANG BANG! Dutch- It had to be him! Your face lit up with hope, eyes fixated on the door. Any minute now... The O’Driscoll’s screamed, cursed, and cried out. “Get ‘em!” “Don’t let them inside!” “We gotta hold this for Colm!” Despite anticipating its happening you still flinched back when the door was kicked in. “Y/N.” Dutch sighed out of relief. Kneeling down he cut you loose, brushing the hair from your face. You both were quiet. Just taking each other in. You because you had missed him, and him because he was stunned by how badly you were beaten. “Those animals. We’ll make ‘em pay.” Dutch’s words were said more to himself than to you. “I’m alright, I can walk, I think-” Helping you up, Dutch’s eyes filled with sadness when he noticed you wincing. He could hear your chest heave with pain and it was grading against his eardrums. “I’ll carry you. Just hang on, we haven’t cleared them all yet.” Scooping you into his chest, your arms were granted purchase around his neck. Dutch was stronger than he looked. He held onto you with one arm wrapped tightly to secure you while shooting any man who ran this way with the other. “Bastards! They’re everywhere! John, Micah, let’s go!” “You get Y/N?” John asked after shooting three more men. There were so many O’Driscolls they couldn’t even take their eyes off them to check on you. “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.” Micah covered Dutch’s right while John covered his left and back. They shot the best they could until finally they were free of the building. Dutch placed you on The Count, climbing behind you. The others quickly mounted seeing as there was no way they’d win this gun battle if they stayed. “Shit! Incoming!” Bill cried out, alerting everyone to the drove of Pinkerton galloping straight towards the gang’s direction. “God dammit!” Jerking the reigns, Dutch kicked his horse into action. “This way, c’mon! Let’s lose them through the trees. We gotta hope we can outrun them.” There you were, rocketing towards salvation on a white horse. Pinkertons and O’Driscolls crashing down around you like violent ocean waves. There was so much noise to the point where your ears rang in an effort to tune it all out. Breath didn’t leave your body. Time slowed. You watched in horror. Every bullet shot by John seemed to take ages before knocking down its opponent. Bill was screaming yet not a word of it reached you. You could feel Dutch’s arm wrap tighter and tighter around your waist. Suddenly you’re soaring through the air, hair flying back against the dusty breeze. This was it. The moment of truth. The Count’s feet touched down  after leaping over a fence and suddenly time returned to normal and everything sped up in your race for life. Your heart thuds erratically, clammy hands clinging to the saddle for dear life. “Duck!” Dutch ordered and you immediately lowered your head before a low hanging branch creamed you. You stayed low Dutch’s body now covering you protectively. You couldn’t see and had no idea what was going on. Your own breathing was so loud at this point it took you awhile to register – the shooting had stopped. There was no more screaming, no more calling out or angry orders being shouted. Only the sound of four horses huffing and puffing and your own shaky breaths filled the air. “My love… Are you alright?” Dutch lifted himself off of you, his horse slowing to rest. “I…. I think so.” You gazed down at your hands and arms before looking at Dutch with wide traumatized eyes. “Oh, my little bird. I’m so sorry they hurt you. I came as soon as I could. They’ll pay for this.” Something sinister swirled behind his eyes but his fingers were gentle against your skin while caressing your face. “Come now, let’s get you cleaned up and to bed. You need rest.” Dutch kissed your shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here now. So glad.” ___ Sean: Sean thought you were mad at him. Avoiding him for some awful comment he made because he, yet again, went too far. It hurt his feelings but he decided you’d probably come back when you were ready to see him again. “Sean, have you seen Y/N?” Mary-Beth asked. “I haven’t seen Y/N since yesterday morning.” Sean’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach. You weren’t the type to leave camp often or without someone accompanying you. “Christ, I haven’t. Where’d you last see them?” “Over by Kieran. I already asked him and he said Y/N helped with the horses then wandered off.” “An’ no one saw them come back?” He began power walking through camp, searching the area for you. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Tilly and Uncle shook their heads, John just gave a shrug. “That isn’t weird to any of yous?” His voice was raised enough to get the attention of Arthur who had just rode in. “What’s goin’ on now?” “Y/N is fucking missing and no one said a damn word about it.” “Alright, alright calm down. I’m sure we can find them, where were they last?” “Oh I don’t know English, lemme just take this crystal ball out of my ass-” Sean rolled his eyes while grabbing his gun. “We’re gonna have to track them down. Think you can do that?” “Well…” Arthur wipes the sweat from his brow. “Charles taught me a few things.” He paused, gently catching Sean’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset but I need you to keep your head. I’m sure wherever Y/N is they’re okay. We’ll get them back safe.” “Speak for yourself, I always keep my wits.” “That right there is what I’m worried about.” Arthur huffed while mounting his horse. Sean was silently grateful for Arthur’s words though he’d never admit it. There was a storm churning inside of him. An ocean of guilt rocking his consciousness. If only he respected your boundaries and didn’t make that joke maybe you wouldn’t have gone missing. “We’ll bring Y/N back safe.” He repeated to himself, climbing onto his saddle. Arthur gave him an affirmative nod. They rode around the outskirts of Clemens Point looking for any sign of you. Sean felt like throwing up the whole entire time. Suspense was killing him. “Over here!” Air left his lungs in relief as soon as Arthur’s voice broke through the thick air. Walking his horse over, that relief was short lived. “Fuck.” Sean hissed. Arthur held a ripped piece of fabric clearly bloodied. The fabric was from something you wore often making it was unmistakable. “Looks like three riders were here. ‘Dunno who they could be, but…” Morgan hesitated, knowing Sean probably shouldn’t hear the next part. “There was quite the struggle.” The Irishman cursed, kicking at a nearby stone, sending it throttling into the trees. “I’ll kill every last one of ‘em! I swear it.” The Van der Linde boys followed the hoof prints best they could, using other clues to figure out what way your kidnappers may have turned when the trail disappeared. With each passing minute Sean’s knuckles turned more and more white around his reigns. “I shouldn’t have said anything. This is my fault.” His feelings were so big inside of him they spilled out of his lips like a broken dam. “I’m a right bastard.” “You two have a fight?” “Sort of… We was fuckin’ around and Y/N got sick of me and asked me to stop teasing them but they look so cute when they’re angry I just- I don’t know.” He hung his head. Arthur studied him silently as they rode. “Well… Sounds about right for you two. I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t blame you.” “Maybe not, English, but I blame myself. I just hope they’re okay.” They didn’t talk any more after that unless to comment on the path changing. A few hours away from camp they came across smoke indicating a fire, right in the general direction of your kidnappers. “Must be them.” Sean was ready to charge in, but Arthur’s hand shot out across Sean’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “We should get to higher ground first, see what we’re dealing with.” “Are you crazy? Y/N could be there!” “That’s exactly why we can’t rush in like fools! What happened to keepin’ your wits? Do you want Y/N getting shot?” Sean’s mouth opened and closed, words getting choked up in his throat. The thought of you getting shot was about to bring tears to his eyes. Shoulders slumping forward, he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Let’s go look up that hill.” “That’s better.” Arthur snapped his kicked his feet, leading his horse higher with Sean close behind. Sean wasn’t playing around now. Knowing you might be close and that you were probably hurt- It took everything in him to quench ranging fire burning within. He whipped out his binoculars, setting eyes on the men surrounding the campfire. “Stupid Lemoyne fucks.” “Do you see Y/N?” Arthur asked. Sean moved his binoculars with his turning head. “I’ve got eyes on them. They’re tied to a wagon just outside of where they’re sitting.” He bit his lip while taking in your sorry form. You were filthy, bloodied, and your face was swollen. They clearly didn’t treat you kindly. “Let’s kill those fucks, Morgan. My baby needs me.” Without another word Sean tucked the binoculars away, charging full force down the hill, cattleman revolver in hand. He managed to shoot one guy in the throat, ducking on his horse to avoid the flying bullets. His horse galloped straight for you, stopping just shy with the intention of creating a barrier between you and the shootout. Arthur did most of the shooting while Sean nearly flung himself off his horse to cut you free. “Oh my baby! What did those bastards do to you?” He gently cleaned your face with his handkerchief, ignoring all the gory sounds echoing from behind. Sean didn’t even notice when everything became silent. You had his full undivided attention. “Sean!” You wept, wrapping your arms around his neck to bury your face into his chest. “I’m sorry baby. I should’ve never let you out of my sight. I’ve got you, my rose. I’m here now.” He kissed your hair, rubbing your back. “Did they hurt you real bad?” Tears now stung his eyes when you nodded. It was difficult seeing you this way. He loves you more than anything else in the world, seeing his partner so beaten and broken- “Shhhh. We’ll make it better.” Sean attempted to calm his tears, crying silently while burying his face in your hair. His chest was warm and welcoming after what you’ve endured. Even though every bone in your body ached all you wanted to do was hug him and you were grateful he didn’t pull away immediately and put you on a horse. “I love you. So much. I was so scared.” You whimpered. “I know, I know I’m so sorry Y/N. About everything. I should’ve never pushed your buttons. I thought you ran away.” “What?” You pulled away in confusion, studying his face. “Sean… You think I’m upset about that?” It was cute seeing Sean feel guilty over a minor playful argument, something you both have often, and you couldn’t help but to giggle. “Don’t be silly.” You reached up, wiping away his tears. Confused, Sean gently caught your hand, pressing kisses to your palm while examining the bruising on your skin. “I guess that’s who I am when I’m with you, Y/N. A silly man. C’mon now.” Carefully you were scooped up into a loving embrace. Sean placed a peck on your lips. He was afraid of hurting you further so he treated you as though you were made of glass. Once you were in his saddle he pulled himself up behind you. “Let’s get you to camp, baby. I’ll make you feel better there.” “Thank you.” You pressed your back against him in relief. Exhaustion flooded your still trembling body. You never had any doubt Sean would come for you but the experience of the Lemoyne Raiders kicking your face in was rather traumatic. “Glad to see you’re okay L/N.” Arthur shot you a little smile. “Sean here was real riled up about your disappearance. Nearly bit my head off.” A faint smile crossed your lips. You winced as your skin pulled on a bruise. “Thank you for coming too, Arthur. If you weren’t here I don’t think he would have been able to rescue me.” “Oh not this again!” Sean groaned. His arm was wrapped loosely around you and he still pressed an odd kiss to your hair here or there. “I would've done just fine!” “You shot one bullet!” Arthur pointed out with a laugh. “Then you flung yourself over your lover like some actor in one of those dramas. If I weren’t here you and Y/N would be riddled with holes by now.” “I love you Arthur Morgan, but shut up. I killed that fellow with one shot! ONE!” “What was stopping you from killing the rest of ‘em?” “Y/N needed me!” “See if I didn’t come-” “Shut up Morgan!” Listening to their familiar arguments was the best welcome home you could’ve ever wished for. Your eyes fell shut as you listened and soon the pain shooting through you and the exhaustion of being awake and afraid all night  started catching up. Slowly your body fell limp against Sean’s chest. You were only faintly aware of his arm tightening around you, keeping you safely on the horse. It was pitch black when you came to. Fear shot you awake, your eyes scanning the darkness. “Sean?” You could hear an exhausted exhale to your right, a hand reached out from the black to gently pet your hair. “I’m here baby.” There was some fumbling then a match lit, illuminating your lover who had fallen asleep sitting next to you. Sean lit a lantern and that’s when you noticed you were laying in Arthur’s cot. “We thought it best to give you some privacy until you’re in tip top shape. Said I wasn’t allowed to sleep with you in it though.” Sean leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad to have you back. Get some rest, no one will hurt you now. I’m here.” Relaxing again your fingers laced with Sean’s as you settled back in to sleep. ____ Charles: Charles usually minded his own business whenever you fucked off outta camp for a few days. You had been running with the gang far longer than he has and everyone knew you to be quite capable. God only knows what you’re up to half the time. Similar to Arthur, you’d go off and do your own thing then return with money or a fresh kill and a story of your adventures. Charles likes that about you. He admires your independence and how you have so much strength. When you didn’t show up to camp for a week he didn’t think anything of it. You were probably off climbing waterfalls or helping strangers. The gang carried on as normal unless Dutch wanted to offload a job onto you, then he’d ask around. “Charles.” Dutch called him over with a waggle of his finger. He already heard him calling your name and asking the ladies if they’ve seen you so Charles had an inkling as to what this was about. “Can you go find Y/N? I don’t care what it takes, just get their ass over here. We have money to make.” Charles didn’t mind being asked. Any reason to get some peace and quiet and reunite with you was a good reason in his eyes. The problem was, you were flightly, and your tracks were old. It has rained twice since you left camp. Charles followed your prints the best he could. Up into Strawberry, then to Mt.Shann where he took a break to enjoy the view and watch the birds. Charles smiled a little when he saw you had set camp there at one point. It was a beautiful place to stay, he would have done the same. He then doubled back to Owanjila lake where you had your second camp. He wondered what you were doing in the area, having absolutely no clue. He did, however, chuckle to himself when he found one of your gloves that you must have dropped. “Oh, Y/N.” The words slipping from his lips were fond and warm. He scooped the glove up deciding to store it in Taima’s saddle bag then he carried on his way. Charles began to get confused when your trail led straight back to Valentine. So… you were close to camp and didn’t stop by to rest your horse or grab supplies? That’s very unlike you. These tracks were fresher, not more than a few days old if even. Your lover became frustrated when entering town as the hoof prints belonging to your horse became lost in the bustle of main street and Charles couldn’t pick them up again. “Excuse me. Have you seen-” He began stopping residence of Valentine, asking of your whereabouts. You had been seen at the arms store and according to the man at the front desk of the Saints Hotel you stopped by for a wash only a day before. Well… If you were here yesterday you’ll probably be back at camp soon. After thanking the clerk, Charles returned to Horseshoe Overlook to inform Dutch you’d be back soon. The next day Charles awoke early. “Mr. Smith, can you please go into town and get us some supplies? Normally L/N does it but they ain’t back yet. Ms. Grimshaw ain’t too pleased.” He was attempting to enjoy his early morning coffee when Karen approached him. “Sure.” He set his cup down, accepting the list. “Did Pearson add what he needed?” “He only asked for corn.” He raised a brow in amusement, sharing a knowing look with Karen. “I understand.” Tucking it away safely Charles finished his coffee, throwing the rest out, then made his way to Taima. Your whereabouts weighed heavily on his mind during his ride into Valentine. ‘I miss Y/N’, he thought to himself ‘I hope they return soon’. Camp just wasn’t the same without you. He liked the gang alright but he liked you more. Valentine was a breath of fresh air after Blackwater. Quite literally. Charles took deep breaths, breathing in the crisp mountain air before entering town. Taima was soon hitched outside the general store where Charles leisurely strolled in. He walked around, footsteps echoing in the empty room as he gazed at the shelves. The clerk wasn’t there. “Hello?” He called out. Soon, sound of a door being swung open and rushed footsteps up the stairs filled the silence from what he assumed must have been the store room. “I’ll be right with you.” You were bound painfully tight. Ropes dug into your skin until your wrists bled. Tied to a chair and gagged. It had all happened so fast. Days ago you were going about business as usual. You stocked your ammo; took a nice long bath; and followed a dog around you wanted to pet before returning to camp, and of course, to the arms of Charles. What can you say? You love dogs and this one was particularly funny. You had grinned to yourself, studying the animal as you followed it out back. You didn’t expect to look up and be met with the stares of men who were clearly in the middle of an illegal operation. “Shit!” Your hand flew to your holster then froze as you heard a click and felt the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head. Your hands slowly rose as you tried to eye whoever was behind you. “Well well well, look what we have here, fellers.” “Real unfortunate, ain’t it?” You narrowed your eyes but kept silent. O’Driscolls by the looks of ‘em. “Hey…” A tall one began circling you, looking you over as if you were bait. “I remember you. You run with the Van der Linde boys, don’tcha?” This wasn’t good. “I think you’ve mistaken, mister.” “No… No I recognize you alright.” He stopped in front of you, leaning so close you had to recoil when the stench of his foul breath hit your face. “This isn’t your lucky day-” Before you could react he drew his elbow back and punched you so hard you nearly flew to the ground. Quiet laughs rang out among the group. Pain overcame you when one grabbed you by the hair, literally dragging you into the basement of their operation where you were hastily tied up and beaten several times among other unsavory happenings. For days you starved. Your face swollen beyond recognition. Only did the grocer show you any compassion. Feeding you water while muttering little ‘I’m so sorry, I wish we could let you go’s. He was a nervous man… A sweaty man. Hell you’d be nervous too if a gaggle of insane Irishmen took over the basement of your shop. You appreciated his little kindness but the weight of the situation was never lost on you. You needed to get out and soon, or else they’ll kill you. You thought of Charles and your beloved friends Arthur, Mary-Beth, and Lenny. Were they looking for you? Did they ever realize you disappeared? Today repeated the last two. The second the O’Driscolls noticed you were conscious their abuse started again up until mid morning when they left to take care of some business. The clerk made his way into the basement, removing your gag so he could give you water. “I’m sorry but you have to understand. If I let you go they’ll kill me.” You were too tired to argue with your heavily bruised jaw, sipping at the cool liquid. Suddenly a sound met your ears. Old floorboards overhead creaked with heavy footsteps. “Oh goddammit.” Cloth was shoved into your mouth once more, immediately drying your tongue. “H-Hold on. Stray here..” You glared at the clerk. Where the hell were you gonna go all tied up like this? The sweaty man dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, opening the door that divided you from the outside world. “Hello?” A voice called out, rushing the clerk who felt so overwhelmed and frenzied with stress that he accidentally left the door open. “I’ll be right with you.” Staying coherent is a struggle for you at this point. Listening to light footsteps run up the stairs you let your head hang limp against your shoulder. “What can I help you with?” “Just here to resupply. Do you happen to have… uh… a bushel of corn?” “Corn? Yeah, we got it.” Wait… was that? CHARLES! Energy rocketed through your veins with the hope of rescue. Charles was here! Gazing around frantically you searched for something, ANYTHING. The only thing close by was a broom. Hopping your chair over to it depleted you immediately, every bruise and broken rib screaming out. But you had to do this. You had to get Charles’ attention. It was so much work just to get close enough to tip the broom over. CLINK! Your head snapped towards the stairs with anticipation. Charles read the list over again. “Actually a bushel of apples too.” CLINK! He glanced down at the stairs then at the clerk who laughed nervously. “Haha don’t mind that. Just some junk.” Charles hummed, grabbing a few cans off the shelf. “I’ll take these as well.” “Is that all for you?” Your heart squeezed in your chest. It didn’t work. ‘Charles! Charles I’m right here!’ You so badly wanted to scream. No words left your muffled mouth beyond your hearing. There had to be a way to get his attention. Nothing else was close enough to you and you didn’t have the strength to move yourself and the chair any further. The only thing you could do was throw yourself to the ground as hard as you could and hope for the best. BANG! This time Charles froze. His eyes napped towards the basement then back at the grocer.  A terrified look flashed over the man’s face. That’s suspicious... Oh- “Just some junk, huh?” “Yes sir.” In once swift movement Charles pulled out his gun, cocking the hammer. “Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what’s down there, right?” “H-Hey listen! I don’t want any trouble.” “No trouble here. If there’s nothing down there then I’ll pay and leave.” “It’s just junk mister! Honest!” “Then it should be okay if I take a look at this ‘junk’.” The clerk folded under pressure. “They said they were gonna kill me if anyone found out!” “Then get out of here and hope they don’t find you.” Charles didn’t know who ‘they’ were but he had a pretty good idea about what was going on.  He watched as the grocer fled before cautiously making his way down the stairs, cattleman revolver still drawn. Charles was stunned. All breath left his body in disbelief the second you two made eye-contact. “Y/N!” He hurdled himself towards you, picking the chair up to sit you upright before removing the gag. “What did they do to you?” Swift work was made of your binds and soon you were pulled into the comfort of his chest. Giving a whimper of pain you couldn’t help but to cry tears of relief. “Charles!” Your voice cracked. You almost thought it wouldn’t work and he would leave without you. Charles rubbed your back, pulling away to assess your injuries. “Y/N…… I-.” He didn’t know what to say.  So many emotions hit him in waves, washing over him strongly which inevitably flashed across his face. Anger at the people who hurt his beloved. Guilt for not tracking you any further. Resentment towards himself for not considering you might be missing or in trouble. Sadness. So much sadness. He had never seen you this badly beaten and it disturbed him. Quickly he tried to hide his thoughts. You were so small and frail in his arms, crying uncontrollably now. Charles could imagine by your current state that it must have been a horrible ordeal. “I’ve got you. Can you walk?” All you could do was cling to Charles while shaking your head. You felt the weight of his coat drape around your shoulder before feeling yourself being scooped up. “You found me.” Charles winced at how weak your voice sounded. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead he shushes you. “Save your energy my love. You’ve been through a lot. Let me take care of you.” It’s the least he can do after failing you so badly. As he carried you up the stairs Charles make eye-contact with Sheriff Malloy who bowed his head slightly out of respect – serving as a silent apology. “We’ll hang whoever did this.” He promised.  Deputies flooded the store actively as he spoke. "When we find ‘em, you’ll be the first to know.” “Thank you.” Those words meant nothing to Charles. The Valentine law was useless and it showed. All he could do now was shield you from curious onlookers while mounting Taima with you securely in his arms. “Are you in any pain?” He whispered, making his horse walk so the ride wouldn’t jostle you too much. “Yeah.” Charles had to lean down to catch your quiet words. “Try to rest against me. I’ll get some morphine from the Reverend. Just hang in there. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He was trying desperately to find the right words to say. Anything that might help you or ease your suffering. Anything that might relieve his guilt. Grasping at words floating around his mind yet none could be combined into something coherent. They rode on in silence. “Mister Strauss, Reverend. We need medicine.” Most of the gang couldn’t see what was going on, Charles had you tucked protectively against him for privacy. He knew you probably didn’t want everyone ogling at you. The air of the situation was enough for everyone to gain understanding and many sprang into action. “How bad is it?” Strauss asked. “I think their ribs are broken, maybe sprained jaw. Definitely a sprained ankle.” “Bring Y/N over here.” Arthur called, leading Charles to his cot. “Probably better than the ground. Shouldn’t be movin’ much with cracked ribs.” Your eyes fluttered open the second you were placed in the comfort of Arthur’s bed. Charles immediately helped you take medicine to ease your suffering. “Do you need anything my love?” His voice was gentle as if speaking to a spooked animal. Large calloused fingers brushed the hair from your face. “Food… Water…” Arthur gently squeezed Charles’ shoulder, earning a grateful look from his friend. “Let me.” Your love settled into a chair beside you, still playing with locks of your hair. “You’re so brave Y/N. And so incredibly smart. I’m so happy you’re safe now. I-… I’ll never let this happen to you again.” He watched you struggle to stay conscious. Maybe the food will have to wait. Slumping forward, he places a feather light kiss upon your lips. “I’m coming with you everywhere for now on.” He knew you couldn’t hear him but it eased his soul just saying those words out loud.

[barbieaemond]

Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.  

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.” 

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?” 

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress.  “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.  

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”  

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather. 

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.  

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.  

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?” 

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”   

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”  

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations  like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it.  “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?” 

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (3)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

AO3 Link

Chapter 3: Venture

As the days flew by, quickly turning into weeks and the weeks culminating in months, Leon grew busier, taking on additional responsibilities from his colleagues. Just as you had predicted, he was more than qualified and capable of handling his own in the role of a police officer. Despite that, he always found the time to visit your shop, even if it was for a quick coffee break during a night shift. No matter how grueling it was, he would be there. Sometimes, he would even get yelled at by his patrol partner for taking too long, though they were often placated by a free pick-me-up you doled out, which Leon insisted on footing the bill without fail.

One of these nights, he strolled in with Lieutenant Branagh, chatting jovially as they grabbed the usual front row seats.

“How’s my favorite barista doing?” Marvin greeted you, unclasping his arms as he brought you in for a quick hug over the counter.

“Not too shabby, how about you? How’s the girls?”

Leon eyed the two of you curiously; the familiarity with which you interacted with each other catching him slightly off-guard.

“They’re doing great, growing up so fast. My eldest might surpass her old man in a year’s time—just you wait,” he chortled, settling himself in.

“Remember her?” He passed you a recent photo of his daughter from his wallet.

“No way,” you guffawed, feeling the glossy paper nestle itself between your fingers. “She’s changed so much!”

“She’s a fine, young lady now, with a good head over her shoulders,” he responded, his eyes brimming with pride. “Just like yourself.”

“Thanks Marv,” you said, your response heartfelt as you returned the photo to him. “So, the usual?”

Rapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, he confirmed, “The usual.”

“Hey.” It was soft, unassuming, and so unapologetically Leon. 

A subtle smile broke out across his lips as he nodded at you. No hug—maybe it was too soon for hugs and he was not comfortable enough.

“Hey,” you acknowledged, nodding back with a faint smile of your own.

“I wish I could say ‘the usual’, but I don’t have one yet,” he admitted. “By the way, I’m getting this round.” He turned and peered over at Marvin who stood up halfway to protest.

“Naw, come on, put your money away, boy,” the older man commanded.

But Leon was not having any of it. “I insist, Lieutenant.” Holding his hand up before Marvin, he continued, “These few months, you’ve gone out of the way to mentor and support me. It’s the least I could do.”

At this, Marvin raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, then I’ll accept your offer graciously, rookie.”

You saw Leon scoff lightly at the nickname as he turned his attention towards you, his features mellowing. “I’ll take whatever you brew for me tonight,” he decided.

Just as you spun around to complete the order, he murmured, the lilt of his voice carried across by the wind, “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Leon,” you whispered back, noticing the crinkle in his eyes, the way he subconsciously puffed out his chest, and the fleeting glimpse of happiness that washed over his face.

Marvin glanced between the two of you as a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing, trusting in the passage of time to make its intentions clear.

When you served their drinks, Marvin slurped his down voraciously. “Ooh, the kick is still there. De-licious!” he exclaimed.

“What’s that?” Leon quizzed.

“Kopi Jahe—coffee and ginger,” Marvin clarified. “It’s Indonesian, if I’m not wrong. Perfect for my lactose-intolerant stomach.” He patted his belly to emphasize his point.

“Whatcha get?” he asked in return.

The younger officer blushed as he looked at you. “Guess I’ll have to taste it to find out.”

As always, he sniffed it before taking a tentative sip from the cup. “Mmm…” His eyes squeezed shut while he focused on the flavors. “Hmm…”

“Mint?” His bright blues greeted you again.

“Coffee, mint and honey,” you affirmed, flourishing it with a name, “Fire and Ice.”

Before he had a chance to respond, the door chime rang, and your eyes darted to your next customer of the night.

Ben. Good ol’ Ben Bertolucci.

“A Triple Espresso, please,” he called out, already striding towards his usual sitting corner, while simultaneously giving the two policemen a long, hard look. 

“Evening, officers,” he said curtly, giving them a sharp nod. They tipped their hats back, paying no mind to his soured mood as they dived into another conversation of their own.

Firing up the coffee machine, you ground the beans into a fine powder and let the pressurized hot water seep through the puck. The richly aromatic smell of a dark roast filled the air as the concentrated, viscous liquid dripped into the awaiting demitasse.

During this intermediary period, you unwittingly eavesdropped on the friendly chat between the officers.

“How do you know her again, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, I’ve been here a good number of times back in the day. Times when I really needed it. Times when all I wanted was a comforting drink and a space to sort out my mess. I happened to stumble across this shop—”

“Me too.”

“Hmpf, guess it’s that kinda place… let’s count ourselves lucky then. Anyway, enough about me. What about you?”

“Uh, what about me, sir?”

“You got any plans for your future, son? Pretty sure you didn’t just end up in Raccoon City with those perfect grades.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I guess. Now that you put it that way, uh, I’ve always wanted to investigate the Arklay Murders.”

“The Arklay Murders, huh? Shooting for the detective route?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, have you ever considered applying for S.T.A.R.S.?”

“Wh-what? Um, no, sir. Didn’t think I would qualify for something like that yet.”

“I’ve seen how you work. You're a fast learner, diligent, and competent. I know talent when I see it. You just need to work on your confidence a little, rookie. Keep this up and you’ll have my letter of recommendation on your desk by next year.”

“Wow, th-thanks, Lieutenant… I’m just not sure—”

“Look, you don’t have to make a decision now. All I’m asking is for you to think about it, alright?”

Reluctantly tearing yourself away from the rest of the discussion, you picked up the demitasse, which seemed to weigh like stone as you trudged over to Ben, setting it down on his makeshift desk. Heaps of documents were strewn across its surface in a haphazard manner as he scribbled furiously on his notepad, circling items in a red marker.

“Oh, hey, thanks,” he mumbled, still absorbed in his writing. “Hope you don’t mind, but it’s gonna be a long night.”

“Not at all, Ben,” you said, frowning at the grainy images of what appeared to be the Chief of Police, Brian Irons, in the background.

When he saw you peeking at his work, he shuffled apprehensively in his seat, attempting to use his arm to block your view. “Sorry, but this is top secret stuff.”

“I understand,” you replied empathetically. “Don’t worry, it’s safe with me.”

He snorted at your remark, but eased up, absentmindedly stroking his beard as he spoke, “Appreciate it. Don’t wanna rub people the wrong way, like those folks over there.” He jutted his chin out in Leon and Marvin’s direction.

“Seems like the RPD has taken a liking to this place,” he added with a hint of disdain.

You shook your head and laughed. “Not all of my customers are police officers, Ben.”

Narrowing his eyes at the two, he piped up, “Just watch yourself, that’s my advice. In my world, they’re pigs—the whole lot of ’em. Probably why the term ‘ACAB’ exists, eh?” He wagged his finger. “Food for thought.”

“You’ve probably seen a lot of abuse in your line of work,” you speculated, figuring that his poor experience with the force had shaped his current opinion.

“No shit,” he huffed before composing himself. “Well, as far as I can tell, Branagh’s… tolerable. Dull, but tolerable. The kid over there though, I don’t trust him, seems a bit green.”

You glanced over at Leon briefly. Almost as if he sensed your presence, his eyes shifted away from Marvin, colliding with yours, and a smile tinged with uncertainty unfolded on his face.

He’ll come into his own, you thought, smiling back reassuringly.

“So…” 

Ben’s gruff voice snapped you out of your reverie as you faced him again, but you didn’t miss a beat. “So, you’re obviously swamped. Ever imagined hiring an intern?”

“Why? Having second thoughts about your business?” he smirked in amusement.

“Nah, just a suggestion,” you replied blithely as you clutched the tray across your chest and tottered back to the counter. “You should put a call out. I’m sure a bunch of people would be interested in the work you do.”

Back at the other table, Marvin rose to leave, slapping Leon’s back encouragingly. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, but if I don’t head home in the next five minutes, I’ll end up on the sofa tonight.”

After you said your goodbyes, Leon leaned against the side of the counter, adjusting the hem of his uniform as he looked between the door and you, seemingly debating whether he should call it a night too. However, he decided otherwise.

“Um, you don’t mind if I stay a little longer, do you?”

“Not at all.” You indicated towards the typically vacant chairs in the room. “Take all the time you need.”

He did not sit down, hanging around you in silence for a few minutes before he said what was on his mind. “Did you always want to be a barista when you grew up?”

That stumped you. It was not very often that you received personal questions or interest in what you were doing. Maybe some even felt bad to ask. You were far more used to listening to people, and not the other way around.

“No, not really,” you answered truthfully. “To be frank, I don’t think I ever knew.”

“So, what made you decide?”

You hummed, tapping your chin as you pondered his question. “It was something I kinda just fell into,” you explained. “I saw an opportunity and took my chance. I guess I’ve always been idealistic and wanting to help people…”

“I’ve always wanted that too…” he chimed in gently as his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours. He jerked his hand away as soon as he realized, as if he had received an electric shock.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he continued, “I became who I am because, when I was young, I saw someone do this very same job. He helped others, ordinary people, including me.”

“The man saved my life,” he stressed, pausing as if recalling a distant memory, before he divulged, “I told everyone, ‘That’s who I want to be when I grow up!’ Helping civilians, doing the little things that change their lives.”

“Now it feels like I’m only getting further away from it,” he sighed despondently. “Solving mystery cases like Scooby-Doo and joining an elite team…”

Your fingertips grazed his knuckles. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

“What?” He looked at you, startled.

“Nothing’s stopping you from helping others, just because you end up doing something else,” you answered plainly.

It took a while for your words to sink in before he could react to them. “You’re— I don’t know how you do it,” he chuckled in disbelief to himself. “You make me want to tell you everything. That’s your superpower.”

“I’m just me,” you shrugged. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And that’s exactly how I like you.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - Dastardly Hug

Being a hero had its inconveniences. You could be called for help at any hour, you could be harassed by any angry civilian because you didn’t do a good enough job, or of course you could be hit and killed by some villain on the loose.

However, what worried Hero at the moment was the paperwork. It was the dreaded time of the month when they had to log in the agency website and describe every one of their good deeds to be paid. It had taken a bunch of tries to finally access their account, and now they were wondering if bringing a dog back to its family counted as “security” (the dog was certainly safer inside the house) or as “improving the well-being of citizens” (a category that could embrace all kinds of actions, to helping an old lady to cross the street from stopping the apocalypse – who designed these things ?).

Behind their back, the door creaked in an ominous way (they really needed to lubricate the hinges). For a brief instant they fervently hoped that it was only a gust of wind, but the light of the room suddenly went off. They sighed and saved their progress while their roommate solemnly declared:

“I am darkness. I am the creeping blackness that cannot be killed by any light.”

“Sure, but I’m certain you still will be in fifteen minutes. Can you come back then ? I’m doing paperwork.”

“You wish to surrender to the horrors of bureaucracy rather than mine?”

“I don’t wish it, but we kinda need the money, you know. What did you want ?”

“Why, tis but a common reminder to surrender in my presence that should strike fear and reverence in your heart. Every activity of yours should pale into insignificance.”

“Can you be more precise ?”

“I’ve come for intimidation and invasion of your personal space.”

Hero looked at the screen of their computer. It had been already two hours since they began. Oh, fuck it.

“Yeah, okay.”

They patted their knee and extended one arm. For a moment, they couldn’t see anything, then they felt the weight of a person on their lap and a head on their shoulder. It was impossible to see the shape of the silhouette huddled up them, only a vague black cloud, but it wasn’t a problem. They were getting used to it by now. They closed their arms gently until their fingers met a back, that they rubbed.

“You have so many knots.”

“It’s because I’m very twisted.”

“Maybe you should straighten your back more.”

Former Villain shrugged and didn’t answer. They both stayed like that for a while, silent and quiet.

“Hero ?”

“Yes ?”

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you ?”

Hero’s hand froze on their roommate’s back.

“Why would I do that ?”

“Just checking.”

“Of course I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Still no answer. Fingers clutched at their shirt, almost desperately. Hero knew by now that asking if their roommate was okay was a lost cause. They never answered in a straight manner. So, after clearing their throat, they awkwardly said:

“Uh, if you let me suffer into the hands of the bureaucracy for a little while, you could beat me to video games if you want to. Or we can watch a movie together. But, uh, in a really evil way ?”

“In a really evil way ?”

“I don’t know, I try to make it sound appealing to you.”

“You’re terrible at it. Nevertheless, I will graciously accept your request.”

“How kind.”

After a moment, Former Villain slid from their lap and went out. Hero didn’t turn back to their paperwork immediately. The truth was that despite Villain being their roommate, they didn’t know much about them. Who needed to pretend that wanting a hug was very evil, and what kind of past did they have ?

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[alitheakorogane]

Freedom's Protection: The Two Imposters

Summary: Our beloved protagonist had finally met the Anemo Archon himself. Is he really one of your allies in surviving in this world where people wanted to kill you for 'stealing' the face of the Divine Creator or is he one of them?

This is the first part of Mondstadt's storyline for the Reader Protection Squad SAGAU series.

Note: There are instances of grammatical errors, please bear with me. Also, the entire layout was now changed and I placed a title on them so I could not be confused while I write the next chapters. It's still the same story though.

Chapters: 1 (current), 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

"You're the imposter, aren't you?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at the young windborne bard beside you in fear. You knew from your experience in playing Genshin Impact that Venti is the Anemo Archon, you may say that he is one of your favorites... but according to what you had heard from the gossip of people in the city and your past experiences, the Archons and whole Teyvat are currently hunting for the Imposter who allegedly copies the face of the Creator, who was never seen in Teyvat for hundreds of years, who happens to look like you.

Venti had sensed the distress on your face, so he just waved his hands sheepishly as if in surrender and he quickly spoke, "Don't worry, (Y/N), I won't hurt you, in fact, I will help you in proving your innocence."

"How ...would you know that I was the one you all been looking for? And why would you help me when you already assumed that I'm the imposter? Aren't you also an Archon, Lord Barbatos?" you blurted out, but you realized that you never told Venti you knew about his real identity before this talk. You covered your mouth as you looked at the surprised Archon in fear once again.

Venti then composed himself as he sheepishly rubbed his neck, "You knew that I'm Barbatos all this time, isn't it? You really are perceptive, let me tell you that, ehe."

You just muttered things about him, his resemblance to his statue, and his people's idiocy for not recognizing the bard as their Archon, but the green-cloaked bard had heard that due to his enhanced hearing and blushed in embarrassment.

Then he lowered his hands to his lap as his aqua-green eyes stared at your own. To you, they resemble the sky and the grass, like the lush scenery of his home domain, Mondstadt. "To answer your question, I am more perceptive than anyone could assume I was. I even have suspicions that you are more than just an Imposter..."

"...I think that you may be the actual Divine Grace."

You scowled at the thought, "I'm not a god, I'm just an unlucky player thrown into your world, just a normal human being with a normal life. But what if I am really the imposter? I may be born with this face, but I bore resemblance to your god. And if you tried to help me, what about you? You will be branded as a traitor by everyone and executed with treason, Archon or not. Your people would bring you down once they knew about this, like they did with Lord Decarabian."

The Anemo Archon smiled sadly as he replied, staring at the skies above and at the birds flying graciously without a care in the world, "I have been thinking about the consequences of helping you, but I will stand my ground no matter what, just to prove your innocence to my people and to my fellow Archons, even Celestia themselves."

"You may be an imposter to the Divine Grace, but if I joined the hunt with the others, that would be a hypocrite of me. After all, I'm also an imposter for also stealing the face of my only friend."