#comment wipe and/or lock in 3... 2...

[nabesthetics]

Looking at Dorian deadass dropping a "making Arcana bad, making on Dorian good" post on the Arcana IG page, and getting absolutely roasted in the comments

[menagerofmischief]

Spill Your Guts (OP81)

summary: after revealing what she listens to in order to wind down, y/n ends up with an invite from her favorite podcast host to appear in the next episode

driver!reader x podcast host!oscar piastri -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, reader teasing lando (they're besties), kissing, fluff, bad flirting, oscar being bullied by hattie

wc: 2.9k

a/n: this one is written + smau, with a bit of different formatting for the podcast episode. this one was fun to write, I hope y'all will like it and show it some love.

-> TAKE 1

“Hi,” you said, flashing a smile to the camera. “I’m Y/n L/n!”

“And I’m Lando Norris,” your teammate, sitting in a chair next to you in the video set up, said while waving his hand. “And we’re McTeammates!”

“Lando,” you said, shaking your head as you turned to look at him. “We talked about this. We drive for McLaren, we’re teammates but,” you lifted a finger up, pointing it at him. “We’re not, McTeammates.”

He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out at you. “Whatever you say, McGrumpy!”

“That’s it!” You said, pushing your chair away from the table and standing up. “I’m taking away your Gray’s Anatomy privileges.”

“You can’t do that, you bitch!”

“Try me, you little termite!”

-> TAKE 2

“Hi,” you smiled, lifting your hand up to wave at the camera. “I’m Y/n L/n.”

“Why do you always start?” Lando complained. “Like why isn’t my name first, I’ve been here longer.”

“Because I’m the lead in the championship and your nickname is last lap Lando.”

“That’s so fucking mean, you muppet!” He sobbed, wiping the corner of his eye to add to the dramatic effect. “What’s wrong with you - you know I’m sensitive about that.”

You sighed, putting your hand on his back and rubbing along his spine in a comforting manner. “I’m sorry, Lando, I didn’t mean it.” You said, putting your fingers into his locks and ruffling his hair. “We can do your name first, and you can start the video. How does that sound?”

He looked up at you, eyes shining with excitement, the previous dramatics instantly gone as he started nodding his head. “Deal! No take backsies!”

-> TAKE 3

“Hi!” Lando said, his voice full of enthusiasm as he waved at the same with a big grin. “I’m Lando Norris.”

“And I’m Y/n L/n!” You said, smiling at the came and praying this take was going to work out because if you had to start this video over one more time you were going to strangle your teammate.

“Today we’re answering your questions. which you had the chance to send us on Instagram and we put them in this bowl.” Lando explained, holding up the said bowl full of folded papers.

You pushed your hand into the bowl, running your fingers over the papers before grabbing one and pulling it out. You unfolded the paper, looking down at the printed words. “What is Lando afraid of?” You read the question, laughing a little. “Fish!”

“Hey!” He interrupted, snatching the paper from your hands. “It’s my question I’m supposed to answer!” He looked down at the paper, humming while nodding his head. “I’m also afraid of the dark.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from making a comment, wanting badly to tease him about saying he was afraid of the dark. 

Satisfied with his reply, Lando threw the paper away and dug into the bowl for the next one. He unfolded the paper, clearing his throat dramatically before reading out the question. “What does Y/n L/n listen to, to wind down?” His eyes snapped up, looking into yours. “Uh, I know this one!”

“I don’t care,” you replied, snatching the paper from his hands. “It’s my question.” You told him, returning his previous words back to him, which made him pout. “To wind down, especially after a race I listen to a podcast hosted by some Aussie guy named Oscar. The podcast is called Spill Your Guts, it has no specific theme and the host is a funny guy. Plus, he sounds cute.”

“I could have answered that!” Lando said, poking your arm with his finger. “I knew your answer word for word.”

“I’m sure you did Lando,” you said, nodding your head at him. “Now why don’t you pull out the next question?”

It’s a few days later, the video already long gone from your mind, when you walk into your driver’s room after a practice and flop directly onto the couch as soon as your helmet and balaclava are off, letting your body mold into the cushions after the exhausting practice.

You grab your phone and open it, eyes focusing on the new massage you had gotten while you were in the car. Your expression is confused as your eyes swipe over the number, not recognizing whose it is.

You enter the chat and after a brief moment of hesitation, you reply.

Your hands are shaking as you try your best to shove your phone into your pocket before jumping up, a scream tearing from your throat before you’re running to Lando’s driver’s room.

“Lando!” You yell, grabbing the door handle and pushing his doors open without knocking. He stops dead in his tracks and turns around to face you.

Lando holds both hands up, his mouth full of a chocolate doughnut that is half sticking out. He quickly grabs the part that’s sticking out and pulls it out of his mouth, swallowing the rest as fast as he can. “Don’t tell my trainer, please!”

Your eyes slide over to the half a doughnut in his hands and you shake your head at him. “I don’t care about that,” you tell him. “You’ll never believe what happened!”

“Max Verstappen got a 100 points penalty and you secured the championship?” He offers, deciding to finish his doughnut while he has a chance. 

“No, I don’t think that’s possible,” you tell him. “But it would be great! What was I saying? Oh, yes!” You clap your hand before putting them on his shoulders and shaking him. “Oscar Piastri invited me to star in an episode?”

“Who?” He asks, his voice muffled by the treat in his mouth.

“The Spill Your Guts, guy!”

“You got invited to Spill Your Guts!?” Lando asks, swallowing the doughnut before looking at you with a smile. “You’re going to be on an episode of your favorite podcast?”

“Yes!” You laughed, smiling at him.

“How?”

You grabbed Lando’s hand and moved him over to the couch, flopping down into a comfortable position, you patted the spot next to you, signaling for your teammate to sit down. Once he did, you cracked your fingers and locked your eyes with his. “Okay, so…” and then started explaining.

OSCAR: Hello everyone! Welcome to tonight's episode of Spill Your Guts. Tonight’s guest is definitely the most famous person I’ve ever had sitting opposite of me if you don’t count my sister, with her 120k TikTok followers. Anyways, it’s my pleasure to welcome Y/n L/n to the studio!

Y/N: Hi, Oscar! And hello to everyone who’s listening in tonight. The pleasure is all mine really - I’m honestly so excited to be here. Just ask Lando, I’m pretty sure he’s gone deaf from all my screaming.

OSCAR: [laugh] Okay Y/n, settle in and fasten your seat-belt, we’re starting.

Y/N: I’m ready!

OSCAR: I’m sure you’ve been asked this many times but what’s it like being a Formula 1 driver?

Y/N: Thrilling. Every race week is a new adventure and the sport is really competitive so you’re constantly trying to prove yourself and set new records. There’s really no time to slow down.

OSCAR: I’ll be honest, it sounds a bit exhausting. Now, if you were a driver what would you be?

Y/N: Maybe a doctor [sigh] I’ve always been interested in medicine but racing is my life. But yeah, if I wasn’t a racer I’d probably want to pursue a career in medicine.

OSCAR: [hum] I can see it. You’d look good in scrubs. [both laugh] What’s your favorite Grand Prix?

Y/N: Two words Oscar - Las Vegas!

OSCAR: That’s a night race, yeah? Seem fun. Are you ready for some rapid fire questions now?

Y/N: Go right ahead, pretty boy.

OSCAR: [nervous laugh] Okay then, ready steady go! Wet or dry?

Y/N: Wet.

OSCAR: Monza or Monaco?

Y/N: Monza!

OSCAR: Blondes or brunettes?

Y/N: Brunettes [laugh] Australian ones preferably.

OSCAR: [very loud laugh] How cold are the ice baths?

Y/N: Very fucking cold.

OSCAR: Vettel or Alonso?

Y/N: None of them - Rosberg. Catch the reference. 

OSCAR: I did! Catch the reference, that’s it. I watched that video to come up with questions.

Y/N: Oh, is the next question bums of boobs then? Because bums for sure.

OSCAR: That was not a question but thank you for answering it either way. Let me take a quick peek at the chat. boy4norizz wants to know who’s your favorite F1 teammate?

Y/N: [loud laugh] Oh God, Lando I’m gonna kill you! So, the only answer I can give you is Lando, because he’s the only teammate I’ve had in F1. But if I had another, it would definitely be them.

OSCAR: Cats or dogs?

Y/N: I like both but if I had to pick - dogs. I’ve got a dog actually, a goldie. His name’s Apollo.

OSCAR: I love goldies!

Y/N: You should come meet mine sometimes. 

OSCAR: I might take you up on that. Now, last I checked you are the current lead in the championship, right? How does that feel?

Y/N: Still feels a bit unreal, if I’m being honest. Obviously every driver dreams about winning the WDC, and obviously only half of the season is done so I don’t want to be getting ahead of myself with the talk, but to actually be in the lead and have such a big chance to win it feels amazing.

OSCAR: I hope you do win it.

Y/N: Oh! [small pause] Does that mean you’ll be cheering on me?

OSCAR: Absolutely! You mentioned half of the season being done so that means summer break is approaching right?

Y/N: Yes, summer break starts after the next race.

OSCAR: Got any plans for the break?

Y/N: Depends. Are you free?

[few moments of silence and then both start laughing]

OSCAR: [catching his breath] Alright, thank you everyone for tuning in - and thank you to Y/n, for joining us. Enjoy the rest of your night.

liked by yourusername, landonorris, mclaren, hattiepiastri and 12,864 more

oscarpiastri: Another thank you to F1 star, Y/n L/n for joining us in tonight's episode of Spill Your Guts. And thank you for bringing the merch! Go stream the episode if you missed it!

tagged: yourusername

comments:

user01: call me crazy but they have so much chemistry

user423: you're not crazy girl, I literally felt like I was intruding userr: same! and her inviting him to meet her dog!! if they don't date I'll kms

ynsmclaren2: 'do you have plans' 'depends, are you free' WELCOME BACK SEBASTIAN VETTEL

user3: no because I literally screamed when I heard that userss: preach sister. they sound so good together I need them to date

yourusername: it was an amazing experience, 10/10 host would come back

oscarpiastri: dibs on getting the first interview when you win your championship? yoursername: deal user33: oh they're down bad

hattiepiastri: you're embarrassing me, you have her number use it

oscarpiastri: I'm telling mom you're mean to me hattiepiastri: do it no balls, she likes me more user454: I live for hattie bullying oscar

You look into the mirror one more time, raising your hands up to smooth down your hair for God knows what time that night. You push yourself forward, practically leaning over the desk so your face is directly in front of the mirror and run your finger over the edge of your bottom lip, making sure corners of your lipstick aren’t smudged. 

“Stop that!” Lando says, picking up a makeup brush from the bed and throwing it at you. It’s times like these that make you wonder why you agreed to go on vacation with him. “You look great! I’m sure the pastry boy’s jaw is gonna dislocate from how hard it’s going to drop when he sees you.”

“That’s … definitely a mental image.” You reply, picking up the brush from the floor and throwing it back at him. “I’m nervous,” you admit, picking on the bits of skin next to your nails.

Lando gets up from the bed and approaches you. He smiles and lifts a hand up to pat your shoulder before deciding to pull in for a quick hug. “There’s no need to be.You’re a catch and if he screws us it’s his loss.”

You bite your lip, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you think it over. “Yeah, you’re right. Come on, I’m gonna be late.”

After pushing Lando out of your room you grab your purse and exit the room. The elevator ride down to the lobby feels like a small eternity, your stomach tied in knots by the time you finally step out in the lobby.

You make your way outside, a lump in your throat as you look around the busy street. Your eyes finally meet his and it’s like time slows down. He’s leaning against his car, dressed casually in pants and a T-Shirt, and holding a small bouquet of flowers.

You smile as you approach him and he mirrors your smile with his own. “These are for you,” he says, offering you the bouquet. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you reply, taking the flowers from him, your fingers brushing against his. “And you don’t look bad yourself.”

He laughs in response, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a smile. He grabs the car door handle and opens the door, gesturing at it with his free arm. “Shall we?”

You can help but laugh, nodding your head you get into the car and he closes the door, going around the car and sitting in the driver's seat. “Where are we going?” You ask, settling back into the seat and pulling on your seat-belt.

“A little restaurant I used to go to with my parents and sisters when I was younger,” he tells you, starting the car. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

f1wagupdates: new WAG in the paddock?

current championship lead and famous mclaren driver Y/n L/n, was spotted having an intimate dinner with Oscar Piastri, podcast host of Spill Your Guts, which L/n starred on and mentioned it being her favorite podcast.

after the episode she appeared in fans noted the flirting between L/n and Piastri. are the two finally together?

comments:

ynsmclaren2: I'm very happy for them but why don't we give them some privacy instead of photographing them going out to dinner

user332: hell yeah! my otp is real

user441: they look so cute together, I ship it

oscarpiastri: the term WAG stands for wives and girlfriends and is used for partners of athletes mostly because they are straight men dating women. the appropriate term to use in this situation is HAB because that stands for husbands and boyfriends and is therefore the same things as a WAG but for the other gender

oscarpiastri: if you're gonna gossip at least do it right user77: he ate I fear user667: f1wagsupdates you've been real quiet since this comment

oscarpiastri: #HABandproud

user11: please I love him user334: mclaren's media team is gonna have a field day user102: protect him from pr training at all costs

tap to load more comments...

“Stop biting your nails, it’s disgusting” Hattie said, slapping Oscar’s hand away from his mouth.

Oscar tore his attention off from the screen to glare at his sister before returning it to the screen once more. This was it, Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.

You and Max were tied in the points and this was not only the final race of the season but also the race that determined who would win the championship. Of course he was biting his nails, he was nervous.

“And to think mom said you’d never get a girlfriend sitting in a studio and hosting a podcast.” Hattie said, bringing a glass of water up to her lips and drinking from it.

“Why are you even here?” Oscar asked his sister.

“Your girlfriend invited me,” Hattie replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “She likes me more than you.”

Oscar was about to reply but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a gasp as he completely focused on what was playing out. He felt Hattie grab his hand, her nails digging into his skin.

“Verstappen is attempting a rather risky overtake on L/n, can she defend?” He heard the voice of the commentator ring out through the speakers. The whole crowd seemed to silence down as they watched the battle for first place, for the championship.

“Last lap, they can both see the checkered flag but who will cross it first?” Oscar held his breath. “Verstappen going wide … but L/n leaves no space! She moves fast, she moves fast and SHE CROSSES THE FINISH LINE!”

Oscar winced as Hattie screamed into his ear, both of them hugging each other before running down with the rest of the team to greet you when you got out of the car.

You pulled yourself out from the car, your heart practically in your throat, vision blurry with tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. You pulled your helmet and balaclava off, each searching the crows until they landed on Oscar who was smiling at you.

Without as much as a second thought you ran up to him, throwing your arms around him and kissing him. He kissed you back, full of passion, and his arms stroked your back.

When you finally pulled away he had the biggest smile on his face, lifting his hand up to cup your cheek. “So, about that championship win interview?”

You laughed, leaning your cheek into his hand. “It’s a date.”

tag list:

p1 @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff

p2 @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacamdridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog

p3 @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte

p4 @annimausi @kodeelynn @schniti-is-in-the-house @cinnvmonrolls @cmleitora

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 13

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i have realized i dont link the polls to the fics. here's what won last time!! bask in your decisions <3 once again, the high valyrian might be wrong so roll with it and leave comments/reblogs ok!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Caraxes was never fond of being holed up in the pit, and yet, as King's Landing became apparent on the horizon, the dragon found himself beating his wings faster than normal. When the stench of the pit the creature's nostrils, he knew then, he was home.

Perhaps it was still because he was in his armor, but for Daemon, it was not until Viserys looked upon him, first warily then happily, and embraced him that he felt the realness of it all.

As the entirety of court watched the brothers' affectionate exchange, most thought the display touching... then there were the Hightowers. The only reason Alicent was here in the throne room to greet him was because she was queen and it was expected of her. And Otto did not want to look upon the dastardly prince's face, but he had to see what state he was in for the sake of his eldest daughter.

"My brother has returned!" the king announces, enticing cheers from the onlookers. Lord Hand promptly leaves after this, intent on going to you.

Otto asks the first servant he sees where you are, and is immediately directed to the garden. He is unsurprised to see that not one, but two of your wards are there, evidently on high alert. The moment they spot him, they freeze to greet him in unison, "Lord Hand."

"Does she know?"

The twins share a quick glance, and again, in unison, "everyone knows."

Otto releases a sigh. You know of your husband's return and yet you chose to remain in the gardens. He was about to ask the twins to step aside, but then he hears the sound of giggles. He peers past the two, finding you laughing with your nephew in your arms. He rubs his forehead and clenches his jaw, "what did she say?"

Erryk and Arryk stare at Otto's distressed face. The former speaks, " 'he did not wish that I see him off, I should not see to his return'. "

Otto sighs deeply and wipes his face, "Seven save us."

Arryk almost pities your father for how worried he looked... but almost is not enough; he'll never forget the tears you shed because of him. No one in your family seemed to grant you grace.

"As it is," Lord Hightower raises his hands, "the prince is in good spirits, and I am sure he will not so soon look for her as he would the cups of wine he wishes to share with the king. Do not impose upon the prince if he does come around," Otto raises a finger, "but do not let his entitlement get into his head."

The Cargll twins nod in sync, "my lord."

With that, Otto walks off.

Once he is gone, Erryk turns to his brother, "I would sooner fall on my sword than have her husband ruin the happiness she's so delicately built for herself."

Arryk gives him a look, "do not forget yourself."

"I do not," he snaps, "but perhaps you do."

Arryk does not take kindly to his accusatory tone.

"I cannot forget even if I wanted," Erryk looks off, "it my shift when she miscarried," he grits his teeth, "mine, when she tried to fling herself off the eastern tower."

"And it was mine when she locked herself in her bath," Arryk quips, "and when she threw herself at Caraxes, only to have the beast take her under his wing. Do not feel self-righteous in your suffering, for it is not yours," he points, "it's hers."

Erryk clenches his jaw so hard it's a wonder his teeth do not break. He spare his brother a glance.

Arryk turns forward and sighs deeply before repeating, "do not forget yourself."

"Do not forget yourself," he counters.

All three of them are wrong, Arryk, Erryk, and Otto. Otto was wrong to think that Daemon would not look for you before anything else. The prince notices your absence the very moment he notices your sister. He asks Viserys, "where is my wife?"

Viserys looks over to Alicent, who clutches her belly and finally approaches, "ah... she's probably with her boy."

Daemon pulls his head back.

"My prince," Alicent smiles half-heartedly to her good-brother, "I trust your travels home were smooth."

He completely ignores her, "her boy?"

Viserys thinks nothing of Daemon's words as he takes his wife's hand, "where is your sister, dearest?"

Dearest? Daemon's expression curls.

Alicent turns to the king, rubbing her swollen belly, "last I saw her, she was in the gardens with Aegon."

Aegon? Daemon's eyes narrow.

"Oh!" Viserys smiles, turning to Daemon, "you should go to the gardens and fetch them then. Your wife has brought forth new life to the Keep. I encouraged her to write about it to you, but she did not think you would find care to learn it through letters."

Daemon's face falls. New life? You brought forth new life? Without a word, he sprints off to the gardens.

Viserys is momentarily taken aback by this. Alicent is agitated by it, especially because she catches on to the ambiguity of his words. She squeezes his arm, "do you think this is a good idea?"

"What?" he pulls his head back, "that he see his wife and nephew?"

"He might not take kindly to Aegon. You called him her boy."

Viserys chuckles, "but he is. She loves him so dearly."

"I know, but you made it sound like my sister had a babe."

The king pulls his head back and chuckles. When he realizes Alicent's worry was apparent on her features, he thinks about what he said and shakes his head, "I was talking about the flowers she planted in the garden."

"I know," Alicent repeats, "but does Daemon?"

"Don't be silly, Alicent," Viserys squeezes her hand, "Daemon is not that slow-witted. Besides, does your sister not write to him everyday?"

She clenches her jaw, "yes."

"So," he shrugs, "why would he be so sorely mistaken?"

Except he was; Viserys is also wrong. And as Daemon makes his way toward the gardens, it becomes apparent why Arryk and Erryk too are wrong. Both of them immediately forget themselves upon seeing the approaching prince. They block his path instinctively.

Daemon stops in his tracks, "out of the way."

Erryk stares blankly at him. Arryk shifts on his leg, "allow me a moment to announce your presence to the princess."

"Why would I need to be announced? She is my wife."

"She is with Prince Aegon," Arryk raises a hand and steps forward, "it is in her best interest that I ensure you are welcome while he is present."

Daemon is flabbergasted. He clenches his fists, "why wouldn't I be welcome around my own flesh and blood?!"

"My lady has only recen-"

"Do you deny it!?" Daemon snaps.

They do not reply.

"Do you deny the boy is my flesh and blood?"

The twins know the prince is riled up. If they persist, a fight will surely break out. Though they cared little for the consequences of quarrelling with the newly returned prince, they did care greatly for your peace of mind. This was why Erryk replied, "no, ser."

"Then get out of my fucking way," he snaps.

Arryk and Erryk stare at him. Eventually, they reluctantly step aside.

Daemon, in all his rage and pettiness, makes sure to knock into them as he passes. It was good he was still in his own armor, or else the collision against their steel shoulder pads would have hurt.

"Right, shall we go back now?"

The sound of your voice makes him stop in his tracks. How was it that he was so angry to be denied going to you just now, yet he now can't seem to move from his spot.

"No, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

"Flower!"

Daemon's breath hitches at the sound of the boy's voice.

"You want the rose?" your voice is soft but audible, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

Mummy? Daemon slowly inches foward.

"Mummy?" the small voice repeats.

Daemon witnesses the moment the babe reaches for your curls. You brown hair is completely undone, spilling all the way down to your waist. A gentle breeze makes your tresses and skirt flow. His lips part at the beauty of you.

You chuckle when Aegon tries to eat your hair and pull it away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you. His hair is short and his eyes shine. You nearly choke on your breath, feeling your knees buckle as he slowly walks over. Your hold on Aegon tightens as he reaches out.

You step back. It takes him off-guard. It feels just like when an arrow was shot to his chest. Daemon moves towards the rose bush, picking out a flower, carefully removing its thorns.

"Flower!" Aegon coos and reaches out.

Daemon turns to him, handing the blushing bloom, "rūklon, ñuha tresy." Flower, my son.

You freeze. You freeze because you understand him.

Aegon gives a gummy smile; he shows all his teeth but he only has two at the bottom. He happily groans and grins at you when he has the flower in hand, "FLAWOW!"

You turn to the boy. His shining face instantly shatters the tension and unease you feel. You huff and brush his silver hair back. You freeze again when Daemon's hand comes upon yours.

You turn to him with wide eyes. His eyes are fixed on Aegon, "Rūklon, Aegon. Kostagon vestrā rūklon syt kepa?" Flower, Aegon. Can you say flower for father?

Daemon takes Aegon's chin, making him look to him, "rūklon, Aegon. Rūk-lon."

Your initially shocked expression melts into molten anger.

Aegon looks at his uncle, "rūklon."

Daemon is surprised but immediately pleased. He lets out a rich laugh as he turns to you, "he is good."

"Daor kirimvose naejot ao." you snap, pulling Aegon away from him. No thanks to you.

He pulls his chin back. He watches in shock as you turn to move the prince away. You glare as you do so, eyes beady and pink. His forehead wrinkles.

"Eman gūrēntan Valyrio Eglie sīr bona kostan bodmagho zirȳla. Emā daorun naejot jiōragon zirȳla." I have learned High Valyrian so that I can teach him. You have nothing to offer him.

Your frosty words make him pull his head back again. "daorun?" Nothing.

"Kessa," you nod, "daorun." Yes. Nothing.

His eye twitches as he shakes his head in disbelief, "iksan se valītsos kepa." I am the boy's father.

The severity of your laugher is haunting. His eyes widen and his skin pricks with goosebumps. You throw your head back, feeling a tear run down your face. You sigh and shake your head as you turn back to him, "you are completely devoid of both heart and mind, aren't you?"

Daemon is too stunned to do anything but stare.

You turn. Daemon finally sees Aegon playing with the flower. You catch his attention by brushing his hair back, "my love," you start, "qilōni iksis aōha kepa?" who is your father?

Aegon looks up at you with little interest.

"Kepa, Aegon, kepa."

"Kepa?" he repeats.

"Kessa, skoros gaomas kepa gaomagon?" Yes, what does father do?

Aegon raises his rose, "dārys!"

King? Daemon's face falls.

You smile and bounce the child in your arms, "rōvēgrior!"

He tenses at the sound of the word. Rōvēgrior. Excellent. There was a time where you could not say that word at all. He taught that to you. And yet as you turn to him, your face destitute of any happiness that you had offered Aegon, it felt at though it was a memory he just conjured up.

"You are no more related to the boy than I am," you quip, "she is my sister's first born."

"Viserys said you brought for new life in the Keep," he mutters, as if he was afraid he heard wrong.

Your jaw feathers, but as the wind blows, you catch sight of the flowers, "he meant the roses," you turn to the said blooms. You laugh, bitterness pulling out a mocking smile from you, "how could you expect a son from me?"

Daemon shifts in his spot, ready to argue, but he quickly finds he had nothing to say to that. He thinks of all the seed he's spilled on your skin. He thinks of his persistence in leaving your womb empty. He thinks of the discipline he employed to ensure he would never finish in you. He clenches his jaw.

You turn to him; tears begin to fall from your eyes. Aegon notices and reaches for your cheeks; his flower falls to the floor, forgotten.

You and Daemon stare at each other. You feel your breath begin to shorten the longer you do.

Your expression falls when you hear Aegon begin to fuss. You immediately steel yourself away as you turn to your nephew; the boy looks like he is on the brink of tears. You sniffle and shush him, "no, no, no-"

It's too late. He begins to cry.

You push past Daemon with little regard. Your wards turn to you upon hearing Aegon's cries. You say nothing to them, your full attention on Aegon as you rock him in your arms, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red..."

Arryk and Erryk follow after you.

Daemon is left alone in the middle of the garden.

He has no word to describe what he felt in that moment. He was stunned, hurt, saddened, torn. He was angry. How could you do this to him? You had begged him not to go, and now that he's returned, you treat him like... like you hated him.

He laughs dryly under his breath. Was this a game? Was this your way of getting back at him? He laughs louder as he walks off. He could hate you back better.

Daemon joins the luncheon the king throws in honor of his return. He does not waste his time and makes a show of himself.

It is easy for him to fall back into his old ways once he is in his princely garbs. He openly and unabashedly flirts with all the ladies he can set his eyes upon and eagerly annoys and offers backhanded compliments to all the lords present.

It gets so bad that Viserys has to intervene. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra, who had not spoken to each other since the king's wedding, find each other's company just to momentarily agree that Daemon is being completely callous and tactless.

The king pulls him by the shoulder and Daemon manages to snag a cup of wine as he is pried away from the offensive conversation he instigated.

"I understand that you are overjoyed to be home," Viserys leads him off, "but please, control yourself."

Daemon pouts, facetious, "kessa, kepa." Yes, father.

He bristles, "iksan issare dokimare. Emagon mirri iotāptenon syt aōha ābrazȳrys." I'm being serious. Have some respect for your wife.

Daemon immediately shoves Visersys's hand off him at the mention of you. He snaps, "gaomagon daor ȳdragon naejot nyke hen bona aspo!" Do not speak to me of that bitch!

The queen and princess, along with the rest of the people present, turn to the brothers upon hearing raised voices.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra calls him out, offended by the conversation only she and they could understand.

Daemon turns to her, chucking his drink to the side before storming off.

Viserys rolls his eyes and sigh, "Daemon."

Alicent walks over to her husband.

"Daemon!" the king snaps.

"Leave it to me, father," Rhaenyra says, following after her uncle.

Daemon is back at the gardens. He snaps over his shoulder, "fuck off!"

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, "what has gotten you so sour?"

"HER!" Daemon whips back around, eyes red and glassy, "THAT HIGHTOWER BITCH!"

Rhaenyra recoils and pulls her head back in shock. She carefully mutters, "you can't possibly mean Alicent, can you?"

"Her and the whole lot!" Daemon throws a hand out, "they can all drop dead for all I care."

The princess watches him pace around. Her brows knit, "I would say I am comforted that you share in my offence over my father and Alicent's union, but I cannot say I do. I know you have long hated Otto, and Gwayne, as he's bested you in tourneys—"

Daemon steps forward, "have you followed me to further spur-"

"But what has -"

"Don't you fucking speak her name to me!"

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. The two stare at each other, and as Daemon heaves. Her face hardens, "what could you possibly be angry about?"

"She did not even greet me!" Daemon points to nowhere.

Rhaenyra laughs. It goes dry when she realizes he was being serious. Her face contorts, "Daemon."

He looks away.

Her lips curl, "she just got better"

His brows furrow.

"You do know that?" she tilts her head, "right?"

Have you been sick?

"Seven hells," Rhaenyra's face falls, "you don't know."

"..."

"She writes to you everyday," she motions vaguely, "I have not been in King's Landing for many moons, but even I know this."

"War makes time for-"

"Then why are you angry?!"

"..."

Rhaenyra raises her brows at him. Daemon remains unable to respond. She rolls her eyes, "welcome home, uncle."

Daemon is left alone in the garden for a second time. He goes back to his personal quarters.

You see him from across the hall just before he enters but he does not see you. Before you can take another step, Arryk and Erryk each take hold of your arms.

"Release me."

"Why should you be the one to go to him?" Arryk asks.

You turn to him, "you know why."

"If he does not want to go to you, do not waste your grace on him," Arryk says, just as you pull away to turn to them.

"He does nothing to understand you," Erryk adds, "and he will misunderstand you so long as it suits himself."

Your eyes immediately water, "why are you turning against me?"

"We are-"

"You think I want to live like this?"

Erryk speaks your name, "he is not ready to face you."

"It's been three years!" you chuckle dryly.

"Let him come to you," Arryk adds.

You scratch your eyes and shake your head, "the bodies of my babes remain unburied, wrapped and sealed in a crypt, because I insist that they be given but one respect due to them in the tradition of their house, and you would deny me-" your voice breaks. Tears run down your cheeks as you try to compose yourself. You clear your throat, "you would deny my son and daughter this?"

The twins do not speak.

You wipe your face roughly with your hands, "well? What say you?!"

Arryk lowers his head. Erryk cannot look at you, but he cannot keep his peace either, which is why he says, "I say they would not want their mother to suffer at the hand of their father."

"Damn you, Erryk!" you shove him back.

Erryk looks at you in shock.

"You dare presume to know my children when I-" gasp, "did not-" gasp, "even-" gasp.

Your guards reach out for you when you begin to topple. They keep you upright and you find yourself too stubborn to faint. You wrangle out of their grasp and lean on your knees as you struggle to catch your breath.

When you straighten up, you look and see Erryk's teary eyes. You feel terrible. It nearly makes you lose your breath again. You groan and sink your face into your hands, "I can never win, can I?"

"Princess," Erryk mutters, "forgive me, I-"

"Enough," you raise a hand to him, "I will not have my children be the cause of conflict."

Erryk nods and keeps his head bowed. Arryk turns to him before doing the same.

You sigh, belly churning with sadness and guilt, "come," you take their hands, "my twins waited this long for their father. They can wait a little longer."

Daemon, though in his adamant refusal to read your letters, kept every single one of them, even the ones he trampled on in his anger. Three sacks of letters, there were three sacks that contained all of the letters you sent him, one for every year he was gone. He empties them out on his bed. He walks to his trunk of clothing and grabs the only one he ever read and rereads it.

He walks back to his bed and sits a the floor. He flattens out the parchment beside him, then haphazardly reaches for another one.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔬. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢.

Daemon flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔏𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔙𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔬. ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℌ𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔱, 𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔡𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔪; ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows, flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔏𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℌ𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔢𝔫𝔳𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶.

His face falls at your sentiment. You think this? He wonders for a moment what he and Laenor argued over, but he cannot recall anything for the life of him. The next letter he opens makes him sit up straight.

ℑ'𝔪 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.

This letter drives him mad, because it is the only one like it. He rips open more than a dozen letters, yet all of them are like all the rest. He reads some more about Laenor, some of Gwayne and Alicent, some of Otto, some of Arryk and Erryk, some of Viserys, but most of them are about the mundane things you busy yourself with. Mundane things you do to distract yourself from him.

He does not know what to make of it.

Then, he unfolds a piece of paper with hastily written script.

𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱ℯ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉ℴ, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒟𝒶ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓃, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉��� 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓅ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓈 ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℐ 𝓂𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃ℊℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝒶ℊ𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒞ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ. ℐ 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊, ℐ 𝒷ℯ𝓈ℯℯ𝒸𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊— 𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ.

"I was with child?" Daemon repeats to himself.

He frantically grabs a bunch of letters and skims through them, desperate to learn more of this. He goes through 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 letters, but none of them ever mention such a thing ever again.

At some point, the letters become singular.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔱. ℑ 𝔭𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔯 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔰𝔢. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔟 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

They all speak of your apparently imminent demise.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔱. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

It goes on for far too long.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

Daemon's stomach rolls. He cannot bare to read any more, and yet his guilt urges him to drink up this pain, as if it would make it go away, as if it could make up for what he had done.

The moon begins to fade as the sun begins to rise. He reads hundreds of letters that speak nothing but your pain and desire for death. His face is wet with tears and bitterness linger in his mouth. He no longer is on the floor. He lies on his bed, surround by his wife's misery.

He wails. He can do nothing else as he takes in your words.

Then, for the final time, the tone changes.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔭𝔢���𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔢. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

... mine own son or daughter. Daemon wipes his face.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔱𝔥��𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ𝔣 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔧𝔬𝔶. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows and sits up. All the remaining letters are about Aegon.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔞 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔙𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰; ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℜ𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔶𝔯𝔞. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯; 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

You speak of nothing else save him. You do not mention your affliction, you do not mention your everyday life, you speak only of your affections for Aegon.

The sun rises.

Daemon did not realize he fell asleep until a voice of a servant wakes him. It did not feel like he slept at all; he is still exhausted.

He groans as he sits up. He sees a servant girl staring at the thousand pages scattered across the room. He comes to a stand and begins pick up the papers, "do not mind this. Prepare me a bath. I will break fast with my wife."

The servant watches the prince clean up after himself. She curtsies and does what is instructed.

Daemon had stacked the letters by date as he read them and now tiptoed around the room, gathering the papers in chronological order. He grabs his trunk and files the papers there. By the time he is finished, his trunk is stuffed and his bath water is barely warm.

Neither did the bath wake him fully, nor did it refresh him. What's worse was the scent of his soap broke forth dam of memories for it smelled like you. Resentment for his own folly began to choke him with tears.

His face scarcely resembled him. His angular features were softened with woe, namely his eyes. He cared little for the puffiness rendered him by his tears as he made his way over to your room.

Arryk and Erryk instantly spot him, both of them raising their brows and curling their lips at the look of the prince.

"Is my wife awake?" Daemon asks once he is before them, voice telling of how he had clearly been crying.

Neither of them find sympathy, only disgust and irritation. Erryk particularly despises how readily he refers to you as his wife; he was just a stranger, an evil-doer you had tragically married, "do you see that she's awake?"

Arryk's jaw tenses at his brother's response. He slowly turns to him with knit brows.

Daemon is numb to their hostility, too wrapped up in his self-loathing, "it is nearly noon. Doesn't she wake earlier than this?"

"Yes," Erryk instantly responds, "she did three years ago."

The prince stills. He now recognizes the twins' acrimony. He takes in a breath; he has no desire to start a fight, not when he's freshly just read about your affections for them and how they cared for you in his absence. Daemon wipes his face then raises a hand, "alright. Let me pass. I will wait for her to rouse."

The twins' shoulders hit each other as they block the prince's passage. Arryk tilts his head, "rest does not come easy to her. It would be best if she is not disturbed."

"I will not disturb her," Daemon quips, "I said I would wait for her to rouse."

Erryk raises a brow and motions, "of course, my prince. Feel free to wait for her out here with us."

Daemon stiffens. He grinds his teeth as he debates the truth of the sentiment. He stares at them.

They stare back.

He shakes his head and storms off.

Erryk scoffs in disgust, clutching his scabbard. Arryk scowls at the prince then his brother, "you dunce. This is what we want, for him to go to her."

"Yes," Erryk eyes Daemon hotly, willing his body be burned by his glare, "yet watch how easily he retreats. He wants only to go to her for his own sake, not because he wants to see her."

"Erryk," Arryk places a hand on his arm, "you overstep."

Erryk turns to his brother, "I step my foot exactly where it should be." He looks forward, "if he really wants to see her, he would come back."

And he was right. Daemon really wanted to see you. Why then would he waste his time and patience in quarrelling with your wards when he could simply take the hidden entrance to your chambers? He knew the passages well, after all; this was his home.

Daemon's senses are flooded as he emerges from the darkness.

Your fragrance is nearly tangible to him. He walks towards your vanity and takes a vial of your body oil. He inhales deeply, feeling warmth cascade through his body. He smears a bit on his philtrum. He missed this.

He sets the vial down and brushes his fingers over your jewelry. He takes the robe hung on your vanity chair and smells it. His eyes begin to water. He hangs it back in its place and finally, finally, he turns to you, throat uncomfortably tight.

Your brown hair is fanned out behind you. Your skins glows with invitation to be caressed.

He kneels beside you the way you did before your beloved statue of the Mother. He scratches his eyes when his tears begin to fog his vision. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek. He fixes the blanket around you.

He watches you intently. He so badly wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to feel you, to smell you, to kiss you, but even he knew it was selfish; even he could admit he was undeserving.

The memory of the very first time he had ever beheld your sleeping form plays in his mind as you act it out in real life. Your lips and forehead curl; you stir slightly in your spot. He sighs when the corner of your closed eyes begin to water.

Daemon wipes your tears away, speaking the same words he spoke you then, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep. He strokes your cheek and hair, "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He cannot help himself any longer. He shifts on his knees and moves in to press a kiss upon your temple. He leans his forehead on you, closing his eyes to savor your presence.

All is still.

All is solemn.

That is, until you begin to fuss.

You mutter incoherences and begin to moan.

He squeezes your shoulder and kisses you again, "gīda ilagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Calm down, my love.

You moan out in response.

He pulls his head back with and opens his eyes. You moan again and it becomes clear that you were moaning a name.

"Alyrie."

A line forms between his brows.

"Alaeric."

He feels his chest tighten. What?

You moan as your arms reach out, "stay."

Daemon pulls back, eyes burning with tears. You repeat those names and a pit forms in his stomach, deep and dark. You whine as you embrace your pillow. He watches you press your lips into your pillow. He hears you mutter, "love you."

His throat constricts and he clenches his jaw. He does not like this dream.

You speak those names again and he pulls back, deciding he's had enough. He repeats it, mutters under his breath what he thinks he heard you say, "Arryk and Erryk." After all, how would he know the names Alyrie and Alaeric when you couldn't bare to even think of them, let alone mention them?

And just as he did moments ago, he wastes no time.

Daemon storms away, grabbing a pitcher of water on his way. He is upon them the moment he throws the doors open.

Before either brother can react, one has a pitcher bashed to the back of his head, and the other is kicked from behind. Shrieks pierce the air; your incoming servants witness the brutal onslaught.

All that was not enough to wake you, nothing would.

You startle awake, terrified out of your mind. Not only did you wake from a melancholic slumber, you wake to the sound of screams and battery.

Daemon would have managed to knock out the brothers had they not worn helmets. Still, the blow to the back of Arryk's head left him in a daze and Erryk, who was kicked from behind and shot off to the parallel wall, was no better.

The prince focuses on the closer twin who managed to face him. He kicks Arryk on the chest, knocking him down. He quickly climbs upon his felled body and removes his helmet before splitting his knuckles on his face. He manages to land two punches before he is throttled to the ground by the other Cargyll.

Erryk did not mean to merely subdue him, he was eager to retaliate. He crushes his knee into the prince's back, squeezing the air out of him before flipping him over, intent on breaking his nose at the very least.

Erryk underestimated the raging sense of betrayal that fuels his opponent.

Daemon manages to grab Erryk's neck and squeezes it with all his might. The latter begins to choke but he thrusts his shin-guard into the prince's side, giving him little choice but to scream and loosen his hold due to the the pain.

Erryk finds the upper hand in no time. He pries Daemon's hands off him and launches a right hook. The prince shields his head, still, the knight manages to land some nasty punches.

"ERRYK!" Arryk shouts, prying his brother off. He drags his brother away, and in that moment, you emerge from your room, running barefoot in nothing but your shift.

You notice the twins first, for they were closer to your door. You release a horrified sound at the sight of them. They look at you with hard faces as you walk over, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Erryk shrugs his brother off and points an accusing finger, "the prince attacked us from behind!"

You turn to where he points.

Blood trickles down Daemon's face as he struggles to get on his knees. His lips are busted, nose ruptured, eye swollen. Your face falls at the sight of him. He looks horrendous, even worse than what Gwayne looked like when he fell from his horse during the tourney. A dozen horrible memories begin to flood you. You clutch your chest as you feel it tighten.

Erryk continues, "we would not let him disturb your sleep, but he managed to sneak into your bedroom-"

"What?" you turn to him.

"- then he attacked Arryk with a pitcher," Erryk points to the pitcher on the floor that laid beside a puddle of water, "then he kicked me on the back."

You turn to Arryk, finding his hair, neck, and armor wet. You whimper and wipe your face. You snap at Daemon, "what is wrong with you?!"

You watch your husband come to his feet.

He clutches his side and grunts out your name.

Goosebumps shroud you.

Daemon shudders as he walks over, "gaomagon ao jorrāelagon nyke?" Do you love me?

You instinctively step back where the Cargylls step forward. Your face curls in mortification. Your lips wobble and you shake your head in disbelief. You repeat, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Gaomagon..." Daemon lowers his head, "ao ēdrurys yno?" Do you dream of me?

You knit your brows tightly. You grit your teeth and clench you fists. You take a step towards him.

He lifts his gaze when you do.

A shiver runs down your spine as he speaks your name.

"Īlē mirre hen ēdrurys nyke mi—" You were alll of the dreams I ev-

You slap him before he can finish his words.

The blood from Daemon's nose sputters to the wall. The action hurts more than the act. He does not look back at you.

You are trembling, neither from your affliction or fear, but out of pure, blinding wrath. You do not tear your gaze from Daemon though you do not speak to him, "the both of you go to the maester's ward."

Arryk and Erryk nod and regard you, "princess."

"Drag him with you," you blurt, turning to your open door, "I will be there shortly after dressing."

[syluriar]

please...help me - sylus x mc!reader. part 1

sypnosis: you call sylus to escape caleb.

a/n: i know i'm not the only one who thought this, a lot of us sylus girlies wanted to call out man and get him our of sjyhaven ASAP. so i wrote this little fic for that, and as you can tell by the title this is just part 1. ofc that means there'll be a part 2, maybe a part 3??? let's wait and see :)

warning: caleb being possessive (yandere??). mc (you) feeling uncomfortable and scared of caleb. hurt and some comfort by sylus (i luv you<3 ). this is rushed and like all my fics, have no grammer check.

word count: 990

RING RING

The vibration of the phone rang loudly through the bathroom, the one place Caleb grants you privacy. More than one you were thankful that he wasn’t here, his duty calling him out to do some work, work that you don’t question anymore, exactly how he likes it.

“I’ll be back soon, Pip-squeak,” He said with a tone meaning for warmth, but you feel the opposite, especially when he looks at you with a smile, the one you remember from your childhood, but it’s not the same anymore. 

“Don’t cause any ruckus, ok? We don’t need a repeat of last time.” 

You shudder at the memory, the way his hand had gripped your wrist and dragged you to your bedroom and placed you not so gently on your bed, scolding you not following his orders and locked you in. He would only allow you to come out for food and he would watch you the whole time you ate, sending shivers of fear down your spine the more it went on. It lasted for two weeks, after that you had a bit more freedom, but every night he would announce it was time for you to sleep and lock you in the bedroom, the next would be the same.

And you hated it. You hated how different he was, how much he had changed since you last saw him. Where was the Caleb that joked around with you? The one that always picked you up when you were feeling down? The one that would wipe away your tears and hold you close? 

Where’s one where you felt safe with? 

Gone. He was all gone, and he scared you. You couldn’t stay here any longer, to try and get the old Caleb back. You had enough of being ordered around and being scared. 

RING RING

Despite Caleb’s watchful eye you managed to snag a new phone as he confiscated yours, checking though all your data to make sure you couldn’t leave, Luckily you thought he would do that and got rid of anything that would get you into trouble; contacts, messages and pictures in your camera roll. So far he hasn’t commented on anything which you pat yourself on the back for.

Another thing your proud of is remembering a phone number, just one that you know would get you out of here.

RING RING

“Please pick up…” You whispered desperately. You have called the number twice now, and you hope people are right when people say third time's the charm, because you needed as much luck as possible right now.

RING RING - 

“I must say your persistence to get hold of me is both annoying and -”

“Sylus!” You couldn’t hold back the happiness as you heard his voice, it had been so long since you last heard it.

“...Is that you, sweetie?”

“It is.” You answer, the endearing name making you blush instantly. 

“Who’s phone are you calling on? Did you get a new phone and not tell me?”

“I’ll tell you that later but I need you to listen to me.” Time was of the essence, and you didn’t want to waste any of it. “I need you to track this phone and come help me.”

“Help you?” His tone held confusion. “What trouble have you gotten into now?”

“Don’t ask. I just need you to come to Skyhaven and get me out of here, fast.” You spoke hastily, you might have sounded desperate, but right now you don’t care. 

“You sound weird, kitten. Are you alright?”

Trust him to take notice. “Please, Sylus. I can’t get out of here and I’m….” You take a deep breath, tears threatening to spill. “I’m scared.”

His answer was instant. “I’m coming, sweetie. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out in no time.”

It’s like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, your heart is lighter and a smile graces your lips. “Thank you. Please hurry Sylus, I don’t like it here.”

“I can tell, sweetie. I’ll destroy everything if it means getting you out.”

“Maybe don’t go that far, there are innocent people here.”

“The ones that hold you against your will are nowhere near innocent.”

You grimace as you think about Caleb, a small piece of you feeling guilty for this, but you needed to get out of here, and if that meant hurting Caleb to escape…then so be it.

Looking at the time, you realise you’ve been left on your own for a while, and Calen would be due back soon. The last thing you wanted was for him to find you like this. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you later?”

“As soon as possible, sweetie. I’ve been making arrangements since you first said you needed my help.”

You end the call quickly and stash within your period products, you knew that Caleb never came in your bathroom, but just in case he changed his mind, at least you knew he wouldn’t search through them.

But now your body is full of nerves, you can’t believe you managed to get through to Sylus, even more so that he’s coming to get you. You just have to wait and keep playing Caleb’s game till he comes, which he assured you will be as soon as possible. In Sylus’ language, that could be within a few minutes to an hour. You hope it’s the first option, but you were determined to wait if that’s what it took.

Before leaving the bathroom you remind yourself to go back to your usual personality that Caleb likes, if he see’s any of your happiness he’ll question it, and you don’t know how long you can lie and fake it for. 

So you lower your excitement, lose your smile and take a few deep breaths to calm your beating heart. Once your assured that you’ve gone back to the obedience look, you open the bathroom door - 

“Have a nice phone call, Pip-squeak?”

[cntloup]

Ex-Husband!Simon takes you to his place from the hospital

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

When you arrive, he gently carries you into his home and sets up his room for you, insisting that he sleeps on the couch. 

He takes a few days off, spending them on making sure that you’re ok, well-fed and healthy.  

He cooks for you, cleans your wounds and changes your bandages and even helps with simple routine tasks if you still have any pain or feel dizzy. 

As days go by, you can feel the remnants of love between you revive and you grow closer and closer.

But the sorrow of the past and fear for the future grow along with it.

And one night, you end up on the couch in his arms, talking about everything and nothing, telling stories and reminiscing about old memories, going through the motions together, smiling and cry-laughing your asses off. 

Until a heavy silence settles in the room. 

“Si?” you lift your head off his chest to see that his eyes were already on you. 

“What is it?” you ask, concerned look etched on your face. 

There's longing in his eyes as they roam across your features. 

A few moments pass and his eyes are still locked on you, mesmerized, drinking in your beauty. 

“I love you.” he finally blurts out. 

“What?” you ask, widened eyes glaring into his. 

“I fuckin’ love you.” he repeats firmly, emphasizing each word.

And you can see it in his eyes. You can feel it radiate off him.

“Si...” you start, the shock of his sudden confession engulfing you. 

"Just tell me one thing... Do you still love me?" he implores, sad eyes burning into yours, yet a slight glint of hope is present.

His heart crumbles in his chest and his stomach churns, expecting the worst. 

“Of course I still love you.” you respond with a warm smile and tears in your eyes as you take his hand in yours.

“Yeah?” he sighs in relief while a faint smile forms on his lips. 

“Yeah.” you lean in slowly. 

He wastes no time to connect your lips together, all his bottled-up emotions in such a long time pouring into the kiss. 

You pull away breathless, rest your forehead against his and shut your eyes.

“I love you, Si... so fucking much.” you whisper as you feel a tingle behind your eyes and soon, droplets of tears slide down your cheeks.

"But I'm scared. What if it doesn't work?" you ask him, caressing his scarred cheeks.

He wipes your tears away softly with the pad of his thumbs.

"Can we take it slow for now?" you whisper, resting your hand on his.

“ 'course, dove. Anythin' you want..." he reassures you and captures your lips with his once again in a sweet loving kiss, "We'll make it work. I'll do better this time. I promise."

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[sapphosclosefriend]

-Thanksgiving Fun-

Pairing: Stepcousin! Masc! Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Summary: you were never able to resist her, not even on Thanksgiving.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: top! (beefy and tattooed 🤤) Natasha x bottom! R, stepcest, enemies with benefits, allusions to weed consumption, SMUT, oral on strap on (R giving), throat fucking (R receiving), strap on sex (R receiving), extremely brief oral (R receiving), squirting (R)

A/N: this story contains smut so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. I literally wrote this in 2 days out of a frenzy so Idk how good it is…M, P, G pt 2 will come, I promise!!!! Once again, thanks to @rt--link for being so sweet! As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

It was already November, which meant it was Thanksgiving time! You were so excited to finally get back home for a little bit after the couple of months you had spent away at uni. Contrary to most of your friends, you actually really liked Thanksgiving. Yes, it meant having to undergo the neverending interrogation from your classically nosy aunts, but you gladly did it every year to be able to spend some time with all of your relatives, even the ones who lived a bit more far away. Of course she was also one of them, though.

Natasha was one of your aunt’s daughters. Her mother had married your uncle 3 years before, making her, the redhead and her sister officially part of the family. Everyone liked Nat as soon as she became part of the group and her sister Yelena, with her sharp wit, was, if possible, even more beloved by everybody. As soon as the two girls regularly entered your lives, you had followed everyone’s advice and started to hang out together. You’d always felt very lucky for having cousins of your same age range, making them some of your closest friends ever, and having the chance of adding someone else to the group immediately sounded like the best idea ever, or at least that’s what you had thought at first.

That was because you didn’t like Natasha, you just didn’t. If at first, while witnessing her interactions with other people, she seemed to be the sweetest girl in the world, once you finally got to know her personally you started loathing her. She wasn’t necessarily a bad person, she was just so irritating all the time. And the worst part was that, apparently, she only acted that way with you, not with her friends, not with your other cousins, not even with her own sister, just with you. If you thought that, thanks to uni’s social life, you had met the cockiest motherfuckers in the world, you were utterly wrong. Natasha was the most terrible one of them all. It was constant teasing, constant comments, constant jokes, constant snickering and each time you heard her voice or looked at her, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off her pretty face.

You didn’t know how it all started. Well, of course you knew that one time, at your grandma’s house to celebrate her birthday, Natasha had been particularly annoying since the moment you’d gotten there, which resulted in you being bitchy and her pulling you into the bathroom and kissing you once she had you trapped against the locked door. You hated it, every second of it and the fact that you ended up begging her to keep going while she was with her fingers knuckle deep inside of you wasn’t of any importance. You weren’t proud of what happened that day, but you were too nice to deny her when a couple of days later she was at your door ripping your clothes off of you. You were both attending the same uni and, despite literally never seeing each other in academic nor social settings, you started finding the closeness to be a much bigger impediment to your initial want to put a stop to your newly found situation. You were growing weaker and weaker to her charm, only while in the bedroom of course, and your intent to end it all kept getting pushed to the back of your mind each time you came with her name on your lips, until it was completely gone.

And that’s how you ended up at yet another family gathering partly ruined by her, this time to celebrate Thanksgiving, having to try to push away the tingle between your legs at the sight of her in her usual casual clothes hiding the defined muscles underneath as she talked with her dad and your grandpa about something involving a bike she was fixing up for herself. You were keeping your distance for your own sanity, but you could clearly hear their words and her low, raspy voice regularly adding to the conversation. You didn’t know what the hell they were talking about and either way, you had stopped actively listening long before, once you got lost in the view of her hand as she held her glass. The second she noticed your eyes fixed on her, you were thankfully saved from her most definitely coming over to tease you, by your cousin Clint, bored out of his mind and equally in need of leaving as soon as possible, even if for very different reasons than you. Ok, maybe him being the person talking to you didn’t exactly make him your savior, he was the person Natasha had gotten the closest to after all, which meant that, as soon as she once again turned to get a peek of your outfit she particularly appreciated, he immediately called her over, most definitely hoping to lure her away from the party. She couldn’t have been more obvious with the way her eyes kept ranking your body head to toe as she listened to his frustrated rambling, but thankfully Clint’s desperation blinded him from noticing the less than innocent way in which her gaze was on you.

“I’m begging you Nat, I’ll get on my knees! Just one!”

You both couldn’t help but chuckle at the grown man’s antics, when you suddenly realized that you had no idea of what the hell they were talking about. You barely had the time to open your mouth to ask them directly, when, of course, she interrupted you without a care to keep talking to her friend.

“Fine, but I’m taking half of it”

As soon as the first word barely left her mouth he was throwing his fist in the air and putting his coat on to go to the guest house she was staying in with you. Because of course you had been placed in the same room, in the small guest house in the backyard that only consisted of one room with one bed. You didn't know why, but everyone apparently thought of you two as some sort of best friends just because you both went to the same uni, despite, again, the known fact that you did not have one single class together, lived in different places and had completely different friends, meaning that you only saw each other when she called you over or randomly popped up at your place to fuck, but of course they didn't know any of that.

“A quarter..”

He was already leaving once he spoke his final words, leaving her alone with you to shake her head at her friend’s antics.

“Fine”

You hated how easily she seemingly had you under a trance as she murmured the word while smiling to herself. She was able to put you out of it equally fast, though, as she turned to you to regard you before leaving the celebration to follow after Clint.

“Are you coming?”

Her almost soft tone had to have given you some sort of whiplash as you stood there, looking at her without being able to utter a single word for a second, before regaining control over your own mind, and sanity, once you noticed her lips starting to curl into her usual mischievous smirk.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna stay here a bit longer”

She was once again putting at risk your ability to talk as she ran a hand through her short hair to get it out of her face and moved closer and closer to you, sneaking her gaze towards the other side of the room where most people had moved to, before reaching behind you to get a snack from the table you were leaning against, pressing her front against yours and letting your feel a certain something poking your lower belly.

“I’ll wait for you then”

She looked way too pleased by your slightly widened eyes as you tried to contain your emotions in order not to draw any attention to the two of you.

“You’re packing?”

Her brows furrowed as you whisper yelled at her, before speaking matter of factly.

“Of course I’m packing, I’m always packing when I’m with you”

She didn't give you the time to respond to her, immediately licking the chocolate off her fingers while shamelessly looking at your cleavage before turning to go to the guest house. She was infuriating, her and her constant horniness. You decided to casually join some conversations here and there for the brief rest of the night, until almost everyone had gotten to bed, including a much more relaxed Clint, and it was just you and your aunt gossiping in the living room. The moment your phone buzzed in your lap you almost had a feeling of who might had been trying to get in contact with you, so you cautiously lifted the screen, in case a certain someone decided to share something a little too private, and noticed she had sent you a picture.

The moment you clicked on it, the initial, brief awe you found yourself lost in at the sight of her posing with her tongue peaking out and the hood of her sweatshirt over her cap, was unfortunately wiped away once you finally read the caption under it. You couldn’t help but mentally facepalm at her dumb words, even if you had to reluctantly admit that the text was successful in making your heart leap at its crude nature.

“Not enough pressure on my 🍆”

Her finger was pointing to the word “pressure” printed on her hoodie, why did she have to be that way? You knew what she wanted from you, it was all she seemed to be thinking about, like some pussydrunk teen, and the way she didn’t even ask you if you were down for it, expecting you to just indulge her wish, didn’t sit right with you. Who did she think you were? Her whore always waiting for her like a pet?

You locked your phone with a frustrated sigh and got up from the couch, quickly finding an excuse with the immediate questioning you got from your aunt as to why you'd go back to your room so early.

By the time you walked across the whole backyard and got to the entrance of the guest house you were finally able to make out her figure, sitting on the wicker armchair under the small porch with all the lights off, in complete darkness, to hide the very end of a hand rolled cigarette between her fingers and the suspiciously smelly smoke coming from her.

“Your tits look good in that shirt”

You knew it was coming, as soon as you had chosen your outfit, you knew some sort of comment was to be made by her, although it had taken her a bit longer than you had expected. You were wearing a quite simple blouse with a boob window, in reality nothing as scandalous as it sounded, but the complete opposite in Natasha’s eyes. The way your jeans perfectly hugged your ass and the sway of your hips anytime you had walked past her, were just the cherry on top to the main course right below your pretty face.

You barely looked at her as you kept walking by her past the door without acknowledging her words, hearing her chuckle at your usual uptight self. You hated to admit it, but the way she was manspreading, making a bulge under her sweatpants slightly visible, while she casually smoked, had made you even more willing to help her out with her “pressure issue”, not that she needed to know about your enthusiasm anyway. By the time you were just starting to get undressed she entered the room, locking the door behind her and standing against it to shamelessly look at your ass as you leaned down to take your shoes off. As soon as your pants were off too and you were about to slip off your shirt she spoke up.

“No no no, keep that on”

Despite the way too pleased look on her face, you were silently thankful for the piece of clothing still on you in the slightly chilly room. You didn’t even bother to take your warm, ankle high socks off and left yourself fall on your back on the bed, feeling satisfied after noticing her swallowing and wetting her own lips as her eyes stayed fixed on your boobs’ slight jiggling as you had dropped on the mattress. Once you got comfortable on top of the soft duvet, you made sure to look right at her as you slowly spread your legs and immediately started lightly rubbing yourself through the fabric of your own underwear, moaning softly at the light stimulation as a way to tease the motherfucker in front of you. Without uttering a word, she left her spot by the door and walked over to you, stopping at the foot of the bed to grab her cock through her pants and slowly pump it. Pushing down her sweatpants just enough for the dildo strapped to her hips to spring out, she gave you a peak of the beautiful, defined v lines you had kissed over so many times and the bottom of the tattoos on her torso and abdomen you had to admit you loved. There was some ink peeking out from the cuff on her wrist as well, making the sight of her strong hand holding the base of her cock even more pleasing.

“Come here, get it wet”

You wanted to come up at least with a remark at her blunt order, but found nothing but anticipation in you and your body, as if moving by its own accord, immediately left your spot to kneel on the bed right in front of her crotch. You didn't waste any time, you couldn't have even if you wanted to, and, as soon as your lips touched the head of her cock, you tried your best to relax your throat in order to take as much of her length as you could, earning a pleased hum from her at the sound of your gags every time she reached the back of your throat.

“Now that's a cocksucker”

Her words pulled your eyes to her face and found her looking intently at you. The groan that came from her once you stopped bobbing your head to stay still with her cock still in your mouth sent a strong twing of arousal through you as she easily understood what you wanted.

She gently grabbed your head with both hands to keep you in place and immediately started to move her hips to fuck your face. Relishing the sight of a string of spit dropping on the part of your chest exposed by the cut in your shirt, she started pushing even deeper to see just how far you were willing to go for her. The resistance was clear as she pushed a bit more of her cock with every other thrust, until you finally couldn't wait anymore and grabbed her ass to give her a push and hopefully make her understand what she needed to do. With one final thrust she managed to push herself past your tight throat until your nose was touching her crotch. She couldn't help herself and rushed to get her phone from her pocket to snap a picture of you looking up at her with watery eyes as you grasped her ass cheeks through her pants to keep her from moving away. It was only once the need to breathe got the best of you that you pushed yourself off of her, sucking in a deep breath while Natasha stared with hooded eyes at your swollen lips and the spit connecting them to her cock.

“You say you hate me but you need my cock that much?”

You hated so much how true her words were and tried to distract yourself from the thought by lying back down and grabbing her cock now covered in your spit.

“Well, you're obsessed with my pussy so it's even”

She just smirked at your remark, deep down knowing that you were so fucking right. She couldn't get enough of it, all the girls she had fucked and she had to loose it for her stepcousin? Well, she honestly didn't give a shit, as long as you were careful she was going to keep fucking you like the slut she knew you were for her deep down.

“For the first time I've gotta say you're right”

You didn't even have the time to process her words and the shock that they had caused when she suddenly moved your underwear to the side and grabbed your ass tightly to lift your hips and get a taste of you, moaning exaggeratedly at her now favorite snack. Despite the leg shaking orgasm you knew she would've easily gotten out of you with her mouth, you pushed the delicious thought to the side and firmly grabbed her hair to lift her from your center.

“Right now I need your cock balls deep in my pussy, not your mouth”

Her lips looked way too delicious as they glistened with your juices and as they curled up she suddenly left go of your ass, making you yelp as you fell back to your lying position, before grabbing your thighs and pushing them to each of your sides, waiting for you to keep them there yourself with your arms to fully open yourself up for her. From the position you had a clear view of her strap as she rubbed it over your wet folds before finally pushing its head inside of you. She could never get enough of seeing your reaction at her entering you for the first time and once again, she couldn't help but keep her eyes on your face from the first moment. She fucked you just with the tip for a bit in order for you to get used to her and, gradually pushed more and more inside as you rubbed your own clit. You knew you were very far away from everybody else, but you still tried your best to keep your volume as low as you could, making her smirk at the clear signs of your struggle to do so.

“More, go faster”

She loved it every time when your uptight, moralist voice turned in a second into the pathetic begs of her own cockdrunk whore and who was she to give up the chance of fucking her personal pussy when she asked for it? After lifting up her hoodie a little to get a better view of your center begging to be filled up more and more, she firmly grabbed your waist, gradually thrusting faster and harder until she had set a pace that knocked your breath away every time she pushed her hips forward and her tip stroked your g spot so deliciously a deep sensation quickly started to build up inside of you. Her flexed abs and veins popping up on her hands made the pleasure she was making you feel, become even stronger, getting your orgasm closer by the second. It honestly amazed you how fast she was always able to make you cum and, despite not wanting to show her any weakness, you admittedly always felt a little self conscious because of it. You could barely keep it anymore, though, it was going to happen in a matter of seconds and your mouth opening in shock told her everything she needed to know.

“Wait, I think I'm gonna-”

You didn't have the chance of finishing your sentence before an earth shattering orgasm hit you so strongly that small, clear droplets spilled out of you every time she pulled back.

“Holy shit”

She panted the words to herself before swiftly pulling out completely and quickly rubbing her fingers over your clit, making you moan loudly as you squirted even more for her while you rode out your orgasm. By the time you were done, your legs were a little shaky and you were almost sobbing from how intense and quick it all was. Once you looked back at her, though, you knew you would've gladly done it as many times as she wanted. Her abs were a little wet from your orgasm, with a couple of drops still lingering on her tattooed skin, and, once your eyes locked with hers, she looked like the most dangerous predator eyeing its prey, ready to eat it in one bite, and, god, wasn't she going to do exactly that.

After all, maybe Thanksgiving was actually going to be even better with her.

.

.

.

Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox @dmenby3100

[avonnimimi]

❀·°∗✧🌸✧∗°·❀

Plugged

The Series. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

a/n: Finally getting somewhereeee, here’s part 3 yall @hcneymooners @wannabe-fic-reader I hope you enjoy! Remember, some things may be written in my native english dialect, if you don’t understand, comment and i’ll translate. MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: drug dealer! Vi x Black fem readers, weed, smoking, intoxication, cursing, clit rubbing (r!receiving) choking, hair pulling, dom!vi, orgasm denial? lmk if i missed anything!

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

Vi didn’t take you home that night. You didn’t ask why. She pulled up to a sleek, modern apartment complex, way out of your usual league, and didn’t say a word. Just got out, opened your door, and scooped you into her arms like it was nothing.

“I can walk, Violet,” you muttered, half-hearted, pressing your hands against her chest.

“If I wanted you to walk, you’d be walking,” she shot back, voice low and firm. Her grip didn’t falter. She carried you to the elevator, setting you down only to press the button for the top floor.

When the doors opened, she led you down a quiet hallway to the sixth apartment. The second she unlocked the door, her scent hit you, warm, musky, like the kind of comfort you didn’t realize you craved. The place wasn’t spotless, but it wasn’t messy either. It was lived-in. A little chaotic, a little home.

She tugged you to the couch in the dimly lit living room, leaving only the kitchen light on. The glow softened the edges of everything, but it couldn’t soften the tension hanging heavy in the air. You sat; she sank down beside you, knees spread wide, her posture loose but guarded.

“What did you say to Tevonn?” you asked, voice quiet, searching her face. Her hand dragged down her jaw, a nervous tick.

“I reminded him he owes me six bands. Told him if he tried to bullshit me, I’d fuck him up.”

You snorted, dry and humorless. “I doubt you said it like that. You probably made it sound worse. He was apologizing.”

She shifted, legs stretching wider, her body language all deflection. But her jaw tightened, and there was something behind her eyes she didn’t let you see.

“What did you mean,” you started, hesitant, “when you said you were gonna teach Donte another lesson?” His name tasted bitter, like poison in your mouth. Like shame. You still couldn’t believe he’d tried to sell you off, like you were nothing, because he’d been fucking someone else.

Vi chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, but there was no humor in it. “Couple years ago, Donte was with my little sister.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Her gaze turned sharp, focused. “He did some fuck shit. Put his hands on her.”

You stared at her, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and horror.

“So I beat the fuck out of him. But she didn’t like that. Stayed with him. Took care of him.” Her voice was steady, but there was a storm brewing underneath. “Then Donte snitched. Told the cops about my business. That’s how I got locked up.”

Your mind reeled, the pieces falling together too fast, too heavy. You reached out, resting your hand on her shoulder. You didn’t know what to say. Before you could figure it out, she pulled you into her lap, her hands steadying you as you straddled her.

Her fingers brushed the bruise on your cheek, the one Donte left behind. Her touch was gentle, reverent. “It’s bruising,” she said quietly, her voice soft in contrast to the hardness in her eyes.

You turned your face away, shame burning in your chest. Tears welled up before you could stop them, and when they spilled, they came fast and hot, your body shaking under the weight of it all.

“Hey, hey,” Vi whispered, her hands cupping your face. Her thumbs wiped the tears as they fell, and she kissed each one away, her lips soft against your wet skin. Then she kissed the bruise, so tender it broke something in you.

You tried to speak, but your lips trembled. Vi caught it with her thumb, her touch light despite the tension in her shoulders. “Let’s smoke,” she said, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. Normally, you’d have said no. But tonight wasn’t normal. And Vi wasn’t just anyone.

You followed her to the balcony. She rolled the joint right there, the night air cool against your skin. You watched her, mesmerized; the way her hands moved, precise and confident, the flick of her lighter, the curl of her lips as she sealed the paper. It was hypnotic. It was hot. You felt the heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading between your legs.

She handed you the spliff, and you took it without a word, inhaling deep. The smoke filled your lungs, thick and warm, pulling you out of your head. Vi rolled another for herself, letting you keep the first. By the time you were done, your body was humming, higher than you’d been in a long time. Donte’s cheap shit didn’t hold a candle to this.

Back inside, you stumbled toward the bathroom. Vi’s voice followed you. “Room’s to the left.” You didn’t answer, too focused on scrubbing the makeup off your face, washing away the night. In the bathroom, you found fresh towels and let yourself borrow them, along with a pair of her boxers and a t-shirt from her drawer.

You crawled into her bed, the sheets soft and cool against your skin. Sleep was already pulling at you when Vi walked in. “Damn, precious, made yourself at home,” she teased, her voice low and lazy. You ignored her, sinking deeper into the mattress, the high still buzzing in your veins.

She slid in beside you, her shirt gone. Your eyes caught on the tattoos covering her back, black ink curling over her muscles like a story written in another language. You stared, the sight of her stealing your breath.

“Keep looking at me like that, and we’re gonna have a problem,” she murmured, her voice rough at the edges.

You didn’t think. You just moved. Crawled on top of her, straddling her hips. Her smirk was quick, her hands finding your waist like they belonged there.

“Don’t do something you’re gonna regret, precious,” she warned, her voice low and gravelly, but her hands betrayed her, grinding your hips against hers. The friction sent a shiver through you, a shaky sigh slipping past your lips.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered, your voice small, “but you keep taking care of me. Why?”

Her hands stilled. Her gaze caught yours, steady and unflinching. “When I like something, I take care of it.”

Something inside you broke open. You leaned in, crashing your lips against hers. Vi met you halfway, her mouth hot and demanding, her tongue tangling with yours like she’d been waiting for this. For you.

When you pulled back, breathless, she caught your face in her hands. “You sure about this?” she asked, her voice softer now, her thumb brushing along your cheek. “I know you ain’t a cheater.”

“Donte ain’t my man,” you whispered, raw and honest, the words thick in your throat. “Not anymore.”

Her lips curved into a wicked smile. “Then yeah, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You crushed your lips back to hers, desperate now. Her hands gripped your hips tighter, grounding you, guiding you as you grind down against her. The friction sent sparks shooting through your body, the waistband of her pants dragging perfectly against your clit.

“mmh fuck…” you moaned, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your head fell to her shoulder, your hips moving instinctively, chasing the pressure, chasing the high.

Vi’s hands stilled your movements, her grip firm but careful. “Don’t do something you’re gonna regret, precious,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, but there was an edge of restraint there. “You’re high. You’re hurt. Ain’t how I want this to go.”

You froze for a moment, your lip trembling, the shame coiling tight in your chest. She was right, but you needed her, so badly. “Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t get it. I need this. I need you.”

She stared at you, her jaw tight, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Her thumbs rubbed slow, deliberate circles into your hips, grounding you again. “You ain’t gotta beg me, mama,” she finally said, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. “But you’re gonna listen to me.”

Her hands flexed, gripping you tighter. “You cum when I say. Not before. You understand?”

You nodded, a shaky, needy sound escaping your lips. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, heat flooding through you. She leaned back, her eyes dark and hungry, her smirk sharp enough to cut. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Keep grinding. Show me how bad you want it.”

You hesitated for only a second before you moved again, rolling your hips against hers. The friction was maddening, just enough to push you close, but not enough to tip you over. You whined, your hands gripping her shoulders, your movements growing more desperate.

Vi chuckled, low and throaty, her hands guiding your rhythm. “Yeah, there you go. Good girl. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

“Vi…” you whimpered, your voice breaking. “I—I need more…”

She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “You think you’ve earned more?” she teased, her tone mocking, but her hands were steady, holding you in place. “Nah. Keep going. You’re not done yet.”

You let out a frustrated whimper, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, your body trembling with the effort. You were so close, so fucking close, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t—

Suddenly, her hand snaked up to your throat, her fingers curling around it, firm but not tight. She pulled you closer, your foreheads almost touching. “Look at me,” she ordered, her voice sharp, commanding. Your eyes snapped to hers, wide and desperate. “You cum when I tell you too. Understand?”

You nodded quickly, a breathless “Yes,” tumbling from your lips.

Her hand slipped into the waistband of her boxers, your borrowed ones, her fingers sliding through your slick folds like she already knew every inch of you. The first touch to your clit made you jerk, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” she muttered, her voice thick with desire. Her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, teasing you, building you up until you were shaking. Vi swore she was loosing her mind, finally being able to touch and feel and on your creamy pussy. “That feel good, pretty girl? That what you needed?”

“Yes,” you choked out, your hips rocking against her hand, chasing the high. “Please, Vi, please…”

She grinned, all teeth. “Not yet,” she said, her tone wicked. Her fingers slowed, keeping you teetering on the edge, the tension in your body unbearable. “You wait until I say.”

You let out a broken sob, your head falling to her shoulder, your body trembling. “Vi, I can’t—I can’t hold it…”

“Yeah, you can,” she murmured, her free hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so she could see your face. “You’re gonna hold it for me, mama. You’re gonna be good for me.”

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, your whole body trembling with the effort to hold yourself back. And then, finally, mercifully, she leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Now,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. “Cum for me.”

The words shattered you. Your body seized, the orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your hips bucking against her hand as she kept working you through it, her fingers relentless, her voice low and soothing in your ear.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s my girl. Let it all out,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. “Good fucking girl.”

When it was over, you collapsed against her, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her lips pressing soft kisses to your hair.

“Go to sleep, precious,” she whispered, her voice warm, steady, grounding. “I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You didn’t answer. You just let yourself sink into her, her warmth, her scent, her presence. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Pinky Promise 2

Pinky Promise Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Part 2 of Pinky Promise. The two of you become close friends, but one night shows Jake just how much you trust him.

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Hi friends! It’s been a hot minute since I have put something out but I promise you I have a good reason for it! I just had a baby and haven’t had time to sit down and write. But hoping to put out more content here soon! Thank you all for reading!!! - C

It was an ungodly time in the morning when you heard the doorbell ring. It took more will power than you would like to admit to even sit up in bed, head pounding with the slight elevation change. You wiped the sleep and last night’s makeup from your eyes, most likely smearing streaks of it across your face. And you sat there contemplating all of your life’s choices up to this point.

The doorbell seemed to yell at you, telling you that whoever was on the other side must have been impatient. A quick glance at the clock said it was 8:30 and you had to take a deep breath to not hurt the person who was making you get out of bed.

A few stumbling steps later, you opened the door to find a delivery guy with a bag of food. While you took the bag from him, the confusion was pretty clear. Even the guy who was turning to walk away could see it. “There is a note on the receipt.” And then he was gone.

Between the hangover from hell and very few hours of sleep you got; you were slow moving to get back inside. To anyone walking by you must have looked like you lost your mind with the amount of time you spent looking at the bag. But by some miracle, your legs took you back to bed while your mind was still reeling.

The bag didn’t have any sort of logo or name on it, but it did smell good. You opened it up and reached for the receipt first, trying to find answers.

The tacos I promised you. – Jake

A laugh came out as you put the piece of paper aside, making your way to the things that were making your mouth water. Breakfast tacos greeted you and suddenly being woken up was not a bad thing anymore.

You went to reach for your phone to thank the blond-haired pilot but stopped when you remembered exactly why you now had tacos. Your drunken self called your brothers most hated teammate last night because you didn’t want to get your brother involved. You winced at the thought of him finding out and pulled your hand back.

You dreaded looking at your phone, knowing Bradley most likely had blown it up after last night. So, instead of being a responsible adult who answered for her own actions, you turned your phone over. What you couldn’t see meant it wasn’t there. Denial was one of your favorite places to live in.

Jake seemed friendly enough, offering help whenever you needed. He also wasn’t quick to judge you like others. It wasn’t lost on you that Bradley had most likely told his teammates how “reckless and wild” you were, already painting a bad picture of you. But Jake didn’t make you feel that way. He actually made you think that you might be able to call him a friend, even if he didn’t see eye to eye with your brother.

Jake heard a knock at his door and tried to think who would be here at this time of night. The confusion only grew when he opened his door to find you walking past him and making yourself home on his couch.

“Ever think about how dumb Tuesdays are? Like the only thing they are good for is tacos.” Jake had to blink a few times for his mind to catch up to what was happening.

“I can’t say that I have. Did that burning question drive you all the way over here?” He closed the door and walked to the adjacent couch to sit. He had a feeling this was going to be a long visit.

“I had to thank you in person for the tacos since I’m ignoring my phone.” Jake’s eyebrows rose that comment and pushed you on it. He watched as you played with your hair, giving him a hint at one of your tells. You were either uncomfortable or nervous about your answer and he locked that piece of information away for later.

“Look, my brother can be a bit much sometimes and I didn’t have the energy to deal with him this morning. Then this morning quickly turned into this evening, and I figured it’s a lost cause now.”

Jake bit back a smile, “So, you thought ignoring him was your best option?” He thought back to his conversation with said pilot at work this morning and was surprised when he saw a new side of him.

Bradley at first apologized for “having to deal with you.” But once he realized he didn’t mind making sure you got home safe, he thanked him and said it won’t happened again. Jake brought up his sisters and how he would want to make sure that if they needed help, someone would be there regardless of how good of terms he might or might not be with that person. This seemed to clear the air between them a bit, making work a little easier.

“I know it isn’t exactly my smartest idea, but you can only be called irresponsible so many times before you lose it. Was he mad at you this morning?” Jake shook his head, “Thankful for getting you home. That’s all.” He watched you nod your head but could see you didn’t fully believe him.

“You pinky promise I didn’t make things worse for you at work?” Jake laughed at yet another pinky promise.

“Yes, I pinky promise. Have you eaten dinner? I have leftovers I was about to heat up.” And with that offering, it opened the door to a new friendship.

Jake often found himself answering the door to you, texting you at random hours of the day, and always making sure you made it home safely. The two of you quickly became good friends, making the random house visits become a normal thing. He started to look forward to you coming over, knowing that your carefree way of life would bring him some sort of interesting story.

Until tonight.

The knock on his door was a little later than normal. Typically, you made your way over right after he got home from work. But tonight, it was hours past that time. Jake opened the door expecting you to waltz right in, but instead you were stood rooted in place with your head down. Red flags instantly went up as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

“Hey darlin’. How about we head inside?” His heart dropped when you lifted your head up. A bruise was starting to form around your right eye and by the way you were holding yourself, he knew it was from something bad.

A million different scenarios went through his mind, each worse than the last. But until he could get to the bottom of it, he needed to make sure you were okay. The ever so confident girl he had come to adore was nowhere in sight as he fully took you in. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, almost as if you were trying to be as small as possible. Despite the swelling from the bruise, he could see redness around your eyes from crying.

He moved to the side as you slowly made your way in allowing him to close the door and give you his full attention. “Sweetheart, what happened?” You flinched as he moved his hand towards you, making him stop his motion and put his hand up.

“You know I would never hurt you. I just need to look at that eye.” He waited for you to give some sort of okay before he tried again.

“I had this date and he wanted to go back to his place. All I did was tell him no.” Your words came out as a near whisper, but Jake heard you loud and clear. He had to take a second to calm himself down to not scare you any further.

“Can I give you a hug?” His words surprised you. The two of you were never one to show affection but for him to ask permission before doing it solidified why you chose to come here. A small head nod and he pulled you into his chest.

“I am so sorry you had to go through that. No one should ever have to feel that kind of fear.” And that simple gesture pushed you to your breaking point. The tears started all over again, but this time you felt a sense of comfort as you let them out. He continued to hold you for a few minutes and when he let go, you could see just how much this had affected him too.

He couldn’t help but think about his sisters and what he would do if they were ever in this situation. To have someone hit them simply because they said no made him sick to his stomach. Which is why he knew he needed to let your brother know.

“Sit down on the couch and I’ll grab you some ice to help with the swelling.” You did as he said, and Jake walked into the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen vegetables for you. While he was in there, he sent a quick text to Bradley telling him he needed to come over now. Jake knew he would do it based on the zero interactions they have outside of work. Bradley would know something was wrong.

He walked back out and saw you curled up on the couch, wiping a few tears from your face. When he picked you up from that bar a few weeks ago, he never imagined the two of you would be here. But he was glad to be that person for you.

“Put this on your eye for fifteen minutes and it should help numb the pain a bit.” You took the bag from him and did as he said. “Also, your brother should be on his way.”

The look of panic crossed your face, and he knew there was a chance you didn’t want your brother to know.

“I know you don’t want him to find out, but this is something your brother would want to know. I promise you that.” He watched as you played with the ends of your hair.

“He is going to try and say it’s my fault.” Jake knew the two of you had a bumpy relationship with just how different your lives were. But he didn’t for one second think that your brother would ever blame you for this.

“Let me get one thing straight. This is by no way your fault. A man should never lay his hands on a woman no matter what the reasoning. You said no and he needed to respect that. End of story.”

A knock on the door made you jump, and Jake waited a second before he went to open it. He gave Bradley zero warning on what he was walking into, and you weren’t in the best headspace to begin with. He knew there was a chance this wasn’t going to go well, but your brother couldn’t be left out of this.

Jake opened the door and said, “Try and keep calm.” Bradley walked in and took one look at you and pushed Jake up the wall. “The fuck did you do, Bagman?” Jake knew the initial reaction was going to be rough, but he was hoping he would still be able to fly tomorrow.

You stood up and quickly tried to push your brother away. While he didn’t budge, you at least got his attention. “He didn’t do this. I didn’t know where to go so I came here.”

Bradley looked back to Jake for confirmation and then backed off. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked between the two of you. “Someone needs to start explaining. Now.”

Jake looked over to you to see what you wanted to do. He had no issue telling Bradshaw the whole story, but he didn’t want to step on your toes. You didn’t tell him the two of you were friends for a reason, and he wasn’t sure how much you wanted to explain.

You took a deep breath and tried your best to answer, “Ever since the night Jake gave me a ride home, we’ve been hanging out. He’s been a good friend, one that I probably don’t deserve, but someone I know I can go to. I had a date tonight and it clearly didn’t go well. I was going to go home but I knew it wasn’t the best idea. Here was the next best place.”

Bradley shook his head, “Why here? Why not to my house? You know you can come to me for anything.”

You looked down as you said, “You always say how reckless I am, and I didn’t want this to be another huge disappointment for you.”

You heard Bradley curse under his breath but couldn’t find the courage to look up. Which is why you let out a yelp when he put a hand on your shoulder. “I know I’m hard on you but that’s because you’re the only family I have left. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me for things. That’s the last thing I ever wanted. But this? This is something I need to know, and I would never say it’s your fault. Something like this shouldn’t have happened and you best believe I am going to kill the guy who did this to you.”

You gave him a small nod and he turned your head to get a better look at your eye. “This is going to be a nasty bruise. Did he get you anywhere else?”

Jake watched in curiosity when your eyes seemed to light up some. “No. I stopped him before he could do anything else. Didn’t hurt as bad this time either.” The two pilots were confused until Jake looked down at your hand to see some slight bruising.

“Looks like you got him good.” Bradley caught on but then asked what you meant by “this time.”

You looked over to Jake for help explaining. “Killer over here has a nasty right hook. Said you taught her how to throw it.”

Bradley slowly nodded his head and almost looked excited when he asked if you used it on Jake. “You wish.” He chuckled some and then looked over to his teammate. “Thanks for looking out for her. Clearly you are doing a better job at it than me.”

Jake smirked, “Just one more thing to add to the list that I’m better at.”

A/N: Thoughts? Still deciding if I am going to add another one of these to the mini-series. Thank you so so much for reading!! - C

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy @alldaysdreamers

[luverine]

Orc (Leif) Blacksmith x fem! Hunter! Reader /P.2

// Tw: Dead animal, fighting, and blood // MDNI // sfw // part 1

Leif spent many days trying to win your heart. He crafted hunting knives, forged metal arrowheads, and gifted you anything his hands could make. Yet, every offering met only with your firm glare. Each rejection tore at his heart, leaving it heavy and shredded, but he kept trying.

Every night, Leif shed silent tears for you, yearning for nothing more than your embrace. For months, he faced this struggle, his hope flickering yet alive. All it took was one moment for everything to change.

A piercing scream echoed from the edge of the forest near his home. His heart seized as he recognized your voice, raw with terror. Leif bolted from his doorway, dread pounding in his chest as he tore through the trees.

A massive bear loomed over you, its fang-like teeth locked onto your cloak hood, pulling you forward as you fought it off, desperately stabbing with the knife he’d gifted you. Fear evaporated as he rushed toward you. With all his strength, he shoved the bear by the snout, punching it hard across the muzzle. The beast reared back but struck out with its claws, raking his arm in return.

While the bear was distracted by the looming giant, you took your chance, drawing your bow and hitting an arrow straight into its ribs. The beast staggered, collapsing with a final, shuddering huff.

Panting, you turned to find Leif standing there, wide-eyed, his chest heaving. “You saved me.” The words left you almost in disbelief. He gave you a gentle smile, nodding.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” he murmured, voice trembling as his bronze eyes, filled with tears, locked onto yours.

“You're hurt-” Worry cast over his gaze as he saw the cuts on your arms and blood splattered across your face.

You shook your head, wiping the blood on your face. “Leif, you’re hurt too. Let’s get you fixed up, huh?” You winked, breathing easier now, and reached for his hand.

As he took it, a hint of a smile softened his face. You bowed low before him, with your bow held across your chest- a sacred gesture in your family, one of deep respect. His tusks glinted in the moonlight as you tugged gently on one, an orcish sign of affection.

“Come on, let’s get you home… friend.”

…

“I’ll be back for your hide, you wretched beasts,” you mutter, casting one last glance at the fallen creature sprawled at the floor of the forest.

A/N: Likes, comment, reblogs appreciated ~ Part 3 • Part 4

@slightly-knot-reblogs ‹𝟹

[madfantom]

Full animatic And so, part 2 of my comments, let's start.

◁Part 1 || Part 3 ▷

In the last part, and here, the order in which the children got to William is shown, and I will explain why it is not the order of the murders Here is a MEMO with missing children to make it easier to navigate, since I drew very simplistically.

I mean, when watching usually fnaf animations, I myself had the question "who the fuck are all these kids?" and, either in another animation I understood, or I did not understand at all, or the designs were so simplified that you can guess (I mean a child in all red or with a pirate armband is foxy, Freddy is all brown, etc.) So I just made outlines of their hair and costumes and that's it

It's just a little complaint here, don't pay attention, I'll just say it once, and that's because I didn't think that someone would write the same thing all the time when writing AU And one more thing. Chick's name is SOFIA. Please guys, I know that Suzy from fnaf 6 exists, okay? She's there, hell, she's even in the animation next to Cassidy. I just shifted her from being a chick to another one, not removed. And she also has an interesting role and a different design logic, I just don't have time to do everything. In fact, I even have a reason why Sofia exists and I wrote a very long text post about it, but I haven't finished drawing sketches there, so you won't see it yet. It's just that I'm starting to get a little bit hung up by the same type of comments from Pinterest, although to get rid of this, I write in big letters everywhere that it's AU

Let's go back to the animatic

I have displayed the methods of killing, which will then be reflected in the appearance of the ghosts. In fact, I took the idea from my old horror zine Fnaf art when I was thinking about how the children died there to make their appearance more creepy. Some of the ideas remained, and some were redesigned, as well as some designs

Sofia was placed in a ventilation unit. William caught her and left her there suffocating in the off ventilation , after a light strangulation, suffocating in the off ventilation. She didn't actually die, but she was the first (And I refer to this also in a custom night with the phrase "I was the first, I have seen everything!") And now imagine how the room smelled of chemicals after cleaning it from all kinds of oils and other liquids necessary for mechanisms that are very difficult to wipe off. While ventilation did not work and the girl was locked in a narrow place after she was strangled, forced to watch through the slots for the children who were after her That's why Sofia's ghost makes such a quiet clucking sound, as she coughs as if she's still in the ventilation. She won't die of suffocation, nah, in this comic she's still alive and William can cut her throat.

About the rest it is more obvious, well, not counting the pictures on the Background.

Jeremy was electrocuted, so his ghost hair is pulled up as if by an electric shock. He also has charred lips and eyelid skin and no eyebrows, and his hands have torn and charred stripes from just the same clamp. He looks like the most crippled of the three

Fritz couldn't stand the blows from blunt and sharp objects and in the end they attached a mask to his face with a nail gun or something like that and set it on fire quite a bit. Well, just a little bit. His background is directly related to the comic, which Redraw at the beginning, and now I continue. I'm still doing it, but I need a lot of time for it

Gabriella was basically cut while they wrapped one of those cables around his neck that are forever hanging on the walls in fnaf and pulled out his eye after death

[jennay]

My Best Friend

Noah Sebastian x reader

1/2/3/4/5

Summary: Reader goes through a break up and Noah does Noah things.

Master List

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you ascend Noah’s driveway. Your skin prickles, as if it’s trying to escape the confines of your body. The air feels heavy, suffocating, and you’re torn between wanting to kick something, hit something, or simply collapse into a heap of tears. It’s a symphony of emotions—anger, betrayal, and a dash of disbelief.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You thought you were in a cozy rom-com, complete with candlelit dinners and shared playlists. But reality just pulled the rug out from under you, leaving you sprawled on the floor of your own heartbreak.

And the worst part? Everyone else saw it coming. They waved red flags like semaphore signals, but you were too busy dancing in the fog of infatuation.

You even told your friends, “It won't be serious and if it is we will move slow.” But Michael? He came with baggage—suitcases, trunks, and emotional carry-ons. A tortured soul with unresolved trauma, dragging dread behind him like a shadow.

As you stand there, staring at the door, you wonder if it’s too late to turn back. It was going to be embarrassing asking Noah if you could move back in.

You open the door and quietly enter the house stopping at the side of the couch where Noah sits. He looks up at you with a soft smile. “You ok?” He asks even though he knows you aren’t. He scrunches his face and pats the sofa next to him, “Come sit, tell me what happened.”

“He said he knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to work. We were both too damaged. He was using me to get over someone else and we’re better off apart,” your voice trembles with defeat. You hurl your phone onto the couch and collapse next to Noah. Tilting your head up, you drape your arm over your eyes, hoping to shield your vulnerability from him.

“What a dick,” Noah chimes in, his tone edged with anger. “And seriously, how does this keep happening to you? You’ve dated so many people.” He pauses, studying your face for any sign of reaction. “Not that it’s a bad thing, but damn, this was the longest relationship I’ve seen you in and it lasted—what, a year?” His brown eyes lock onto you, probing deeper.

You drop your arm, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Stupid. That’s how you feel. You craved love desperately, yet it seemed like nobody wanted to love you back. “I got attached to his kids like a fucking idiot,” you admit, your voice barely audible. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, unstoppable. “Why doesn’t anyone want to love me?” The words escape in a soft whisper, your shoulders slumping as you gaze at the floor. A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you think it’ll be the last, but another follows, and another. You bury your head in your hands.

Noah’s hand rubs your back soothingly. “Dude, don’t cry,” he murmurs, inching closer. His thigh brushes against yours, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling your sobbing form into his chest. In that moment, his warmth feels like the only comfort in a world that’s left you feeling unloved and broken.

“I can’t help it…” you whine, attempting to wipe your eyes. “I know it wasn’t that long, but it was like a Netflix series—short but intense. Not the ‘binge-watching Stranger Things’ kind of intense, more like ‘accidentally watched a documentary on tax law’ intense. I mean, I loved him, but I also had moments when I wanted to throw his clothes out the window because I hated him.”

Noah takes a deep breath, and you feel your body rise with his. He leans in, ready to drop some wisdom. “Listen, I’m no relationship guru, but I’m pretty sure ‘hate’ isn’t in the official handbook. It’s more like ‘tolerate their weird quirks’ or ‘pretend to enjoy their cooking.’”

You pull away playfully, glaring at him. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. Next, you’ll tell me that water is wet.”

He chuckles at your comment. “So,” he pauses dramatically, “when should we go grab your stuff?”

You raise an eyebrow, “The breakup happened like thirty minutes ago. Give me a break,” you say with a soft smile.

Noah shrugs like it’s no big deal. “The spare room is still how you left it. I’m sure Jolly will help us move some stuff upstairs too. I could ask Folio and Nicholas, but you know how they are,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, Folio would probably turn it into a moving party, and Nicholas would just complain the whole time.”

Noah laughs. “Exactly!”

You stand up, sighing. “Yeah, but the last thing I need is Michael spreading rumors about how quickly I moved on to one of you.” You bite your lip. “Can I just borrow some clothes tonight? I’m not ready to face him yet.”

Noah nods, “He’s a mediocre middle-aged basic white dude. I didn’t think you’d be this heartbroken over him.”

You smirk. “Well, he did have a decent dick.”

Noah stares at you in horror. “What the fuck, dude.”

You chuckle. “Now, about those clothes?”

“Anything to get away from you at this moment. I need to go bleach my eyes…and burn that image out of my brain.” Noah starts for the stairs, pretending to gag as he walks up them. “Let’s go get some stuff tomorrow. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

You quickly follow behind him, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “You’re such a drama queen.”

He grins over his shoulder. “And you love me for it.”

Walking into his room, he grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his dresser, tossing them at you. “Here, these should fit. They’re my comfiest.”

“Thanks,” you say, catching the clothes. You head to the room across from his. “Goodnight, Noah. I’ll see you in the morning.” You take a deep breath and open the door, feeling the weight of the day settle on your shoulders.

“Hey!” Noah slightly yells, clearing his throat. “Why don’t you stay in here with me tonight? It’ll make me feel better knowing that you can’t jump out your window.” He teases, but you can hear the worry in his voice. “We can watch a movie… My brain will be at peace, and if you need to cry, you won’t be alone.”

You pause, feeling a lump in your throat. “Let me change first.”

When you arrive back in Noah’s room, he has the TV turned on and the blankets pulled down. He’s already in bed. “Come on, get in here. I’ve got Bojack Horseman ready to go.”

You take no time crawling into bed and snuggling close to the blankets. “You know me too well,” you mumble, feeling a bit more at ease.

Noah smiles softly. “Of course I do. Now, let’s forget about Michael for a while and just relax.”

As the show starts, Noah doesn’t say a word, just watches your eyes slowly flutter, signaling you’re tired. He reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. “I’m here for you, always.”

You squeeze back, feeling a bit of the tension melt away. “Thanks, Noah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on the screen but his thoughts on you.

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Part 5 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - With their rebirth, Art and (Y/n) dwindle into hiding while they recover from the tragic events that had occurred, finding tranquility in each other as they reunite. However, once that peace was disturbed, there was no telling what chaos had been unleashed.

Notes - New era = new main series cover y’all 👏🏻 This follows the events of Terrifier 3 for the most part, but obviously not to a T with more behind the scenes with Art and reader and the reader being incorporated into different scenes.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or have a request!

Word Count - 6,180

Warning(s) - Violence, gore, smut, alcohol/drinking, Vicky and Art are their own warning

⚠️ Do not read if you care about spoilers for the third movie/haven’t watched it ⚠️

Song Inspiration -

Paul Wiley - Morgue (Terrifier 2)

ZAND - Slut Money

(Y/n) basked under his intense gaze, adjusting to his appearance. Something felt different. New and refreshing. She didn’t know what to say, not after all that had happened and all that was happening in the moment so quickly. 

She moved to sit up, Art immediately holding out his hand and she took it with grace. He stood as her torso rose with ease, carefully watching her every movement as her legs followed suit. 

Her hand held onto Art’s arm for support until she felt well enough to stand on her own. She stood there for a moment, silent as her body adjusted from being still for so long. 

Without a word, she looked around the dusty room with a neutral expression as the clown grinned down at her menacingly. (Y/n) then spotted a cracked, full-length mirror leaning against one of the walls. 

She turned, feet moving her towards it suspensefully as Art kept his own planted, watching her in anticipation. Once stood in front of it, her arm reached out to wipe off a bit of the dust built onto it and her stomach sank. 

She almost couldn’t recognize the woman in front of her. Her skin was significantly more pale, blemishes somewhat faded and features more pronounced. Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion when she locked eyes with herself, leaning in to further examine. 

She noticed what seemed to be a thin, white ring along the outer edge of her pupils and she blinked to see if her mind was playing tricks on her. And yet they still remained. 

(Y/n) then spotted the blood stain on her shirt and looked down at herself, hand reaching up to brush her fingers over the wound that was no longer bleeding, and somehow already healing. 

Art finally moved, stalking over to stand behind her as she straightened herself upright. She turned her head to look up at him with a curious gaze. 

“What’s happened?” She whispered, yet received no response. 

Art simply stared with the same smile he always bore. 

“Are we dead?” She asked in a now flat tone. 

Art shook his head slowly. 

“How? I saw your body, that’s not possible.” She pressed, her body now completely facing him. 

The clown shrugged with a mischievous look in his eyes. He then brought up one of his hands to her face, knuckles brushing against her cheek as he admired her new appearance. The same hand reached around to rest itself on her lower back, guiding her with him to a rocking chair that sat near one of the few unbroken windows of their home. 

“This has to be a dream…” She commented mindlessly as he tossed away a piece of wood that sat on the chair, turning it around to face the window and sitting on it. “Or limbo…” She continued with a dazed look in her eyes, moving to sit on Art’s lap when he outstretched his arm closest to her to invite her. 

Once she was settled, he brought a hand up to her head to gently press it against him, her eyes suddenly growing heavy with exhaustion. She focused on the sound of the chair rocking beneath them, his hand moving down to her back to soothingly rub it, continuing until he felt her breathing and heart steady before resting it on the arm of the chair.

-

Voices muffled inside the rotted building, floorboards creaking as they stepped around. 

“Please don’t tell me you believe all the stories about this place?” One of the men asked his partner Dennis incredulously. 

“What stories?” The man questioned with concern. 

“Back in the early 90’s,” Maurice, the older of the two, began. “Some maniac abducted and killed over a dozen kids in this town. They buried all the bodies in the basement here in this building. Now everyone swears the place is haunted.”

Dennis stepped forward, expression unreadable. “Are you fucking with me?” 

Maurice didn’t answer and instead continued to stare at him with a hard expression. 

“You’re fucking with me.” The man smiled hopefully. 

“Of course I’m fucking with you!” Maurice lunged suddenly and his partner jumped back as the older man cackled. “Now, come on. I’ll take the first floor and the basement, and you… upstairs. Been skittish all day.” He commented before beginning to wander around the floor. 

Dennis sighed, looking up at the ceiling then around the room reluctantly. As Maurice disappeared, the man pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on, trudging his way upstairs. 

“Jingle bells, jingle bells… this place fucking smells.” He sang as he looked around, the atmosphere static and felt nearly ancient. 

The floorboards creaked with every step, even louder as he reached a particularly cluttered room. Random items were scattered, even a rusted bicycle sat in a corner against the wall. 

“Disgusting.” He mumbled to himself as cobwebs were scattered everywhere he looked. “Anybody home?” He called half-heartedly, leaning down to avoid the lower wooden boards of the ceiling when his eyes caught sight of something particularly concerning. 

In front of a window sat what seemed to be two figures in a rocking chair, both still as a statue with webs covering them. 

“What the fuck?” He muttered, leaning his head over to investigate further without having to move closer. “Hello?” He called louder, testing to see if they were real. 

After receiving no response or movement, he whistled. Still no response. 

“That’s not real.” He tried to convince himself, legs shifting nervously. “That’s not real, right?” Dennis stepped back slightly. “Hey, Jackson!” He called out to his partner, but was met with silence. “Anybody home?” He questioned the figures, finally giving in and making his way towards the chair. “Yoo-hoo.” 

Dennis reached the chair, waving his flashlight in the face of an eerie black and white clown, white eyes open like saucers with a horrifying grin. 

“What the fuck.” He whispered, eyes moving down to what seemed to be a life-size doll curled in the clown’s lap. 

Her peaceful expression did little to calm his nerves. If anything, it enhanced them. 

“Holy shit.” Dennis’ voice shook as he examined them. “Hey!” He whispered, then waved a hand in front of the clown’s face. “Hey!” He tried again. “Are you real?” 

The clown suddenly lunged his hand into his face and he shouted with fright, the room a blur as he was thrown across the room by its masked strength. 

(Y/n) jumped awake, startled by the commotion and looked up to see Art already grinning down at her. He fussed over her appearance, focused as he picked off the cobwebs from her and brushed her off before urging her to stand up. 

Once she did so with a stumble, he followed suit, joints aching and popping as they both stretched with satisfaction. 

The two of them slowly looked over at the man on the floor who struggled, shuffling painfully and groaning. (Y/n) stepped back as Art sauntered his way over to him, the former then moving closer to watch the scene unfold curiously. 

Art bent down and grabbed the man’s shirt, tossing him once again against the wall as (Y/n) bit her lip at the sight. 

She continued to watch eagerly as the clown once again stepped over to the man crawling across the floor, snatching his shirt a second time before kneeling to pin him down with a knee on his back as if it was nothing. 

Art laughed from above him, drinking in the sight of the squirming body as if it were a glass of wine. 

As they continued, (Y/n) spotted movement from her peripherals, looking up to see what looked like a woman with a disfigured face, her skin scarred, almost leathery in appearance. Her dress was tattered and filthy and (Y/n)’s eyes squinted in disapproval when she noticed her watching the scene just as she had been. 

The woman’s head tilted as Art stabbed a large, rod-like nail through the man’s palm and raised a glass shard up to her face, caressing it against her neck as her opposite hand reached down to the edge of her dress. 

(Y/n)’s breath quickened, no longer paying attention to what was happening closest to her. The shard was brought down to the woman’s marred thighs, disappearing beneath her dress as (Y/n) grew nauseous at the implication. 

Once she noticed her hand begin to thrust the sharp object, (Y/n) snapped her head to look away as the screams of the man filled her ears. Her fists clenched and unclenched, a multitude of emotions flooding her as the events unfolded. 

When the screaming suddenly stopped and labored breathing filled the silence, she looked up to see a puddle of blood beneath the woman, still dripping onto the floor. She then looked over at Art who gave the new individual a for shame motion with a playful grin. 

He then looked over at (Y/n) and began to laugh, but it abruptly stopped when he noticed her expression. Her breathing was heavy, eyes set on the other woman as rage began to boil in her veins. 

With the same smile, he slowly rose to his feet and made his way over to her, wiping off his hands onto his suit. He lifted a hand to her chin and turned her head to look at him, but when she met his eyes he was greeted by an icy glare he had never received before. 

Art frowned at her and raised his eyebrows, hands delicately circling her face, then cupping over his heart with his smile returning, blinking at her to show his adoration. 

Her eyes shifted to the woman and he stepped to the side to also look at her, then felt a pair of arms begin to possessively wrap around his torso. He looked down to see (Y/n) still focused on the woman, but now latching herself onto him like a leech and he wiggled his eyebrows excitedly. 

One of his own hands rested on top of her forearm, his other reaching up to snake around her shoulders. Art then looked up at the scarred figure with a dark expression and they watched as she huffed, turning around and waddling out of the room. 

“Who is she?” (Y/n) asked once out of earshot. “And don’t lie to me.” She quickly added before he could respond, turning to face him as she let go. 

Art took a dramatic and deep breath, shoulders dropping. He pointed to where the woman was standing, then between the two of them and motioned a heartbeat over his chest with his hands. 

“She is why we’re alive?” Art nodded, sticking a finger up on both sides of his head as makeshift horns. “A demon?” (Y/n) deadpanned. “A demon wants us alive.” She continued as more of a statement of disbelief than a question. 

Art made a stabbing motion and motioned between the two of them. 

“She wants us alive to continue what we’re doing?” 

He nodded excitedly and pointed at her. (Y/n) crossed her arms, tongue running along the inside of her cheek in irritation as she looked off to the side. Then she gave him a warning look. 

“If she tries anything with you, I’m getting an exorcist.” She dropped her arms and began making her way to the door. “Even if it means we have to find something else to keep us alive.” 

Art watched her disappear, teeth set in an anxious smile as he patted his legs nervously. He wasn’t worried about the demon, no. He was worried about themselves because he knew she never made an empty threat.

(Y/n) made her way downstairs to the main floor, sighing at the familiar sight of their workroom that seemed unchanged besides the dust that settled.  Her brow furrowed in a silent question, turning to the footsteps that entered behind her. 

“How long was I asleep for?” She asked Art as her eyes widened with concern. 

He looked up, mouth moving thoughtfully as his finger tallied the air. He then smiled and held up five fingers. 

“Five what? Months? Years?” Art nodded. “Years? Five years?” His head followed her back and forth as she paced. “What the hell. How is that even possible? How is any of this possible?” She whipped around to face him with a dumbfounded expression and he shrugged. 

Art then made his way over to her and motioned for her to breathe and calm down, pointing to her, then himself adoringly before resting his hands on her shoulders and kissing the tip of her nose.

She followed his instructions, taking a deep breath and letting her forehead fall onto his chest in defeat. “I can’t keep up with all of this, Art.” 

(Y/n) felt him rest a hand on her back, walking her to her room that was still left untouched, though he had to argue with Vicky on that one. Along with a few other matters. 

Everything looked the same, other than a few pieces of paint that chipped off of the walls. Art wandered over to the bed, aggressively patting at the covers and pillows and clearing off dust before presenting it to her with a dramatic flail of his arms, inviting her to lay on it.

(Y/n) sighed and chuckled, closing the door behind her and dragging her feet over to him, about to lay on it when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. 

She stepped in front of it, head tilting as she continued to adjust to her new appearance. She watched as the clown moved to stand behind her, locking eyes with her when he rested his chin on top of her head and let his arms dangle at his sides

“So this is us now?” She sighed as Art dropped his persona, face neutral. 

She turned around to face him, hands reaching up to cup his defined cheeks. 

“I don’t mind.” (Y/n) mumbled, eyes bouncing around to different areas of his face, taking in his features. “As long as I have you.” She stood on her toes, reaching up to place her lips over his in a rare, delicate kiss. 

As they melted into it, she felt his hand wander and squeeze at the meat of her arse. She jumped at the sudden contact and felt him grin against her lips, her hands grazing down to his chest and walking him back to the edge of the bed.

He stumbled back when he was pushed down to sit on the mattress with a surprising amount of force, gasping silently. His face was in shock as he looked up at (Y/n) who held the same expression. 

Once the initial surprise wore off, he grinned wickedly and snatched her by her waist, yanking her to sit on top of him. 

“That’s new.” She mused in a whisper and he wiggled his eyebrows at her before capturing her lips with his own, feeling her hips roll against him as she sighed at the relief. 

Her hands pressed him down further to lay back, following him down and working her lips to an exposed patch of skin at the edge of his ruffle collar, sucking and nipping at the skin as his hands wandered her figure. His hips rose to meet her rhythm and she moaned, dragging her teeth against him.

His hands wandered down to her hips, kneading her before gripping the edge of her pants and ripping them in half with a sudden jerk, peeling them off of her. His hands held her waist, lifting the two of them to sit up and unzip his suit, raising his hips to expose his throbbing cock. 

Locking eyes with her, he laid back down and she adjusted herself to hover over him, grabbing hold of his member and aligning it with her throbbing pussy. 

Her head tilted back, lips parted as she sunk herself down onto him, impaling herself until she sat against his pelvis. Art reached up and forcefully gripped her chin, jerking her head down to look at him. He grit his teeth, practically snarling as she began to set an even pace, looking between his disappearing cock and her pleasant features. 

Art quirked an eyebrow in encouragement, moving to take hold of her hips and guide her into a faster rhythm. She gasped and moaned at the new sensation, hands resting on his bare chest for support as she rocked against him. 

Her volume increased when he began to meet her movements with his own, grip tightening into a bruising hold. 

“Art, please -“ (Y/n) gasped and he nodded at her as she desperately ground against him, eyebrows knit together with pleasure. 

He sat up, taking her throat into his mouth and pounding up into her suddenly. Her hand reached to the back of his head, her other clawing at his back as they grew closer and closer to their long-awaited release. 

“Yes, yes, yes -“ She chanted as her lips brushed against the top of his head, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she screamed through her orgasm, trembling in his arms as he followed suit, thrusts slowing as he rode it out. 

He licked up her jaw and bit at her lip, pulling back with a shit-eating grin when she looked away bashfully. He pulled out, carefully rolling (Y/n) to lay on the bed as he stood and zipped up his suit. 

Art blew her a kiss and she giggled, watching as he wandered over to her wardrobe and opened it with a flourish. He crossed one arm in front of him, the other tapping a finger against his chin as he eyed the articles of clothing. 

Once he finally decided, he pulled out a casual black dress, walking back over to the bed giddily and laying it out beside her, pointing at it excitedly for her. (Y/n) sat up, eyeing his choice before agreeing. 

“But how am I going to clean up? I doubt I have my house anymore.” Art immediately waved her off, snatching her by her wrist and pulling her up.

His solution? Simply find the nearest house and use its bathroom. Granted, the journey was more bloody on his end, but it was far from an issue as long as (Y/n) got what she wanted. 

And if it meant he was able to slip in another kill or two. 

Freshly cleaned, (Y/n) entered their home, passing the demon - named Vicky, Art informed her - who sat on the floor of one of the empty rooms messing with a various pile of items. Art stayed outside, snooping through the demolition van that the two men drove in. 

(Y/n) stood in the center of their workroom, looking around with a sense of nostalgia. Memories passed through her mind, feeling so distant yet also as if it all happened just the day before. 

Suddenly, Art passed her with an armful of items, a tank of an unknown substance sticking out amongst them to her. 

As he worked to get settled, she looked around the room, spotting her camera sitting on her stool. (Y/n) smiled, walking over to it and delicately picking it up and dusting it off. She examined it, checking for any damage and felt satisfied when none was evident. She took a deep breath, turning on the camera and giggling when it lit up. 

“It still works.” She told Art as she walked up to his bench, sitting on the spare stool. He patted her shoulder joyfully as he moved over to the stove, lighting it as he placed a pot over one of the burners, filled with a thick, mysterious gray substance. 

(Y/n) eyed the new materials on the bench, landing on the tank and turning the label for her to read it. 

“Liquid nitrogen?” She read curiously with underlying excitement. 

Art nodded as he took his seat on his own stool, looking around the surface of the bench like a child on Christmas with their presents. 

“That’ll be fun.” She watched as he began to tinker with different items, primarily focusing on the tank as he screwed and tightened various items to connect it into a new contraption. 

After a while, (Y/n) jumped out of her dream-like state when a rat suddenly scurried onto her lap to climb onto the bench. She teetered on the stool, almost falling back until Art snatched her arm and steadied her, eyeing the rat in annoyance. 

“We need to trap them or something, I’m not living with that.” She huffed in exasperation, trying to steady her heart rate. Art wiggled a finger at her in agreement, swiftly returning to his work.

The sound of the substance on the stove began to boil in the background, creating a soothing ambience as Art worked, focusing intently on the task at hand. He pointed at a larger nozzle sitting next to her and she grabbed it for him, handing it over to watch him connect it to the tank with a comedic level of precision. 

He looked over at (Y/n), wiggling his eyebrows mischievously before dragging his gaze over to the rat that sniffed around beside him. He turned the tank, facing the nozzle towards the clueless rodent and opened his mouth with an eager expression before toggling the release. 

(Y/n) quickly hid her face when the substance shot out with a hiss, clouding the area around them and leaving the air colder in its wake while Art shook with excitement. 

Though it suddenly stopped, the air cleared. 

(Y/n) slowly turned to look back at the bench, seeing the rat now immobile and covered in a sheet of white powder. She watched as Art reached over and picked it up by its tail, examining it before tapping it with his finger to test its solidity. 

She gasped when he suddenly banged it against the table, the rat crumbling and breaking into bloody bits as he did so. He raised it once more, still by its tail, and turned to show (Y/n) with sinister countenance. 

As if they could read each other’s mind, they looked at each other, (Y/n)’s lips stretching into her own smile.  

-

“Just imagine the look on their faces when I publish the next piece.” (Y/n) giggled, arm hooked with Art’s as they strolled through the town. 

Lights were wrapped around street lights, wreaths hanging on every other to accentuate the Christmas spirit. The clown looked down at her, watching as they reflected in her eyes as if it was the galaxy itself.

(Y/n) then suddenly gasped, looking up at a sign in front of them as muffled voices laughed and cheered in the distance. “Say, have we been to a bar together?” 

She looked up at Art and he shook his head with wide, curious eyes, eyebrows raised. She then nodded her head in the direction of the sign. 

“Let’s check it out.” Art grinned in anticipation, following her as she made her way to a nearby window and peered inside.

Surprisingly, there weren’t many people inside the rather welcoming setting. Colored lights hung around the room as well as strings of pine and other miscellaneous decorations. She chuckled when she saw the extravagant yet simple Christmas tree tucked in the back with a snowman sitting beside it.

There was the bartender - a man - as well as another man sat at the bar and two women sat on top of another larger man wearing an iconic red suit and hat. 

As the two openly wasted women slid off of the makeshift Santa Claus and began making their way to the door, (Y/n) waved Art to come closer excitedly and pointed to the white-haired man. 

“Look!” She whispered eagerly, clutching at the camera around her neck. 

Art lifted a hand up over his eyes to spot him, his face contorting into surprise before shaking with child-like glee, his bag rustling behind him. He firmly snatched (Y/n)’s arm and she yelped as she was dragged around the building to the entrance. 

Art ran in front of her, the two women from before stumbling as he shoved them out of his way and gasped profanities at him. 

“Hey, watch out for that asshole!” 

“Yeah!” 

The women warned (Y/n) as they passed her, patting her shoulder as they did so. She simply rose an eyebrow at them with a questionable look, rolling her eyes before heading inside.  

“Friend of yours, Eddie?” The man dressed as Santa asked. 

“That is a fucking first.” The bartender replied as Art wobbled in excitement, and if he could speak, he would be speechless. 

Their eyes then fell upon the second figure that entered, relieved at her more normal appearance. The bartender stared at her, feeling more and more uneasy the longer he focused.  

“He with you?” Eddie asked her. (Y/n) simply hummed in agreement. As the group of men mumbled amongst each other, she brushed a hand against the clown’s arm as she passed him, looking back at him and chuckling with a shake of her head.

“Elvis treatment, hm?” (Y/n) told the Santa quietly before sitting on the stool beside him and watching Art with a smile. The man in the red suit gave her a side glance, then turned to look at Art. 

“Hello, hello…” He started warily with a small wave of his hand. Art nervously waved back at him, starstruck. “Hi, hi!” Santa chuckled, slipping into character. “Come on over, come on over! It’s fine.” He welcomed the clown who immediately ran over to him, dropping his bag beside (Y/n). 

Art flailed his hands at Santa, then over at a Santa mask hung on one of the restroom doors and back at him. 

“Yes, yes, yes, that’s - that’s me, that’s me! Guilty as charged!” Art fanned himself in excitement, leaning over to look at (Y/n) and pointing at him some more. She laughed and nodded her head, playing along with his act. 

“Hey Santa, it looks like you got a fan!” The third man sat on the opposite side of the man of the hour exclaimed. 

“What’s with the outfit, pal?” Eddie questioned judgmentally, (Y/n) eyeing him as she licked her lips, then looked back over at Art to see his reaction. 

“Yeah, did the circus come to town?” The third man chimed, but Art simply looked between them all. 

(Y/n) leaned over. “He just got done with a show. Very prideful, doesn’t like to break character in uniform.” Art nodded aggressively, pointing at her in agreement and they all hummed. 

Art suddenly reached out to Santa’s beard, tugging on it to test it. The man grunted at his pulling and flinched away from him, the clown pulling back in surprise. 

“Hey - buddy, watch it. That’s the real deal.” He laughed off as he recovered. “That’s my - that’s my beard! If Santa doesn’t have a real beard, he’s not a real Santa Claus.” He poked Art generously and the clown nodded, face representing understanding before he tapped his own head and pointed at Santa with a grin. 

“Hey fella,” Eddie interrupted with suspicion. “What’s in the bag?” 

Art tapped his fingers together mischievously and pointed at him, stepping over to rummage through his bag. “Here -“ (Y/n) hopped off and patted the stool. Art tipped his hat to her and lifted the bag onto it as (Y/n) looked between the men, wiggling her eyebrows at them with a closed smile. 

“Oh, he’s gonna show us. Hey, what do ya got?” Santa asked curiously as the clown sifted through its contents. “This is, uh - usually I’m the one who’s bringing the magical sack of toys!” He laughed as Art held up a finger, telling them one second. 

Art suddenly stopped, turning to look at Santa with a darker glint in his eyes. (Y/n) held her breath, heart racing as even she wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.

“What?” Santa asked, caught off guard.  

They all jumped when he pulled out a horn, face contorted into a widespread grin as he honked it playfully. 

Everyone seemed to laugh in relief as he continued to honk it, bringing it to Eddie’s face, then doing a little dance as he honked Jingle Bells. “Okay.” The bartender started. “That’s enough!” He held a hand out to the clown who quickly glared at him, but it turned back into a smile just as soon as it appeared and put away the horn, patting the bag. 

As the other three looked amongst each other with mild concern, (Y/n) and Art glanced at each other knowingly, the latter winking at her with a flash of a more sinister expression and licked his teeth. A shiver ran down her spine and it took everything in her not to cling to him in that moment, watching as he fixed himself into his cheerful smile once more and looked back at the group. 

“Have a seat, and uh, I’ll buy you a drink.” Santa told him. “Clowny! I’m starting to like you.” He complimented and Art half-sat on his thigh, the man grunting beneath him at his heavier weight despite his more lean appearance. 

Art reached over and fiddled with the ball of fuzz on Santa’s hat, then snatched it off of his head and placed it on his own. The man belted out with laughter as Art popped his hands out in a flair, as if to say look at me! 

He looked over at (Y/n) who smiled, but he caught the clouded look in her now more sultry gaze and wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Hey, Santa, it looks like you got some competition! It’s Clowny Claus!” Smokey, the third man, joked. 

“No!” Santa exclaimed. “Hey, you’re a natural! You look good.” He complimented and Art waved off his compliment bashfully. “But don’t get it dirty and remember to give it back! You don’t want to get on Santa’s naughty list.” He warned the clown who’s mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise, then shrugged mischievously with a playful grin to say oops. (Y/n) choked out a laugh, unable to stop herself.

“Hey, why don’t you tell Santa what you want for Christmas, little boy!” Smokey suggested. 

“Better hygiene?” Eddie dragged out in disgust. 

“Ever heard of dentures?” (Y/n) retorted, nearly snapping, and the bartender tossed her a look of disbelief. “Or paint?” She shrugged unapologetically as she shifted her weight where she stood between the bag and Art. “Anything used cosmetically.” 

She looked over at Art when she felt him tap her shoulder, giving her an ok symbol and a reassuring smile. She simply clicked her tongue and turned to face the group, forearm resting against the counter of the bar. 

Sensing the tension, Santa decided to step in. “All right, come on, let’s have a drink - uh - for everybody, okay? Come on!” Art clapped excitedly. 

“Got ID?” Eddie asked, growing tired of the clown’s act. 

“Oh - come on, he’s obviously old enough!” Art held up a finger, waving off Santa who tried to stand up for him and turned to look through his bag as (Y/n) watched curiously. “All right.”

“You think I’m gonna lose my license for these guys?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“He just doesn’t want to say he thinks we’re too pretty.” (Y/n) hummed as she smirked at the bartender, the other two men chuckling as he stood baffled before rolling his eyes. Art silently laughed to himself before pulling out a wallet, tossing it onto the counter in front of Eddie and wrapping an arm around (Y/n)’s waist. 

They watched as he pulled out two IDs from it and her eyes widened just a fraction in surprise. 

“You found mine?” She whispered to Art and he squinted down at her with a grin, nodding. 

“Maurice Jackson?” Eddie exasperated, eyeing Santa in disapproval. 

“What did you expect? John Doe?” (Y/n) bit, about to continue when the hand on her waist squeezed to cut her off. Art leaned in, blinking at him tauntingly. 

“Eddie, you’re killing me, can we just celebrate? Come on.” Santa pleaded, irritated with his friend’s behavior. Art slipped away from (Y/n), sitting back on top of Santa’s thigh.

“Fuck it, it’s Christmas.” Eddie finally gave in and pulled out a few shot glasses. 

“All right, let’s have a drink!” They watched as he began to pour the clear liquid into each glass, sliding one over to everyone. “To my new friend, huh?” They took their own shots in hand, raising them as Santa spoke. “To Maurice Jackson! Cheers!”

They all threw the alcohol back, (Y/n) coughing after she swallowed when Art suddenly spat his into Santa’s face. Smokey began to laugh while Santa rushed to wipe off his face and exclaimed. 

“What the fuck is the matter with you!” (Y/n) watched as Art smacked his lips in distaste, reaching over and wiping off a drop that hung from his lip, drying her finger on his suit. 

She turned back to the counter and leaned against it, grabbing the bottle of alcohol and winking at Eddie as he watched incredulously, pouring her own shot again and downing it as the commotion continued beside her. “You gonna pay for that?” He asked her. 

“Yeah, just keep my tab open.” She replied casually. 

She then heard the sound of something trickling onto the floor and simply stepped away, bringing the bottle and shot glass with her as she made her way to the back where a black bench was perched against the wall. 

She sat down and downed another shot, feeling warm and beginning to laugh as Eddie and Smokey held back Santa from clobbering the clown. Art looked back at her and slapped at his knees, bent over as he silently cackled.

Eddie suddenly snatched him by his suit and dragged him away, throwing him onto the bench next to (Y/n) and knocking over the bottle and shot glass. 

“My shots!” She pouted in disappointment, Art straightening up and adjusting his hat. As the men continued to yell in the background, Art looked over at her irritated expression as she crossed her arms and legs, locking eyes. 

Feeling buzzed, she smirked at him mischievously and they both looked back over at the three men who struggled to bring over his bag. 

Art jumped up and pointed at them in laughter, evading the bag as it was tossed at his feet. 

“I don’t want you to call the cops, I want you to call the fucking dry cleaners!” Art pointed at Santa and fanned his hand over his nose. He then began to rummage through his bag as they continued to bicker, (Y/n) eyeing the now empty bottle beside her. 

She grabbed it and stood, sauntering over to Art with her hands clasped onto the neck of the bottle in front of her innocently and he glanced over at her as he dug. “I want Eddie.” (Y/n) begged, eyes pleading. Art froze and thought for a moment before giving in, motioning for her to hurry as the man in question began to stomp his way over. 

(Y/n) giggled, practically skipping towards him with a smile before the thicker bottle was suddenly smashed over his head, knocking him onto the floor. 

“Oh fuck… oh fuck! Eddie!” Santa exclaimed. 

As she stood over the bartender, a gunshot was heard followed by another thud, Smokey collapsing next. Art watched the body fall, then looked up at Santa and stalked towards him, gun aimed with a frown.

(Y/n) focused on Eddie as he groaned, rolling to look up at her. Eyes wide, he could only stare as she slowly crouched down, the sharp edges of the broken bottle threatening as they pointed down at him. He felt as if he was melting into the ground, her unnatural gaze piercing through him intimidatingly.  

“Should’ve just called me pretty.” She commented sweetly before sending it into his face, spitting onto his face when she felt blood on her lip. She lifted her camera, snapping a few pictures before standing and doing the same with Smokey.

“It’s just me and you, remember? It’s just me and you!” (Y/n) heard Santa's plea and looked over at him and Art who still held the man at gunpoint. “We’re in the same business!” 

She began walking over to them, Santa’s eyes glancing over at her, her face now splattered with droplets of blood on one side. He shook with fear when she came to stand next to Art, arms snaking around his torso as her head leaned against his shoulder with a wicked expression. 

“We - we make… people happy.” He begged as a last resort. Art’s frown slowly morphed into a wide grin and (Y/n) hummed 

Santa began to laugh hysterically.  

Tag List: @hoe-for-daddywise @callsignwidow

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 3/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 1,484 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《TAGLIST》 (in replies because tags aren't working in the post for some reason)

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

I just want y’all to know that this chapter was written for you—I prefer the story ending at Chapter 2 😉

If you enjoy the read please kudos, comment, and reblog ❤️

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You catch the door before it clicks shut. You don’t want to leave him like this. You can’t leave him like this, so you inhale a deep breath and creep back inside, steeling yourself for rejection or another hateful outburst.

His weeping tapers off into sniffles and the occasional cough. You can feel his eyes following you as you pad over to his couch and grab the neatly folded throw blanket, casting a furtive glance towards his gun, which is still lying undisturbed where you left it, before returning to him. His eyes have fallen away from you—his head sagging between his slumped shoulders, chin touching his chest—and you hope he hasn’t gone away again to that terrible place in his mind. When you drape the blanket around his shoulders he flinches but gives no other protest, even pulling it more tightly around himself. He doesn’t order you to leave—doesn’t even acknowledge you’re there—so you kneel down in front of him, careful not to crowd him. He looks so defeated, so beaten down by the world; an abused child wrapped up in his security blanket for comfort after another unfair punishment. Your heart can’t help but break for him.  

You sit for a moment, listening to his soft sniffles and harsh breathing until you find the right words to say. Then you open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to the floor again, his tearful eyes hidden behind a curtain of sweat-damp black hair.

For what? Passing out? Getting strangled? Knocking me to the floor then screaming at me? But you keep those questions to yourself, asking him instead: “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER?”

He slowly shakes his bowed head, as if it’s filled with lead, as if those awful memories of his are weighing it down.

“Then why don’t you lie down? Maybe get some rest?” you suggest. “I can bring you some Ambien…”

Your voice trails off because he shoots you a wary look. But then his face softens and he nods before muttering, “No drugs.”

“No drugs,” you echo softly, your brain jumping to conclusions again about this brooding man of few words. Perhaps he’s a recovering addict or something. You push yourself to your feet then reach out a hand to help him up. He stares at it then his eyes fall away again. He’s really not a fan of eye contact.

“I don’t even know your name,” he says.

“It’s Y/N,” you offer eagerly. “What about you?”

There’s a pause, and for a moment you think he’s going to ignore you, but then he answers, “Jason,” in a barely audible voice, as if he’s ashamed to utter the word aloud.

Heavy silence swells around you and you’re acutely aware of your outstretched arm hanging awkwardly in the air. He wipes his bleeding cheek against his shoulder, smearing more blood onto his hoodie. You pull back your proffered hand and use it to push a lock of hair behind your ear as you fumble for something to say to fill the uncomfortable silence that stretches on. And suddenly you're back at dinner with John Preston Anderson III trying to make conversation while he scrolls on his phone, pretending you don’t exist. You have to swallow down a bubble of anger that threatens to erupt.

“I’m… sorry for whatever happened to you, Jason. I… can stay with you, if you want.” Suddenly your face is afire and you’re mortified that you just invited yourself to sleep over at his place only seconds after learning his name. “On your couch, I mean,” you clarify, blushing furiously, but his eyes never leave the floor. Thankfully.

He coughs then shakes his head again. “I already ruined your night.”

A bitter laugh bursts out of you at that without your permission, and his head jerks up, startled, bloodshot eyes snapping to yours. You clap both hands over your mouth as if you can shove the rude sound back inside you. Guilt grips your heart as you see the pained expression on his pale face. It’s not anger or hurt or annoyance, but rather that same look of fear that you witnessed earlier when he was cowering in the corner, as if your laughter frightened him. 

You rush to explain, to put him at ease. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… if you only knew the night I’ve had. Anyway, I’m glad we finally got to meet. It’s nice to put a name to the-the face.” You stutter that last part, realizing after the fact that it’s probably not very nice to bring up his unmistakably-scarred face like that, or complain about your night to the guy who got strangled, so you blurt out before your mind can catch up with your mouth: “It isn’t every night that I get to help a handsome stranger in distress.”

Your face somehow turns an even darker shade of crimson. How many times can you put your foot in your mouth in one conversation? But to your surprise and relief you’re rewarded with a little laugh from Jason, a sound that seems awkward and unnatural, as if he doesn’t get to laugh very often. Some of the color returns to his cheeks as he blushes the prettiest shade of pink. When the corners of his mouth quirk up into a timid smile you realize that he has absolutely gorgeous lips, despite the swelling. Full and soft, finely laced with small silvery scars—little arrows pointing to where they need to be kissed. Jesus Christ. Again, you literally just learned the guy’s name and now you want to kiss him. No, that’s a lie. You’ve wanted to kiss him since his rude ass scowled at you the first time. What is it with you and Ted Bundy types?

“I’ll have to pass out more often,” he says shyly, fingers plucking at the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His blue-green eyes find the floor again, as if his script is written there. “Turns out it’s a great way to meet beautiful women.”

Beautiful… beautiful… The word echoes in your mind like a heartbeat. No one has ever called you beautiful. Your chest comes alive with sudden warmth as butterflies take flight. You want to stay there with him for the rest of the night. To kiss him on his busted lips. To wrap him up in your arms. To protect him from whatever hurt him. Instead, you grab one of the discarded ice packs and hand it to him, heart still fluttering wildly in your chest. “Google says you should get some ice on that. Your throat, I mean.” Goddamnit. He just said you’re beautiful, and you reply by handing him an ice pack. How the hell are you so bad at flirting?

“Who am I to question Dr. Google?” he replies sarcastically with a smug little smirk on those beautiful lips, but still does as he’s told, accepting the ice pack then holding it against his red-ringed throat.

You gaze down at him as you grope for the perfect words to say that will turn this scene into one worthy of a romcom. You consider inviting him back to your place to share that bottle of merlot you’ve been dreaming about all night. But then remind yourself that the poor guy is traumatized, definitely in no shape for a romantic nightcap. You can’t help but find yourself wishing, as if you can will it into existence, that he’ll look up at you, that your eyes will meet, sparks will fly, and he’ll flirt with you again. Maybe even invite you to stay the night with him. But his eyes remain glued to the floor, and your heart drops in disappointment as your ridiculous delusions are dashed by his silence.

“I should… probably go, for real this time. It’s late.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure I can’t do anything for you before I go?” you ask, coming back down to earth from the high of his compliment and seeing him again as the guy who’d gotten cut and strangled then passed out cold on his floor rather than an object of your lust.

He shakes his head, then he glances up at you, those stunning blue-green eyes of his finally finding yours, sending a fresh flutter to your chest. “You’ve done more than enough. It was… really nice having someone to talk to. To… distract me from… other things.”

His kind words give you a boost of confidence. “Well If you ever want to talk again, you know where I live. Or if you need a babysitter.”

You smile at the puzzled look that crosses his face and nod towards his houseplant.

He laughs that adorable little laugh again. “I may take you up on that offer sometime. Goodnight Y/N. And… thanks again. For everything.”

“Take care of yourself, Jason.”

[merwgue]

Tamlin is one of the most misunderstood and controversial characters in the ACOTAR series, and while some of his actions—like locking Feyre up—were inherently wrong and abusive, they stem from deep-rooted trauma and manipulation, making his story much more complex than people give him credit for.

1. Trauma from Amarantha – 50 Years of Hell Tamlin spent 50 years under Amarantha’s rule, being groomed and manipulated. He was powerless to save his court and the other courts from suffering, and that burden fell squarely on his shoulders. For half a century, Tamlin lived under the constant pressure of being the one to break the curse, with everyone’s freedom hanging on him. He was traumatized, broken, and desperate, having endured endless torment. This trauma shaped his every decision when it came to Feyre, and while his actions—like locking her up—were wrong, they were driven by deep-seated fear and an overwhelming need to protect her, which he saw as his only chance at redemption.

Tamlin’s fear wasn’t just about control; it was about trying to keep Feyre safe after having lost control over everything else for decades. But, of course, that doesn’t excuse his abusive behavior. It was wrong, but it’s important to understand where that behavior came from—trauma, manipulation, and the belief that if he failed to protect her, he would fail once again.

2. Reactive Abuse in ACOWAR – Feyre Deliberately Provoking Tamlin In A Court of Wings and Ruin, Feyre plays a dangerous game of provoking Tamlin to make him react in ways that paint him as the villain. This is reactive abuse. She comes back to the Spring Court with the intention of tearing it down from the inside, manipulating Tamlin’s emotions and pushing him to his breaking point. She does things deliberately to make him angry and hurt him, knowing he will react out of frustration and heartbreak.

While Tamlin’s actions in earlier books were abusive, Feyre’s calculated manipulations in ACOWAR cannot be ignored. She deliberately enrages him, knowing exactly what buttons to push, and when he reacts, he’s painted as the bad guy. But let’s not forget: Tamlin was already mentally broken and reeling from losing Feyre, and she intentionally took advantage of that vulnerability.

3. Feyre Destroying His Court – Overkill Feyre’s decision to destroy Tamlin’s entire court is a massive overreaction. Yes, they broke up, and yes, Tamlin made mistakes, but wiping out his entire kingdom because of a failed relationship? It’s spiteful and malicious. Feyre didn’t just want to hurt him emotionally—she wanted to ruin his entire life, his legacy, and everything he had worked to protect. And for what? A breakup? The level of destruction she brings to the Spring Court is wildly disproportionate to Tamlin’s mistakes. She knowingly and willfully destroyed the home and people he loved, leaving him with nothing but ruin.

4. Tamlin Saving Rhysand’s Life in ACOWAR – And Still Getting Trashed Tamlin’s good deeds get completely overlooked in favor of villainizing him. In ACOWAR, he literally saved Rhysand’s life during the battle. Rhys was on the brink of death, and despite everything, Tamlin stepped in to rescue him. Tamlin put aside his grievances and his heartbreak to do the right thing, proving that despite his flaws, he still cared enough to save someone who had wronged him.

But instead of gratitude or any kind of recognition, Rhysand continues to trash Tamlin in ACOFAS and ACOSF. He makes snide comments, mocks him, and even invades Tamlin’s court just to taunt him. It’s infuriating when you consider that Rhys wouldn’t even be alive without Tamlin’s help. How can someone who owes his life to Tamlin continue to treat him like dirt? It’s an example of how skewed the narrative is in Rhysand’s favor.

5. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – His Own Crimes Ignored Let’s not forget that Rhysand literally murdered Tamlin’s family. Yes, Rhysand’s family suffered a great loss, but they initiated the blood feud by attacking first. Tamlin’s family was killed in retaliation for Rhysand’s father and brothers attacking them, and yet, all the sympathy is directed at Rhysand’s loss. Tamlin’s pain and trauma from losing his entire family is brushed aside, while Rhysand’s grief is front and center, as if only his loss matters.

Rhysand is glorified, and his family’s death is framed as this great tragedy, but Tamlin’s loss? Barely a footnote. It’s a double standard, especially when you consider that Rhysand’s family brought the conflict on themselves. Tamlin’s trauma from losing his family is completely ignored in favor of building up Rhysand as the hero.

6. Rhysand Telling Tamlin to Kill Himself – Beyond Cruel Rhysand’s treatment of Tamlin post-ACOWAR is downright despicable. Tamlin is left broken, suffering from depression, having lost his court, Feyre, and his family. Instead of showing any empathy, Rhysand invades his court and tells him to kill himself. This is someone who is already at his lowest, and instead of being left in peace, Rhysand shows up just to make his suffering worse. It’s not just toxic—it’s cruel beyond measure. For someone who has supposedly suffered so much himself, Rhysand shows an astonishing lack of empathy for someone else in pain.

7. Tamlin as a Victim of Trauma – Deserving of Understanding In the end, Tamlin is a victim of years of trauma, manipulation, and immense pressure. His actions were wrong, but they were driven by fear and desperation, not malice. Tamlin suffered from Amarantha’s grooming, lost his entire family because of Rhysand’s blood feud, and had his court destroyed by Feyre’s revenge. He is not a one-dimensional villain; he’s a deeply flawed character who was broken by his circumstances.

While Tamlin’s mistakes should be acknowledged, it’s unfair to completely vilify him while Rhysand gets away with far worse. Tamlin’s trauma, pain, and losses are real, and they deserve to be treated with the same understanding and empathy that Rhysand’s story receives. At the very least, Tamlin deserves recognition for the good he has done—saving Rhysand, fighting for his court, and suffering through immense trauma without any support. Tamlin deserved better from both the narrative and the characters around him.

(This took me an hour to write I better see NO ONE discrediting me🤣)

[fleursbending]

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. | Sully Family

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : instead of lo’ak being the one diving into the sinking ship, it was you - neteyam’s twin sister. pushed by the sheer amount of adrenaline in your system, you desperately search for your family. knowing you cannot handle losing anymore of them as well.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sully!family x sully!daughter (neteyam's twin sister)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : heavy on the dad!jake x reader & brotherly lo'ak in this. is this me trying to stake my claim as becoming one of your fave sully!daughter writers? yes, it is!! seriously uhmmm prep your tissues for your daddy issues! yes, that was a purposeful rhyme. & sorry didn't rlly proofread this!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : atwow spoilers, mentions of grief, loss, death, protective and emotionally exhausted reader :(, ure gonna cry because i love pain. hurt/comfort, angst.

𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Tsmuke - sister, Tsmukan - brother, Iarsä - Y/n's Ilus name, Yawntutsyìp - darling or little loved one.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3k words !

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @eywas-heir @spicycloudsalad @missdreamofendless @prty-poisxn @scarlettwitch-4 @23victoria @avidreader3107 @purplehyacinthss @itssiaaax @neteyamoa @tsireyasgf @nijirozzz @useryourbut @yua-himari @sweetheartlizzie07 @grierpilots @reneehillary69 @fruitsalad1 @forasgaard

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 : hi my beloveds! thank you for all the support on this <3 part 2 can be read: here!

𝐘/𝐍'𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, the cries of her mother muffled to her ears that lay flat on her head. Her other half, her twin brother. The eldest, born only 7 minutes apart, was no longer there. There had come a time when his presence was so natural, no questions asked - no alarming feeling. He was always her shadow, and if not. Neteyam was there in an instant at her beck and call. 

They were both spitting images of their mother, they even shared her same deep spiritual connection with Eywa. Even their songcords aligned with each other. Y/n remembers then, how her mother had said such occurrences only really happen with twins. That in itself was a rarity for their clan. 

Now he was gone, yet she remained. The shadow that loomed over her, escaped as the Eclipse crept up on them.

You blink once, twice. Wiping the tears that you didn’t even realize were streaming down your face. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Lo’ak blankly gazing down at his hands which were coated in Neteyam’s blood. She scoots closer to him then, ripping the fringes of her loin-cloth off and dipping it into the water. 

If Lo’ak notices the shakiness of her hands, he doesn’t comment on it. It feels like his tongue had been stapled to the roof of his mouth at that very moment. Alas, his tender heart squeezes a fraction as you use the fabric to try to wipe away the remnants of blood.

A rough voice coming from your father cuts through the sentimental moment.

“Where are your sisters?” He’s not intentionally glaring, but his eyes alone felt like he was picking through your soul.

“Your sisters, where are they?” He repeats, more urgency detected in his tone now.

“I don’t know.” Lo’ak mumbles, every part of him looking lost.

Your mother's cries of terror grow in volume then. 

“Where are they!” Jake bellowed, time was of the essence. Now more than ever. 

“Dad,” Y/n whines out, wishing for him to just take a moment. 

His eyes meet yours for a moment, before breaking away. He couldn’t look at you right now, doing so would make him lose all of his resolves. Jake had to stay locked, just for a few more moments. Then he’ll have the chance to mourn, to bring you into his arms. To apologize for how now you must live the same faith he had to endure and suffer through.

“On the ship, they are tied up on the ship.” Tsireya wavers, her grip on Neteyam’s leg not letting up.

Spider's mouth moves, but you don’t hear a thing. Turning back to your brother, you hover over him. Neytiri leans into you as she cradles him to her chest. 

Jake gets your mom’s attention, and by doing so she passes Neteyam to you. Y/n freezes up, feeling how cold he is. Seeing how pale he is. This isn’t her mighty brother, it was a shell of him. 

As Neytiri flies away on her Ikran, the sound of its wings breaks you out of your reverie. Gently, you lay him back down on the rock before pushing yourself up. Staggering over to Lo’aks side, he pulls you into him. 

Usually, he’d nag about your height difference, but this time he used it to his advantage to briefly tuck his head into your shoulder. 

Jake looks to Lo’ak. “Both of you, stay with your brother.” 

Lo’ak takes a step forward, bringing you with him. 

“But dad, I want to go with you,” Lo’ak whispers. 

“Please, dad,” Y/n begs, unable to fathom sitting by her deceased twin while her sisters were still in harm's way.

Jake shakes his head, “You’ve done enough.”

“No, dad,” Lo’ak breaks. A part of him cracks, the guilt and shame consuming him.

Y/n places a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him some support. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that, brother,” Y/n spoke, catching on to where his mind was heading.

There you watch as your dad and Spider become one with the water. Y/n moves back to kneel down beside Tsireya, as she cradles Neteyam’s face and gives him a light kiss on his forehead.

Lo’ak takes one last glance at his brother before reluctantly tugging on your arm. 

Y/n regards him with uncertainty. Before you can question him though, he caresses the side of Tsireya’s face for a second. “Stay with him.”

Tsireya flounders, “No!”

He rushes to the edge of the rock, and you can only wince as you apologize to Tsireya for your and Lo’aks actions. 

“I’m sorry, Tsireya.” 

She tries to shout for you guys to come back, but it’s too late. You’re already both calling for your Ilu’s as you jump into the ocean. 

Iarsä swam right beneath you, and in an instant, you are gripping her tightly and making tsaheylu. Deep in your brain, you wondered if Neteyam’s Ilu felt the loss you do. What about his Ikran? Oh, Eywa.

“Tsmuke!” Lo’ak called for you as you started to lag behind a little. 

Quickening your pace, you moved by him. His worried eyes flittered over to yours.

“Tsukan, I am fine.” You tried to reassure him, but you know he saw through it all. 

His lips pulled down into a frown, but he knew now wasn’t the time to comment back to you.

Either way, he is interrupted by the shocked gasp that leaves your mouth. The ship isn’t too far from you guys now, but it’s beginning to flip over and sink down. 

Lo’ak guided you closer to the ship, haphazardly avoiding miscellaneous floating objects. 

“That’s Spider and Kiri!” Lo’ak blurted out, his finger pointing at two figures bobbing up and down in the water. 

Y/n nods, as Lo’ak yips to alert them that they are here. 

“Bro!” A light flashes in your eyes, and it’s coming from Spider. 

A sigh of relief escapes you seeing Kiri alright, but you can still see how distraught she looks. It physically hurts you not to tell her what had just happened, but time was escaping you all even more quickly.

Kiri watches the Ship fully engulfed by the ocean. She trembled, “Mom and dad are down there, in the ship!”

An alarm rings like an insistent bell in your mind. Of course, no wonder they were alone.

But where is Tuk? Y/n’s conscience is on overdrive, the exhaustion is gnawing at her heavily. She’d get nowhere like this, tackle one thing at a time. That’s what she needs to do. 

“Grab on- Y/n!” Lo’ak protested as you descended further into the murky waters. Except it was too late, she was already gone. 

Y/n’s eyes squinted as the water pulled at her skin due to the high speeds she was going at. In spite of that, it did not matter. Nothing mattered more than saving whatever was left of her family. 

Darting into the first opening of the ship you are able to squeeze through, not without realising the spaces were far too cramped to navigate your Ilu through. With that, you reluctantly release her. 

The further you descended, the more effort it took to be able to examine your surroundings. You can feel your chest starting to tighten just a little. However, Y/n notices a faint outline of an avatar body ahead of her. 

It takes every willpower within her to not weep at the sight of your dad twitching against a part of the collapsing ship. Jumping into action, wrapping both of your arms around one of his. Then you tug as hard as you can, back from where you had just come from.

You recalled the air pocket you encountered not too long ago. Yes, that will work for now. 

The closer you grew to your destination, the more your dad fidgeted in your tight grasp. Then, his arms reached up. 

Y/n and Jake exhale as they break through the surface.

“Dad?” She whimpers her heart, sinking as Jake struggles to catch his breath. 

He clutches onto the side of the wall, his chest rising up and down far too rapidly. 

“Dad, please. Take a few deep breaths!” She falters when trying to approach him, scared to jolt him even more.

He groans, eyes bleary, “Neteyam?”

It felt like an axe had been wedged in your heart. You’ve dealt with far too much in a span of few hours.

“No, dad. It’s Y/n”

“Oh, Y/n…you just look so much like him.” He struggles to say.

Y/n clenches her eyes closed in despair. She knew that voice, it was the one he’d use to try to weave out of something. Sugarcoating, he had told you when you were younger. 

She couldn’t help but weigh on the thought that he probably thought he was dead and with Eywa. 

Sighing, her hand presses into her face. “Sorry, I know. You and ma always say that.” 

In a blink of an eye, profound guilt encapsulates her very being. Once again, Y/n has been reminded of Neteyam. What she has lost, what she must now grieve.

Gulping, her voice stammered “I’m sorry, sir. His death was all my fault. I should have done better.”

Jake’s heart lurches at your words, being reminded of Tommy. 

“Focus, just focus on getting out.” He coughs as the lights behind you flicker. The ship's loud groans rattle in both of your ears. 

“Okay, okay,” Y/m mumbles to herself. Analyzing her surroundings, she realizes the water is rising at a quicker pace. Dammit.

“We’re losing air pockets, dad. Come on, let’s go,” She insisted.

Jake lets out sounds of pain as he moves into the corner.

“You know your way out?” He inquires. Before you look at him with a scrutinizing gaze he takes you in with all his pride. His daughter, his first-ever daughter. 

Ah, there it is. Furrowed brows and all. 

“I think so. But dad, you’re gonna have to hold your breath for a while. Okay?” She responded, ignoring the ache in her limbs. 

You lean into him then, thumbing the blood seeping out from one of the cuts on his face. 

Just like he’d do to you when you were little, an action so simple whenever you’d hurt yourself. Something you inhabited from him. 

That’s exactly why he can’t keep you here. You still had so much more to live for.

“I can’t make it, but you can. You can, you can.” 

You speak over the top of him, anguish spreading across your facial features. “No, no-no, dad!”

The tone in your voice pitches, conveying the desperation you felt right at that moment. 

“I refuse, I can’t lose you too. Not you, dad.” She says vehemently. So much finality had been wrapped into that sentence, and he knew that you weren’t going to move. 

If he can’t make it, then you weren’t leaving his side. You’re going to stay right here.

He rapidly blinks his eyes, finally clearing his vision properly. 

Ignoring the pounding from his head, he looks at you. Truly examining you. 

The face you hold at that moment is the deepest wound to strike him yet from today. 

Just now, he can see how mature you’ve become in a span of less than a day. It left him with such scorching indignation. No kid should have to grow up this quickly, but the unique circumstances brought upon your family had forced you to do so.

There are tears running down your face, and the seawater should mask it well. But he’s your father, he knows. He can see you clutching something tightly in your hands then. It feels like cinder blocks had been pushed against his gut when he recognizes it to be one of Neteyam’s armbands. 

Y/n follows his eyes, unclenching her first. He was right.

She swallows, lips trembling. “It was floating in the ship close to where you were before, maybe it was a sign from him. He was letting me know you were close. I didn’t even realize when it floated into my hand. It must have slipped off before he…”

A deep frown settles on Jake’s face whilst hearing you get choked up. He kicks his legs, ignoring the throbbing feeling spreading through his body. 

He leans his head on top of yours. 

“I’m so sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry.” He coos.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to calm down. 

After he pressed his lips to your forehead, you lean back from him.

“We’re running out of time. Okay, you need to be really calm. Breathe down from here.” You press your hand to his lower chest. Mimicking the breathing you learned not too long ago from your dear friend Tsireya.

He follows you, pursing his lips. Inhaling, exhaling.

You close your eyes.

“The way of water has no beginning and no end.

The sea is around you and in you. 

The sea is your home before your birth, and after your death.”

Your eyes open, watching Jake take your words in. He tries his absolute hardest to ease his mind, just like you had done moments ago.

Good, he’s doing good.

Y/n continues. 

“The sea gives, and the sea takes. 

Water connects all things.

Life to death, darkness to light.”

The water is now up to your chin, even as you tilt your head up.

“Dad, you can do this. Please.” 

He nods his head, “I’m with you, Y/n.”

The words bring you great comfort, your heart now being able to lessen some of its burdens.

Y/n finally smiles. 

“Okay, last breath. I love you, dad.” 

He winces at the prickling pain but manages to give you a smile in return.

“I love you too, my daughter.”

With that, both of you breathe in before going underwater.

You start the treacherous journey out of here, doing your best to retrace the directions you had mapped out in your mind. Making sure to occasionally check back on your dad as you hurdle through random objects that stuck out. 

Y/n looks behind her shoulder once again, easing up when she sees Jake not too far behind. 

With a motion of your hand, you wordlessly say “follow me”. A reminder that maybe wasn’t needed, but you had to feed your dad some courage. 

Your chest begins to constrict a little, but you try to keep your mind elsewhere. 

You thank Eywa as you see the exit, holding on to the bar as you reach your hand out.

Jake latches on to it as you swim through the opening. There you both try to seamlessly get out from the remainder of the ship. The gap between you and the surface lessening. 

But Jake begins to slow down significantly. Immediately worried, you wrap your arms around him. Chugging over your limit as you pull him up with you.

Y/n starts to hear the muffled noises of her dad starting to choke. 

No, no, no. We’re almost there.

A gush of movement is felt from behind you both.

Lo’ak is holding onto Payakan’s fin, using his free arm he darts out to grab your elbow. He tugs you to him. 

There, you and Jake are able to hold on to the Tulkun for further momentum. 

The cool air nips at your cheeks as you finally break through the water. 

“Hang on, both of you! Breathe, breathe.” Lo’ak urges as he quickly holds your face to see if you’re alright. 

Y/n bows her head and then goes to personally thank Payakan for saving their lives.

“I see you, son.” She hears, there you gaze as Lo’ak and Jake share a bittersweet moment. 

However, right behind them, you see familiar figures moving closer to you all.

“Ma Jake!” Neytiri called.

“Dad, dad!” Tuk cried.

“Mom!” You and Lo’ak gushed.

“Come here, I have you. It’s Okay.”

“Tuk, Kiri.” She whispers to herself, finally allowing relief to invade her senses.

Your mother leans over, squeezing both your and Lo’aks hands. 

But you needed more.

Pushing off of Paykan's fin, you swim over to where Neytiri and Tuk was. 

Neytiri grabs you swiftly, letting you fall into the makeshift circle.

“Oh, my yawntutsyìp. My sweet, sweet child.” She mumbles, repeatedly kissing your cheek. 

She could not even begin to fathom the loss you have yet to fully process and grieve for. 

Another person in the Sully family tree had lost a sibling today. 

“Tsmukan, Tsmuke.” Kiri too leans forward in concern. 

You just give her a solemn smile, grateful that almost all of you were safe and alive.

She watches her parents embrace before her eyes loom over the empty gap in their family huddle.

It felt like only yesterday how Neteyam would always pinch her and Lo’aks ears, “Why are you guys always forgetting our family meetings?”

Huddling closer to one another, while unspoken you each know this event was something that would drastically change all of your lives forever.

“Sully’s stick together. That was their greatest weakness, and their greatest strength.”

“Thank you, great mother,” Kiri speaks up into the sky.

“Yes.” Neytiri echoes. 

Lo’ak gazed at you, then to the sky above. 

Y/n followed his actions. She was hoping to each mighty being above, that Neteyam was safe and sound. No longer in pain or danger. That was the least her dear brother deserves. 

As everyone loosened their holds, your parents did the opposite. Instead, they brought you into their arms.

There, they cried with you. Finally having a chance to mourn the loss of your twin, their son.

From above and with Eywa, Neteyam looked down at you all with questioning eyes.

“Why are they all crying, great mother?” He asked, not being able to understand the entirety of the situation that occurred before him.

Eywa can only give him a saddened smile. 

“Because my child, they are grateful to have known you.”

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

[unformula1]

everything fell apart (CL16 x reader)

everything fell apart (CL16 x reader)

part 1 (everything's falling apart) | part 3 (everything's gone) series masterlist- everything (you're losing me)

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synopsis: choose something babe, i got nothing.

“When were you going to tell me that this is happening?” He says, his hands gesturing at you two.

“Charles don’t say stupid things.” Arthur intervenes which gets him the deadliest glare from Charles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairing: charles leclerc x reader / arthur leclerc x reader

word count: 1299

a/n: wasn’t planning on part 2 but here we go!!! also Charles’ personality is COMPLETELY fictional, I promise he’s NOT like this. also sorry if this isn’t how yall want this to go :\ I tried. pretty rushed too. leave suggestions in comments or requests or anything tbh.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @janeholt3 @boherahpsody @kryingkat22 @iamkaku @vizzzashley

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi.” He finally picked up.

“Hi Arthur.”

“Hola. What’s up?” He sounds like he’s chewing something, you hear distant keyboard clicking sounds in the background.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask, holding back the sobbing.

“No! Never a bad time!” He excitedly says, his voice resembles Charles’ a lot. 

“Can we talk?” 

“Sure!” 

You hear more keyboard clicking and shuffling of stuff before Arthur lets you start.

“I love your brother.” You start off strong.

“Mhm. Clearly.” Arthur replies.

“Does he love me back?” You ask.

“Of course he does.” Arthur responds, pretty naively.

“Because lately he’s been a lot more… aggressive and he’s been going out a lot. We haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks.” You ramble, still trying your best to hold back your tears.

“Oh.” Arthur hesitates, “Really?”

“Mhm.” You respond, “And he’s definitely not the sweetheart I fell in love with.” 

The first sob comes out, along with a teardrop. You quickly wipe it off with your hands, taking a deep breath.

“Mon ami, don’t cry.” He says almost instantly after your first sob.

Arthur and Charles were brothers, but they were also vastly different in many ways. Arthur definitely read people better but Charles treated them like royalty (used to). 

Right now, Arthur’s voice is all you need, him and his calming voice. You desperately needed someone who could understand you, someone who would get what you were going through.

Arthur.

“I’m trying really… really hard.” You say in between sobs, which were growing much more intense.

Arthur doesn’t respond, you can hear his breathing. He hesitates. You don’t care, all you need is someone to listen to you.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m losing him and it kills me every time that shows.” Your filter completely turns off as your sobs turn into full-on crying.

You’re tired of this.

“It’s okay darling…” Arthur whispers across the phone.

His voice is the most comforting thing in the world. Charles’ voice too, but that was before all this happened. 

“What if…” You let out a loud cry, just thinking about it, “What if… he’s found someone else.” 

You let out a louder cry and you descend completely into tears and rambling. Across the phone, you hear shuffling of feet and footsteps.

“Please stay on the phone. I’m coming over. You’re at Charles’ house right?” He says, door locking can be heard, “Stay there.”

You try to reply to him but you just let out more cries. You manage to will out a mhm for him which earns you a sigh.

You stay on the call, no words are exchanged, you’re just crying and he’s doing whatever he can to comfort you.

“Charles would never.” Arthur reassures you, “He’s faithful.”

You hope so too. You desperately hope so.

-----------------------------------------

It doesn’t take long before you hear a doorbell ring. By now, your entire face is red and your eyes are puffy. You’re not a pretty cry-er but you could care less. Your hands are clasped together with tissues lying all over. 

You quickly walk over to the door, adjusting your hair to at least look partially presentable for Arthur. 

You take a deep breath and you open the door.

“Charles?” Your voice raises an octave or two. 

“Yes?” He responds, as cold as he can sound.

“What are you doing-” You stutter out whatever words you can say.

He looks up from his phone, looking at your red and teary-eyed face, turning his attention to the couch which is ridden with crumpled up tissues.

He looks at your phone, and the call with Arthur.

“What were you doing?” Charles questioned, it sounded harsh and brutal, like an interrogation.

“Talking… and crying.” You hold back the tears just thinking of everything that happened.

“Talking to Arthur?” He says, even more suspiciously.

“Yes.” You reply.

He looks at you dead in the eye and keeps his phone in his pocket, taking a few steps toward you. Naturally, you take a few steps back. He stops and glares at you. You clutch onto your phone. 

Looking at your phone, Arthur has muted himself in the call but a message drops from the top of your phone.

what now?

You didn’t know either. 

Your head spun round the different possibilities right now.

“Mon amour… give me the phone.” He says, stretching out his hand to take the phone.

You scoff in your head. Mon amour. As if.

Another message from Arthur pops up.

give it to him

You look at the message and look back up at Charles, whose hand is still outstretched.

Give it? What were you? You weren’t just something Charles could command around. 

“No.” You shakily say out.

Charles' voice grows angrier, “Please.”

“I want to hold onto it.” You insist. Your heart pounds hard against your ribcage.

Your phone buzzes a few more times before the call disconnects. 

Charles’ face looks mad and horrified, maybe a mix of both, added with a little bit of anger. 

“Don’t make this hard… please.” He says, the “please” feeling more fake than ever.

Arthur appears at the front door, which is still wide open.

The Leclercs share a glance before Charles returns his glare to you. 

“Charles.” Arthur says, with that accent which you fell in love with one too many times.

“Arthur, please leave… right now.” Charles demands.

“Charles.” Arthur repeats, taking a step closer to you two.

“So when were you going to tell me?” Charles scoffs, alternating between looking at you and Arthur.

“What?” You say.

“When were you going to tell me that this is happening?” He says, his hands gesturing at you two.

“Charles don’t say stupid things.” Arthur intervenes which gets him the deadliest glare from Charles.

“I’m not stupid.” Charles says, taking a few steps backward, “I know what this is.”

Is he being serious? After all you’ve done for him? The audacity of him to think you were unfaithful. It killed everything inside of you knowing you would never do such a thing. 

You snap.

“Are you fucking serious?” You say, the essence of sobbing is still there.

“After all I’ve done for you?” You continue, taking big steps toward him. This kills you too, it hurts everything inside you, “I loved you. I loved everything about you.” 

“Liar.” Charles scoffs harder.

Your eyes widen. You had to process his words. Liar? Liar? LIAR? 

“What?” It was less of a question and more of infuriated word placement.

“I fought for this. I fought against the world for me to be able to have you. And all I did was bleed.” You shout, your voice raising with every word.

Charles looks shocked. His face is blank and unreadable, his eyes glow an unfamiliar glow. It’s not angry or sad, it’s like he’s…confused.

The realisation of what you said quickly hit you back. You love Charles, you really do. Were those too harsh? 

“Guys…” Arthur quickly breaks the tense silence, “Maybe we should sit down?” 

“No- I’m not doing this.” Charles slams his hand onto a nearby table, grabbing his bag and storming out of the house, not forgetting to push Arthur out the way.

“Charles!” Arthur calls out to no avail as Charles storms down the corridor.

Arthur quickly turns his attention to you.

“I-” He doesn’t know what to say, “I didn’t know what to say-”

You look at him, your eyes watering up and before you knew it, you were running into his arms, breaking out in tears.

He hugged tightly onto you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He kept repeating in your ears as you slowly descended into just crying and sobbing. Your tears staining his shirt.

“What do I do now?” You say in between deep breaths.

“I…” Arthur looks at you, then around you, “I don’t know.”