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dilatorywriting · 2 months ago

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails. All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that.

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before. Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily.

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 5

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yanderenightmare · 4 months ago

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Geto Suguru

TW: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, condescension and patronization

fem reader

Thinking about the utter subjugation of being one of the prettier curses Suguru has made into a silly marble and swallowed…

By the time he spits you back out again, you feel his rule on you like a set of chains. It's awfully crippling. You know you'd wanted to fight back only a minute ago, but none of that remains now—swapped with the sole will to obey. It’s as if he’s stuffed everything with cotton—reduced you to a puppet on his strings, tugged this and that way on his command, summoned from within the prison of his stomach whenever he has use of you.

He keeps you by his side when he’s bored of waiting for templegoers. You’re not a very strong curse, not one he can use to attain his goals of world annihilation in any case, but you serve as entertainment, so you’re not entirely useless either...

It’s beyond humiliating for you, though, no doubt. Being kept on his lap like a pet. No clothes with no means to run away or stop him.

“Most every curse has an unpleasant taste,” he states against the shell of your ear, keeping you snug against his chest, naked and only partly draped in his shared monk’s robes. “Some or other secretion of the human body—shit, piss, vomit, blood, sweat, tears, spit…” he lists leisurely, one after the other, while tracing his finger up and down along the cursed markings lining your skin, a pretty little winged heart symbol on your lower belly, right atop your womb. “You know what you tasted like?”

You shake your head pitifully with a bite of your lower lip. You wish he wouldn’t touch you there—it’s so sensitive you can’t keep from quivering.

“Come on, humor me,” he purrs lowly, snuggling his chin into your neck, watching how you shake with amused slim eyes. “I’ll even give you a hint.”

His humming makes your head feel dizzy. You want to swat his hand away, but nothing in your body obeys you anymore. It’s all kept neatly under his thumb.

His breath licks your ear along with a flick of his tongue, then a soft snicker. “It was sweet.”

You feel sticky all over—overheating—breathing in short as sweat pills upon your brow. You whine, twisting some on his lap—shifting for comfort—finding some as the bulge beneath takes place against your naked sex. You immediately roll your hips to chase the friction it provides.

“Oh? Do you need another hint?”

His fingers glide lower, past the pink tattoo, and onto the fluttering mess beneath it. Two of them ride through your puffy and glossy wet folds, making you curl against his chest—head resting back upon his shoulder while spreading your thighs wider—craving it with every simmering nerve of your loins—needing more and never wanting it to end.

“That’s it,” he praises, but the touch disappears, much to your devastation, but quickly reappears within your mouth as he sticks both digits past your lips and presses down upon the soaked bed of your tongue.

He chuckles like he so often does, softly with mockery, only a bit cruel but equally nursing.

“It’s a nice flavor. Not very curse-like.” His lips skim your cheek as he wipes his fingers inside the warmth of your mouth—making you lick them clean for him. Pulling them out, he angles your face toward his, ghosting your wetted lips with his, pulled in a smirk. “It’s almost like you want to be eaten.”

♡ GETO SUGURU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

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bogleech · 1 year ago

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Anyway while we're on the subject of public misconception towards living things (which is completely understandable because have you SEEN living things? There's like dozens of them!) here's a fresh rundown of some common mistakes about bugs!

Arachnids aren't just spiders! They're also scorpions, mites, ticks and some real weirdos out there

Insects with wings are always finished growing! Wings are the last new thing they ever develop! There can never be a "baby bee" that's just a smaller bee flying around.

That said, not all insects have larvae! Many older insect groups do look like little versions of adults....but the wings rule still applies.

Insects do have brains! Lobes and everything!

Only the Hymenoptera (bees, ants and wasps) have stingers like that.

Not all bees and wasps live in colonies with queens

The only non-hymenoptera with queens are termites, which is convergent evolution, because termites are a type of cockroach!

There are still other insects with colonial lifestyles to various degrees which can include special reproductive castes, just not the whole "queen" setup.

Even ants still deviate from that; there are multi-queen ant species, some species where the whole colony is just females who clone themselves and other outliers

There is no "hive mind;" social insects coordinate no differently from schools of fish, flocks of birds, or for that matter crowds of humans! They're just following the same signals together and communicating to each other!

Not all mosquito species carry disease, and not all of them bite people

Mosquitoes ARE ecologically very important and nobody in science ever actually said otherwise

The bite of a black widow is so rarely deadly that the United States doesn't bother stocking antivenin despite hundreds of reported bites per year. It just feels really really bad and they give you painkillers.

Recluse venom does damage skin, but only in the tiny area surrounding the bite. More serious cases are due to this dead skin inviting bacterial infection, and in fact our hospitals don't carry recluse antivenin either; they just prescribe powerful antibiotics, which has been fully effective at treating confirmed bites.

Bed bugs are real actual specific insects

"Cooties" basically are, too; it's old slang for lice

Crane flies aren't "mosquito hawks;" they actually don't eat at all!

Hobo spiders aren't really found to have a dangerous bite, leaving only widows and recluses as North America's "medically significant" spiders

Domestic honeybees actually kill far more people than hornets, including everywhere the giant "murder" hornet naturally occurs.

Wasps are only "less efficient" pollinators in that less pollen sticks to them per wasp. They are still absolutely critical pollinators and many flowers are pollinated by wasps exclusively.

Flies are also as important or more important to pollination than bees.

For "per insect" pollination efficiency it's now believed that moths also beat bees

Honeybees are non-native to most of the world and not great for the local ecosystem, they're just essential to us and our food industry

Getting a botfly is unpleasant and can become painful, but they aren't actually dangerous and they don't eat your flesh; they essentially push the flesh out of the way to create a chamber and they feed on fluids your immune system keeps making in response to the intrusion. They also keep this chamber free of bacterial infection because that would harm them too!

Botflies also exist in most parts of the world, but only one species specializes partially in humans (and primates in general, but can make do with a few other hosts)

"Kissing bugs" are a group of a couple unusual species of assassin bug. Only the kissing bugs evolved to feed on blood; other assassin bugs just eat other insects.

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shu-bullshit · 1 year ago

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Finally. John in the psychiatric facility.

Mumbles underneath

This was actually the first FAITH piece I started, the first thing I wanted to draw. But I was stuck for a few days and honestly it looked shit during the process.

I still struggle with realism a lot, result of years of unpleasant training. I often find myself thinking about the rules of the physical world so much that it kills the picture. There's also motivation of people-pleasing in it to me that is hard to get rid of.

When doing this one it felt very much like I'm being sucked into that hole again. But I decided not to look up references and accept things that look off. It's still not there, of course, but I try to take small steps away from that thinking. I want to remember why FAITH attracted me is it created such fear with such simple graphics, there's never the need to tell everything.

I didn't like the process at all, but I always try to finish every piece I started even though it feels like shit, and I'm glad I did. It's a bit less shit so I could also feel a tiny bit less shit about myself.

#faith game #faith the unholy trinity #john ward #my art #my bullshits #faith john ward

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jonnywaistcoat · 8 months ago

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Mr. Waistcoat, there's a rather heated discussion about this question on hellsites such as Twitter & Tiktok, and I thought your opinion might be a valuable contribution.

Would you rather stumble across a bear or a man when alone in the woods?

Wish you a lovely day (preferably not alone in the woods),

drumla

This is a very bizarre question that I can only put down to the likelihood that the majority of Twitter/Tiktok users don't regularly go walking alone in the woods, 'cause, uh, you do meet people (including men), pretty regularly. And it's fine. Maybe you say hi or give each other a nod as you pass, but basically no-one is actually lurking in the woods with sinister intent. When you meet someone, chances are they are also just taking a walk. It's not impossible the encounter might be unpleasant, I suppose, but it's a pretty tiny possibility.

A bear, on the other hand... Depending on the type of bear, that's an encounter that has a comparatively high chance of going sideways.

I suppose my view might be slightly skewed by being a British man - passing other people in the woods generally only requires a nod of acknowledgement, whereas in a lot of other cultures (especially much of the US) I suspect the expectation of being drawn into small talk is much higher, which might be awkward or irritating. But still, y'know, better than a bear.

But yeah, 99% of the time neither the woods, nor people walking within them, are dangerous or scary, and I think the folks debating this question should get off social media and take a woodland walk, cause walking alone in the woods rules actually!

#I mean #If you're walking alone in the woods #There's a non-zero chance the man you meet is me #And we can silently walk past each other #And not interact at all

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unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240 · 10 months ago

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I keep toying with writing this, because words are hard and I'm not sure how to fully articulate this thought.

However, it's something I've sensed very deeply and I think it's important to start trying to talk about.

Much has been said about how traumatic Oct. 7th was for Israelis and really Jews the world over, and lots has been said about why that was - from the fact that it happened on what was supposed to be a joyous holiday, the fact that this violence was as barbarous and sadistic as it was, the fact that it drew on deep historical wells of intergenerational trauma, to the fact that it was met with immediate denial, betrayal, and even celebration from supposedly progressive goyim - but something I have not seen much discussion on is how that ongoing denialism and even celebration of the carnage made sure that the trauma stuck.

See the thing is that one of the best predictors of favorable recovery outcomes from trauma is the support the victim receives, especially in the immediate aftermath. Victims with strong support networks, who are believed and whose grievances are taken seriously, recover much faster and much more holistically even from objectively worse traumas than victims who lack support and/or whose traumatic experiences are denied or dismissed. Seems obvious enough, right? That's why advocates for survivors exhort communities to listen to survivors and victims, and to hold space for them. We know what happens when that support is denied.

In some ways, the Jewish people is like a horrible case study in what happens when that denial of support happens - not just on a large scale, but over the course of time through numerous generations. In every generation they come for us, and every generation has the opportunity to step up. And so far, every generation has failed the task. (There are of course, some wonderful individuals who do step up; however they are the exception that proves the rule.)

The sadistic celebration of atrocities committed against Israelis and the denialism were not just unpleasant side concerns - these were active components of the violence.

The bottom line is this: if you deny the atrocities of Oct. 7th and the ongoing hostage crisis or try to excuse or downplay them, you are actively participating in violence against us.

And yes, of course these atrocities do not justify atrocities in return. Yes, of course confirming facts is important. But I think a big part of why we can't "just move on" to talk about other atrocities is because you people have never acknowledged our pain or let us grieve or be human. Not once. And the longer that goes on, the deeper the wound and the longer the road to healing from this trauma gets.

#המצב

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entitled-fangirl · 5 months ago

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I'll find you.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: the high Septon visits Winterfell, and Cregan would rather do anything else with his time than spend it with the priest.

Warnings: religious trauma, bad theology, blood, fighting, vulgar words and name-calling

Masterlist

.......................................................

"I don't want him near her."

"My lord, please. You and the Lady must greet him most welcomingly. He's an important ally."

Cregan gritted his teeth. "He's a fucking fiend. I'll not have him anywhere near her. I'll greet him myself."

The maester sighed, "You cannot keep her away from him the entire time. It raises suspicion."

"I find myself hardly caring."

"Speak to her on it, my lord. Perhaps you'll come to an arrangement."

…

"You're worried about a septon?" She asked in a confused manner.

"You've ever had your gut wrench at the thought of someone?" He asked.

She leaned against the back of her chair with her head tilted in thought, "I suppose so."

"Septon Garren has no regard for life itself. I'd make a better priest than him."

She rolled her eyes, "We're his hosts. We still make the rules here, Cregan."

He sighed and sipped his ale. "I know that. Still, I'll not have him disrespect you."

"I'll stay at your side. How does that sound?"

He let out a long breath, "You won't wander?"

"I won't."

"Fine. Fine."

…

Septon Garren exited his carriage with a scowl that looked like it was permanently marred to his face.

He looked around at Winterfell with a look that screamed he was unimpressed.

Cregan stepped forward, keeping Y/n behind him, "Septon. How wonderful to have you join us."

He grimaced, "Yes. Yes. Very well."

Cregan had to hold back a sigh, "I've not seen you since I was young. Might I…" He paused, forcing himself to continue, "Might I introduce my Lady Stark?"

Garren's eyebrows shot up at that.

Cregan reluctantly pulled her in front of him, his hands never leaving the woman's body.

She smiled and held out her hand, "A pleasure, Septon Garren."

Garren stared at her hand with an unimpressed stare.

She awkwardly lowered her hand and leaned back into Cregan.

Garren finally spoke, "'Tis colder than I imagined."

Cregan gritted his teeth in frustration, "Yes, well. You did decide to visit at the beginning of winter. So, I imagine it's much colder than King's Landing."

Y/n felt the tension, "Might we go inside? You must be weary from your travel."

Garren's eyes wandered over her slowly, as if seeing something that she didn't. "Yes. That would be fine."

Cregan sighed and pulled Y/n along with him, leading them into Winterfell.

…

"He doesn't seem that terrible, Cregan."

"You've no idea, my love. He's like a spider."

She scoffed lightly, "C'mon. He's unpleasant, yes. But you make him seem like a demon."

"He's the closest you'll find."

She sighed in frustration. "I am going to fetch my book from the library. When I return, I expect you to have pieced yourself back together."

…

She picked up the book she had abandoned in the library, turning around and jumping in surprise.

Septon Garren stood in the doorway.

Just staring.

She held the book to her chest, feeling exposed for some reason. "Septon. Forgive me. I didn't hear you."

He grunted, continuing his stare.

She was unsure of what to do but stare back. He was in the door way. What else was she to do?

She made herself walk the various shelves, pretending to scan for a book.

He continued his stare.

She finally sighed, "My husband told me you've been the high septon for three kings now."

Garren grunted, studying her.

She looked around, very uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I should return to Cregan."

He moved one step to the side and grumbled under his breath, "Flee from me, Eve."

Her brow furrowed, "Hmm? I'm sorry?"

He stared with a glare now.

She quickly made it back to Cregan.

…

Cregan had decided to give the man a single chance due to his wife's words.

So he sat over his dinner, trying his hardest to converse with the man.

"My friends in the south tell me the weather has been fairing nicely this season."

Garren grumbled, "Aye. A fair amount of rain."

Cregan nodded and sipped his wine, "I see. We're all snow. I understand the feeling of rain."

Y/n leaned forward with an intent to speak, "Tell me exactly what it is you do?"

Garren's brows furrow, "I'm the high septon."

She bit her lip, "Yes. But… what exactly does a septon do?"

He frowned, "Girl does not know the jobs of a septon?"

Cregan's chest puffed out on instinct.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Please tell me." She tried to reason.

"I… I communicate with the Seven, and relay the message to the people. I perform exorcisms and offer sacrifices to our gods, old and new, to please them."

She hummed, "Oh… is that all?"

Cregan held back a chuckle.

Garren frowned but said nothing.

…

Late that night, she sat up from the bed, unable to sleep.

Cregan snoozed loudly as he always did.

It seemed to be the only time he was in a state of pure relaxation, so she never dared to interrupt it.

She pushed herself from the bed and ran a hand through her messy hair in an attempt to calm it.

After throwing a robe on over her small clothes, she left the room to spend her time in the library until morning. It was a common routine for her to do so, and none of the servants ever batted an eye when she did.

But when she walked into the library, she froze to see Septon Garren there. She let out a soft gasp that caught his attention.

He turned, a new look in his eye, "Come. Sit."

She held her arms over herself, "No, I couldn't. I'm hardly appropriately dressed. I… I did not expect anyone else up at this hour."

He titled his head, "It does not bother me, my child. Sit."

She forced herself to talk slow steps to him, sitting down on the sofa next to him.

He watched her closely, letting his eyes wander over her.

"Couldn't sleep, I suppose?" She asked awkwardly.

He stared at her, debating something.

He leaned towards her, grabbing her wrists and pulling her arms away from her body, making her expose herself more to him.

She watched him in freight as he took her in more.

He finally spoke, "'Tis a shame."

"W…What is?"

"The curse of women."

She let out a breath, "I… I'm sorry."

"You believed you could seduce a high septon? You're certainly a bold one."

She lightly scoffed as her hands began to shake, "W.. What?"

He grinned a sick smile, "You've succumb to your nature, girl. Don't play the fool when your septon discovers so."

She tried to pull her hands out of his, to no avail, "Stop."

He bit his smile back from growing wider. "I bet you've fooled the Stark lord." He leaned in, "No man but a holy one can outwit the dealings of an evil cunt."

"Let me go."

He stands, pulling her up with him, "On the contrary, girl. I believe I know just what to do with you- something Cregan Stark doesn't have the guts to do."

Her eyes welled up with tears, "I haven't done anything… I haven't… I haven't done anything."

One of his hands moved up to her hair, gripping the strands at the back of her neck harshly. "Let's go, Eve."

She could only comply as he began to drag her by her hair with no remorse.

He pulled her from the library and began to pull her down the corridor.

She began to cry, "Stop… please… pl… stop."

He laughed, "Now Eve uses her tears to plead for forgiveness. It's typical."

She tried her hardest to pry his fingers from her.

"You see, every woman is a reincarnate of Eve, sent by Satan to test us all. It's a man's job to keep her evil at bay." He leaned into her ear, "And yours has done a poor job of it, it seems."

She misstepped, tripping herself and falling to her feet.

He reaffirmed his grip on her hair and tugged her up harshly.

She let out a loud shriek in pain.

He pulled her the rest of the way up, letting her go and slapping her across the face so hard, she fell again.

She cried at the pain that throbbed in her face and head. "I didn't… I… Creg… please."

Garren grabbed her by the hair again, "Don't worry. I'll beat it out of you, girl."

She hiccuped, desperate for breath through her panic and tears as he continued to drag her down the corridor.

"Please stop… I… I'll do anything… let.. let me go."

He gripped her chin tightly to pull her face to him, "You'll feel better after a proper beating, I assure you."

She felt the smallest but of determination, and she spit in his face.

He let out a grunt and took a step back. His anger grew tenfold suddenly, and he let out a full swing on her.

She screamed at the pain as she fell to the floor another time.

Blood seeped from her nose profusely.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Cregan's voice boomed from down the hall.

He stood in his usual cloak, no doubt thrown over his small clothes.

She hiccuped but made no effort to move from the ground in worry of having him see the blood.

"My lord," Garren began, "Your wretch attempted to seduce me in the dead of the night! You've not done your duty!"

Cregan's eyes widened in pure anger. A fire was lit behind the pupils. "My what?"

"Your wretch."

Cregan immediately began swinging, throwing a series of punches at the man.

She sat herself up, looking down at her shift and robe that now were stained with her blood. She let a small whine at the uncomfortable feeling of the liquid running from her nose.

She let out a grunt and pushed herself up on shaky legs, immediately leaving as quickly as she could.

…

"Let me in."

She turned to look at the door, pausing the patting of the wet cloth to her nose.

She couldn't let him in like this.

"Leave this for the morrow, Cregan. Please."

She heard his feet shuffle.

"I'm not leaving this door until I'm done with the conversation."

"Well, I do not wish to converse."

"Let me in, or I'll break it down now."

She quickly got up, moving to it and unlocking it. But just as quickly as she had gotten up, she moved back to the vanity.

Cregan stepped in, assessing the room before his gaze settled on her, "My gods."

She turned her head to him, immediately beginning a sudden sob at the look in his eyes.

He took a step towards her, but she shook her head, "Stop… d… don't please."

He paused, "You've got to let me see."

She shook her head more, "Don't come near me."

Cregan felt offended, "Love, why not?"

"I… I'm… nothing. I don't… I can't take more today… please."

His eyes softened, "What?'

She sniffled, "I can't take another beating, please, my lord."

He felt his stomach drop. "I… I'm not gonna hurt you, my girl."

Hot tears continued down her face, "I didn't mean to. I didn't know he was there…"

He nodded, "I never doubted you. I never did." He took a slow step forward, "Can I look at you?"

She studied him in deep thought before nodding.

He let out a breath of relief and knelt in front of her, taking her face in his hands gently.

"Nasty hit, huh?"

She scoffed, "That's all you've to say?"

He grimaced, "I have much to say, trust me, pretty."

When her snivels multiplied with the promise of more tears, he quickly corrected himself, "I'm not angered with you."

She looked at him through a blur of tears, "You're not?"

His brows came together, "How could you think that? Of course not. A man beat my wife, and you think I'm mad at you?"

"If you believe him.."

"About what?" He asked incredulously. "You know the horrid things I'll do to that man for what he said?"

She sniffled, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "Stop that."

She nodded, "Yes, my lord."

He let out a frustrated sigh, "No. Don't say that."

"What do you wish for me to say?"

"Doesn't matter. You're to call me whatever you wish. You know that." He paused, "Has he brain washed you so easily?"

Another tear fell down her cheek, "I'm just lost."

He nodded and wiped the tear, "I'll find you then. How's that?"

She let out a shaky breath. "Please."

He took the cloth from her hand and tilted her head up as he began to dabble the cloth across her nose.

She spoke after a while, "You can't kill him. He's the high septon."

"He touched you. I'll do whatever I wish with him."

"You'll make an enemy of King's Landing."

"Don't care."

She sniffled, "No?"

"Do you think I'm a formidable opponent because of my worry of making enemies? No." He rubbed a tender spot and apologized, "I'm a formidable enemy because I don't stop until I get what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"His head on a spike and you in my arms."

She smiled, "You have one of those things already."

He chuckled and threw the cloth onto the vanity, "Indeed, I do."

She gasped when he picked her up and took her to the bed.

"In the morning, I'll have them both. Until then, I'll enjoy what I have."

...................................................

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn

#cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #creagan stark #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction

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yan-lorkai · 7 months ago

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Hi, so I've read the rules, but I'm not sure how much I can ask for. Can I get a headcanon about the TWST Housewardens finding out that the GN! reader has a boyfriend? Oh, and the reader's boyfriend is just some random student NPC in their dorms. If it's too much, just some of them reacting would be cool. Thanks!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Finally done, yay! Been a while since I wrote for all the housewardens so it is a little lengthy. Hope u enjoy, darling!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Tw: Yandere content, stalking, implied violence and kidnapping.

He's been watching you this whole time, feeling his heart beat inside his chest whenever he heard your sweet laugh and saw you smiling. His feelings slowly start to grow as you become friends, but there's just one problem: You have a boyfriend. What an unpleasant surprise! Well, what a shame that your boyfriend will disappear under suspicious circumstances that will never be resolved and he will be right here by your side to comfort you :)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Azul know just what to do. He plots and plans and trap your boyfriend on a deal he can't refuse. It's a tricky deal, trickier than usual, I mean, a one in a lifetime chance, whatever it is. However you won't never know what happened to him, not when you come to Azul asking if he knows something, not when he is comforting you and rubbing your back as you cry while he pretends to be just as sad as you. As if he ever feel sad to lead your boyfriend to his demise when he can have you like this, when he can mend your heart himself and love you like you deserve. Though when you recover Azul will show you just how devotion and love truly feels. He has been deprived of it for too long, bullied and teased, and he will have you, even if you found out about the deal, even if you claim to hate him, he can bear it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Kalim is a sweetheart on the surface level, so happy all the time, so friendly. But he is oh so suffocating, always touching your arm and pulling you into a hug, kissing your cheeks and forehead and laughing when you tell him to knock it off. People always tend to assume he is your boyfriend and tell you that you too are a very cute couple, and they're always shocking when you tell them that Kalim isn't your boyfriend but just your bestie. Not yet, at least. On an intimate level, he likes to think about what to do with your actual boyfriend. People love money more than they love humans. Can he bribe him? If so, how can he guarantee that he won't go back on his word? Or should him send Jamil to do his dirty work? Mmm, so many options, either way, by the end of the month your boyfriend will disappear and you will need a friendly shoulder to lean on and Kalim is more than happy to be there for you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia already has Ortho investigating this student and is so easy to watch him since he is in Ignyhide. He isn't worthy your time, your love and care, he is but a little plankton, not very smart or interesting, Idia don't know what you had seen on your actual boyfriend but he is never going to tell this to your face. Instead, he invite you to his room to play and study, assuming a more softer approach about this little problem than most yanderes, telling you how your boyfriend has been acting strange and visiting another person's room for a very long period of time. He even show you a very factual and not at all fabricated camera footage as a proof. Idia considers himself a very good friend when he comfort you and wipes your angry tears, telling that you deserve better, that he can treat you better. After all, it wasn't your fault that your boyfriend was a cheater. And Idia can show you what true love is.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Vil is horrified about your taste in men. Like, really, Liebling? You love this... Thing? Well, He has to give recognition where it is due and as a Pomefiore student, your boyfriend tried to polish and better himself. Though it wasn't enough. He wouldn't be good enough for you even in thousand years. Vil likes to imagine how he would take care of you, love you, polish you. He likes to imagine how he'd let down his walls around you and told funny stories from his movies or backstage gossips. Knowing you have a boyfriend kinda of shatter those thoughts. He tried to be happy for you, he really tried but in the end he couldn't help himself. So he created a potion, so sweet and yummy, and gave it to your boyfriend. Simple as that. Having you crying on his lap was just a bonus, a bonus Vil would cherish dearly.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Malleus has what he wants. And he wants you. It's only natural that things will fall in order after he states his claim on you, every single little thing start to goes wrong in your relationship and you, stressed and sad, tells Malleus every single thing while he comforts you. Sweet words are whispered in your ears, great dreams greets you everytime you sleep and in your dreams you are always so happy by Malleus's side, exploring woods and swimming in lakes, petting sheeps and listening to the birds singing. Simple things. Great things. While you sleep, Malleus send nightmares to your boyfriend, makes him so horrified and paranoid that he can't even form coherent thoughts. He wants you and he will have you, even if he has to tear you two apart like this, since your boyfriend took to isolate and murmur to himself.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle doesn't like this. He quite dislike your boyfriend a lot, he is messy, a rule breaker, a bad student, he isn't worthy your time and love. Riddle is consumed by a jealousy that make him see red, nowadays he is always collaring your boyfriend, always making him busy so you two can spend less time together. And if you come to Heartslabyu to try and spend time with him, Riddle will just lie to you and tell you he didn't do anything and has no idea about what you're talking about. Yes, he gaslight you. But he is doing that because he knows what's good to you and that is certainty not your boyfriend. Instead, he fills your head with doubts and lies, and takes you to the Unbirthday party so you can have a little fun. Savor the present moment, the little snarky jokes Riddle tells you and the delicious tea. Forget about your boyfriend before Riddle takes matters into another level.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona is smug. Like, really? You love this guy? He is so much better than your boyfriend, more smarter, stronger, he huffs whenever he see you two being all cute and chummy together. He should be the one holding you, kissing you, cuddling you. You are his precious mate so he put all his effort in conquering your heart and love. And when Leona is determined to do something there's nothing in the whole world that can make him stop. He plans and make so many strategies in order to be successful all the while he has Ruggie making the dirty work for him. Kill him, bribe him, whatever, Leona will make you a single person again before making you fall in love with him. Even if he has to turn your boyfriend into dust, he will without thinking twice.

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 4 months ago

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one night, one call l Joel Miller

Summary: the trip to the bar ended differently than you planned

Warnings: +18, smut, angst, swearing, abusive relationship, crying, mention of violence, unprotected sex (she's on the pill, but remember - safety first), oral sex (receiving f), praise kink, cigarettes

A/N: 200 followers milestone! Thank you so much for being here and dedicating your time to my scribbles. I hope they bring you at least a little joy. Your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

The door slammed behind you with a bang that no one heard because of the music playing inside the pub. The night was starry and cool. However, you didn't feel the cold because of the rage and helplessness you felt inside.

Your cheeks were burning and your throat was painfully tight as you sat down on a nearby bench and helplessly hid your face in your hands, letting out a muffled groan of rage.

You wanted to throw everything to hell, leave town and change your name, but all you felt inside was total humiliation and helplessness.

"Want a smoke?"

A low male voice tore you from the clutches of despair and brought you back to that uncomfortable bench and into the embrace of the cold night.

You raised your eyes and saw the silhouette of a man who must have approached you when you were despairing. You immediately thought that your lack of vigilance in such a situation was very risky, but you were relieved at the sight of a familiar face.

"Joel..." you sighed, straightening up on the bench, "Thanks, but I don't smoke. Although... Fuck it."

You took a cigarette from the pack he held out to you, then used his lighter. You took a drag and blew a trail of gray smoke from your mouth.

"Thanks." you said, "Did you come to make fun of me again?" you laughed desperately, "We'll have a laugh, and then I'll finally cry."

"Your boyfriend is..."

"Asshole. I know." you interrupted him and put the cigarette to your lips again, "I'm sorry. I'm mad, and he's your friend after all."

"Don't apologize." Joel sat down next to you, sitting comfortably and stretching his long legs in front of him, "He's a dick."

You smiled.

You had known Joel Miller for a long time, you didn't even know how long. It was at his birthday party that you met Dylan and somehow you became a couple. It was over half a year ago and you were already regretting that you had let Joel convince you to go out.

"He wasn't like this before." you started, staring at the bright windows of the building across the street. "It was cool at first."

"It's always like this." Joel mumbled. "What changed?"

"I don't know." you shrugged. "I guess I started bothering him. Besides... You heard it yourself."

Joel regretted that he had heard everything that had been said between you and Dylan, because it was just terribly unpleasant.

It started with you wanting to dance, but Dylan wasn't interested. So you went dancing alone, and then he went into a weird jealous phase and gave you a loud lecture about how you dressed like a whore and you definitely want to find yourself a new dick. Your friends tried to calm him down, but when you said he had too much to drink and maybe you should go back, he told you to fuck off because "no pussy will rule him."

You were silent for a moment, finishing your cigarettes and listening to the muffled sounds coming from the pub. Finally, you crushed your cigarette on the edge of the bench.

"How's Sarah?" you asked, looking at Joel, and he smiled.

He always smiled like that when you asked about her.

"Fine." he replied "She's sleeping over at a friend's tonight. So..."

"Daddy's having a night out." you laughed "Cool. It's just a shame you're spending it with me on the bench instead of with your friends inside. You should go back to them."

"Naaah. I don't feel like it." he replied, turning the box of cigarettes in his fingers, clearly lost in thought "Listen, Y/N... I know it's none of my business..."

"Please, I don't want to talk about him." you interrupted him again.

"You don't have to be loyal to someone who treats you like that. I would never do something like that."

"I know, Joel. You're one of the good ones." You smiled. "But I have to handle this, you know. But I guess I'm too afraid of being alone..."

"Better to be alone than with a dick like that. Sorry, but that's the truth." Joel stood up and stretched, then scratched his already slightly ruffled hair. "A hot chick like you deserves someone better."

"Do you think I'm a hot chick?"

Your question made him a little uncomfortable, but he didn't show it. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

"You know I do." He replied. "Oh, and that's the smile I like so much."

You shook your head in disbelief.

"Joel, it's not nice to play with a poor girl's heart." you said, standing up and glancing at your watch. "I think I should take my slutty dress home. It's getting really late."

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, thanks. You've already done a lot sitting here with me."

"It's no problem. Call or text if you need anything."

"Sure. Bye."

How could you have known that you would need it that same night?

The sound of the phone ringing echoed through the bedroom and penetrated his head unbearably. He woke up disoriented and immediately reached for his watch. It was almost four in the morning, it was still dark outside.

"Fuck..." he groaned, trying to feel for the phone on the nightstand, "Yeah?"

"J-Joel?"

He immediately woke up and sat up in bed. Your voice had completely changed. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

"Y/N? What happened? Is everything okay?" he asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

"Y-Yeah..." you answered uncertainly, your voice trembling, "No, nothing's okay... I'm sorry, Joel. I didn't know what to... I immediately thought of you and..."

"It's okay. Tell me what happened?" he swung his legs off the bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes with his free hand.

"Dylan... I..." your voice broke every now and then and Joel guessed you were crying "He came here... We had a terrible fight. He was drunk... He tried to..."

"Did he do something to you?"

Joel felt his heart stop for a moment. He wasn't sleepy anymore, but fully conscious. His fingers tightened around the phone as he waited for your answer.

"No, but... He wanted to, so I just threw him out the door." you sobbed, already completely falling apart "He was still screaming and banging on the door... I was terrified..." you sobbed "I told him it was over, that I didn't want to see him anymore... I guess I shouldn't have... I'm sorry I woke you up, I'm so stupid!"

"Hey! Calm down." he interrupted you, getting up and reaching for the jeans lying on the floor "Are you alone now? Did you close the door properly?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Where are you now?"

"I locked myself in the bathroom. That's stupid..."

Joel had already put on his jeans and was running down the stairs to the dark living room. He grabbed his car keys lying on the table and headed for the door.

"Stay there. I'll be there in a moment." he said as he walked down the driveway to his car. "I'll call when I'm at your door."

"Joel, that's not necessary..."

But he had already hung up and was starting the engine. He abruptly backed out and a moment later he was driving down one of the main streets. It wasn't until the first red light that he realized that he was gripping the steering wheel with all his might and constantly rushing in his mind.

But he didn't feel like thinking about it. The fear that was coursing through his veins was turning into anger and rage. He felt his heart pounding harder and harder. The whole situation seemed completely unreal to him. But he could still hear your trembling voice, that was the worst.

He stopped in front of your door and as soon as you opened it his knees almost buckled under him. Your eyes were red and puffy, your hair disheveled. He quickly went inside, and you let him hug you.

You sank into his arms as if only they could save you at that moment.

"Hey, it's okay." His voice was soothing as he stroked your hair "I'm here. You're safe."

"Joel..." you groaned, pulling away from him "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called..."

"Stop apologizing, sweetie, and tell me what happened." He replied, taking your face in his hands.

So you told him everything again, and he had to ask you to calm down a few more times, because you were falling apart again. His brown eyes watched you closely, and when you finished, his hand grabbed your wrist.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked coldly.

You looked at your arm. There was a strong and clear mark of a man's hand on your forearm.

"He did it?"

Joel's voice sent shivers down your spine. You'd never heard him like that before. His jaw clenched tightly as he stared at you with such intensity that you felt like he was staring straight through you. You nodded.

You didn't need to say anything more. Joel stormed out of your apartment and you didn't even have time to scream to stop him.

It had been over an hour since you saw him again. The sky was starting to lighten on the horizon when Joel appeared in your doorway. His eyes darkened and his body tensed. He entered the apartment and you already knew that something more had happened.

"Joel?"

"Dylan won't be bothering you anymore." His voice was low but calm.

"Joel? What did you do?" you asked, approaching him.

"I talked to him," he replied. "I should have done it a long time ago. About half a year ago."

Your gaze went to his hand. The bloody knuckles were the answer to everything. You covered your mouth with your hand, terrified.

"He won't press charges, don't worry about that." he said seeing your reaction. "And he definitely won't come near you again."

"You shouldn't..." you choked out, shaking your head.

"Shouldn't I stand up for you?" he asked "Please, Y/N! I couldn't stand to watch how this guy treats you! You deserve so much, so much better." Joel unconsciously raised his voice, but he didn't notice it because the words were spilling out of his mouth "You were always so kind and sweet, and he was a fucking asshole because he didn't see what a wonderful woman he had next to him! It makes me sick to think that you and him... Dylan didn't deserve you, Y/N! He should be happy I didn't knock his teeth out anyway."

"Joel..."

He looked at you from under his furrowed brows. Anger was still boiling inside him, and his hand hurt a little. But none of that mattered. What mattered was you and how you felt. And your eyes were wide, because you were staring at him, terrified by everything that had happened.

"Listen, Y/N..." he said, approaching you and taking your face in his hands. "I won't let anyone hurt you again, do you understand? You shouldn't blame yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. He was a fucking bastard, he just let it out now. I'm just sorry you had to go through this."

"I wasn't alone..."

He felt your hands on his, they were so pleasantly warm and soft. And although your eyes were still red, he didn't see the same fear in them as when he first saw you. Maybe that's why he decided to finally do it, something he had been thinking about for so long, but still thought he shouldn't.

You felt his warm lips as they crushed yours. A few gentle pecks, but when he felt you return his kisses, they became deeper. You felt his tongue as he slipped between your lips, caressing you pleasantly.

Your body responded automatically. You clung to him, sliding your fingers through his hair. He smelled of the remnants of his cologne and the cigarette you had smoked together, but it didn't bother you.

This was him, the one you knew. The one who defended you and was always there for you, who told you nice things and was happy to see you. The one who would never hurt you.

"Say the word..." he murmured in your ear as his kisses slid down your neck "I don't want you to regret this."

"I only regret that we didn't do this earlier." you replied "I want you, Joel. If you want me."

"You don't even know how much..."

His hands rested on your hips, squeezing them lightly and pushing them closer to his. You immediately felt the bulge in his jeans and something pleasant fluttered in your lower abdomen. You were the cause of it, and it was exciting.

You didn't remember how on earth you got rid of your clothes, slowly heading towards your bedroom, breaking the kisses only for a moment to get rid of another unnecessary piece of clothing. You always thought Joel was handsome, but when you saw him naked you felt your mouth get wetter.

Wide and strong shoulders covered in skin that looked as if kissed by the sun, a soft belly and a nice path of hair leading to a hard manhood. You were the one who looked like a walking mess, but he didn't see that.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." he whispered as he laid you on the bed and his eyes could feast on your body.

Your body quivered as he moved his hand down your side to your thigh. He smiled seeing you bite your lip. Joel kissed you again, but only for a moment. Soon his lips slowly went down to your collarbone, lower to your sternum, and then closed on your nipple, sucking and caressing it tenderly with his tongue.

You closed your eyes enjoying the feeling, and when his hand gently tightened on your other breast you let out a quiet moan. Joel liked that. His mouth left your nipple with a wet pop to move on to the other. His hard cock pressed against your thigh, and you felt the heat in your body that needed to release.

Your hand slipped between your hot bodies and his sigh of contentment filled your ears as you grabbed his cock and moved your hand up and down. You could feel how wet you were just from listening to his moans.

"I want to taste you." You whispered.

He didn't protest, or rather he couldn't at that moment, so you rolled him onto his back. Now you were the one kissing him, and then you slid lower. Your warm, wet tongue slid down his neck as you kissed and bit the skin, then your lips moved lower and lower across his chest.

He probably let out all the air from his lungs when he felt your breath on the tip of his cock. You gave him a single lick, and then you slid it into your mouth. You felt the slightly salty taste and the weight of it on your tongue. It was long and hard. Joel lifted his hips and moaned loudly as you took him deeper, almost choking on him.

His fingers gripped your hair as he guided you the way he wanted and needed. You let him do it, trusting him completely. You felt his body tense with every movement, and your tongue didn't make it any easier for him to control himself.

"Baby..." he whispered with difficulty "You have to stop, or I won't last much longer."

You hummed something, sending vibrations to his member, and he moaned louder and quickly moved your head away from his crotch. You didn't have much time to react. His arms gathered you to him and in an instant you felt his strong body pressing gently against yours.

"I want to be inside you." he panted, spreading your thighs. "Will you take me?"

"Yes, Joel."

You didn't want to wait any longer. His tip slid across your lips a few times, and then slowly pushed inside. The walls slowly stretched to take him. His size took your breath away, but Joel did it slowly enough that you could get used to the feeling.

"I feel so full." you said when he stopped.

"Not yet."

He lifted your leg slightly and pushed his hips, you squealed, feeling him even deeper. God! The feeling was captivating. His hot body pleasantly crushed yours, his cock buried in you to the base.

You wrapped your legs around his waist feeling that you were already used to this feeling, but you were wrong. With the first thrust you lost your breath again. But Joel was gracious, with the second and third he stopped again for a moment. He was clearly delighted with your reaction, because you saw how his shiny eyes looked at you with admiration.

"You're doing great, baby." he praised you, kissing you gently on the corner of your mouth "You're so brave. Do you feel it? You took me so deep. Brave girl."

Fuck!

The words hit exactly where they were supposed to. Your body relaxed and his hips could accelerate, slamming into you faster and faster. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, feeling that if you didn't, you'd eventually somehow slide off the bed, and you didn't want that.

His lips found your nipple again. He sucked on it, and you tensed from the overwhelming feeling.

"Fuck, Joel... Harder, please..." you moaned, "Harder."

"Are you sure?"

All you could do was nod. He took your hands, pressing them above your head, your fingers intertwined so tightly that it was almost painful, but you didn't care.

Joel's hips thrust harder, hitting exactly where you needed him. Suddenly, when you felt how close you were, he let go of your hands. He lifted up and now he was kneeling between your legs. He grabbed your hips, lifting them slightly, and then he started thrusting. You managed to grip the headrest as you felt him so deep again. Your walls began to tighten around his cock.

"Come on, baby." he panted. "Give it to me, I know you can. Fuck! I'm so close."

"Joel!"

"I know, I know baby."

When he placed his thumb on your clit, making small circles, you completely drifted off. Your walls squeezed, sending pleasure through your entire body, which arched giving Joel one of the most beautiful views. He didn't stop moving though.

"Where do you want me?" he asked. "Y/N? Tell me! Where?"

"Inside." you replied, opening your eyes and looking at him. "Pills. It's safe."

Three more thrusts and you saw Joel throw his head back, moaning loudly as he filled you to the brim, deeper than anyone had before. His chest was heaving rapidly, but when he looked at you, all you saw was delight.

He slowly pulled out of you.

"Wait a minute." he said, leaning down and kissing your hip.

He disappeared into the bathroom, but returned a moment later carrying a towel soaked in warm water. He dried you off carefully and lay down next to you.

"Jesus, I didn't expect that," he confessed.

"Me neither. Definitely not that." you replied.

"What now?"

This question wasn't just directed at you. You had the impression that Joel was also asking himself.

"What would you like to happen next?" you asked gently, stroking his face. His stubble tickled your hand pleasantly.

"I wouldn't want to ruin what we had." he replied "But I would like something more. With you. If you want it too."

“So maybe we should take it one step at a time?” you suggested. “I think that would be safest.”

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I'd love to invite you out for dinner or a drink. If you don't mind, of course."

"Oh! That's nice." he laughed, brought your hand to his lips and kissed the top. "And would you put on that slutty dress of yours. I really liked it."

"I think that can be arranged." Now you laughed too.

In the light of the dawning day, everything seemed easier for you. You were looking into the sweetest eyes in the world, you were feeling the heartbeat of a man who truly cared about you, and it was a truly wonderful feeling.

You were safe with him.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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