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flippinpancakes64 · 5 months ago

Note

can you please write about how the cullens would react if they thought their so was dead?? like maybe Alice had a vision or someone thought they saw them get killed butttt they're actually alive

The Cullens thinking their S/O Died

I originally told myself I was done for the night since I already have three posts written and cued to be posted.... but I just kept thinking about this one sooooo

Sorry if this doesn't make sense it's like 2:30 am lol

Thank you for requesting and I hope you like this!

Edward:

You left earlier that morning to go to a job interview in the city

He kissed you goodbye, watched you walk out the door, and thought that would be it

He was just sitting around, watching some football game that Emmett had on the TV when he saw the familiar beginnings of one of Alice's visions

She has so many throughout the day that he really only half pays attention to it

But once he sees your face he is fully alert

You swiping his credit card to buy a subway ticket, you onboard the train, the train crashing, you dead

Instantly he is up

He knows that Alice's visions are only a possibility

But too many of them have come true for him to ignore this

He calls you, nothing

He texts you, nothing

He checks the statements for his credit card and he sees the pending purchase of one train ticket

His heart drops

Instantly he flies out of the door, running as fast as he can to the subway station

There's a crowd of people running up from the tunnel, trampling each other in their attempt to get out

Smoke plumes out, he can smell fire and gasoline

And just as he's about to run down there to see if he can find you, find what's left, maybe even save you, he hears a voice

"Edward? What are you doing here... oh my god! What happened down there?!"

It's you

You, alive, healthy, and drinking a coffee

Before you can question him further on what happened he is wrapped around you, holding you so close you feel like you're being crushed

Your interview was cancelled last minute so you went to go get a coffee before coming home

Edward says you're never going on the subway again, sorry

And maybe never leaving the house without him again

Alice:

The two of you were out and about, having a day shopping at the mall

She was crafting outfit after outfit in her mind while you sat in the dressing room, waiting for her to bring her next outfit in for you to try on

You leave the room to see her still flitting about the store, pulling various items off the racks and holding them up to the items already overflowing in her arms

You call to her that you're going to use the bathroom, and she hums a little to let you know that she heard you before continuing with her planning

She hears you walk away before a vision flashes harshly into her mind

You walking into the bathroom, two people with guns having an argument, you caught in the wrong place at the wrong time

She instantly drops everything she was holding

All of the clothes hitting with a thud to the floor

She doesn't even register the store attendant yelling at her to pick up her mess before she is sprinting out the room

But she doesn't even make it two paces outside of the store before she hears two gunshots, one right after another

She runs fast, she doesn't care that people might see that she's way too fast

She follows the scent of blood to the bathroom and hears cries of pain from inside

But then she smells you

Not inside the bathroom, but across the walkway

She turns and there you are, standing at a little boutique directly across from the bathroom, staring with your mouth wide open

In the next breath, before you can even blink she is right in front of you, hanging onto you like a koala and hurriedly explaining everything that just happened

After you catch your breath and she finally lets go, you turn your head to the boutique and look into the window

"So... is now a bad time to say that I think this dress would look pretty on you?"

She just laughs and kisses you so hard

Jasper:

You're out on a trip with your friends

Not too far away, just about two towns over

It's your best friend's birthday and they wanted to have a little weekend trip to celebrate

You'd left earlier that morning

Promising Jasper that you'd call when you all got there

But it's been hours

4 hours, 27 minutes, and 39 seconds

Not that he's been counting or anything

The drive should have taken 30 minutes max

So why haven't you called?

He's already tried to give himself every explanation

That you're busy, that you got caught in traffic, that you just forgot

But as the hours go by he's getting more and more anxious

He's already called and texted a couple of times, but you haven't even read the messages

He's about to call again as he feels a rush of anxiety come from Carlisle's office

In the next moment the man is down the stairs, doctor's bag in hand, throwing his coat over his shoulders

"Carlisle, what's happening?"

"Three people have just been rushed to the clinic. There was a car accident nearby. They veered off the road in the middle of the woods... who knows how long they've been out there..." he says gravely, and rushes out the door

If Jasper wasn't anxious before, he definitely is now

Before Carlisle can pull out of the driveway, Jasper throws the car door open and sits in the passenger seat

As soon as they arrive, he flies out of the car

He's examining every inch of the clinic

He doesn't even care about the strong scent of human blood in the air

He's looking for one more familiar

And he doesn't find it

He begins questioning all of the police officers nearby, asking if there were more people, if there was a second car, or if they've seen you

They kick him out

He follows the scent again to track the car

At the scene he sees the car that crashed

A bloody heap of metal

But no you

Suddenly he hears a mechanical buzz, but not from his phone

No, he recognizes the cute jingle

It's easy to find your phone hidden amongst the treeline

Your friend picks up and he explains where he found the phone

Hearing your voice on the other side is like hearing an angel

He goes home to get a car before driving it to you

The kiss he gives you before he leaves again to let you enjoy your trip is filled with love and happiness

Rosalie:

You Rosalie had gone out

She needed one more car part before her greatest car restoration ever would be complete

She was driving that very car, a 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air that she had been fixing up for a couple months

She'd saved it from a scrapyard, and it was missing pretty much everything that a car needs to function

But after months it was finally done

Almost

The car needed only one simple thing, new gears for the window cranks

She rolled up to the auto parts store and parked the car outside

You said you wanted to stay in the car, preferring to sit

She said she would only be a minute

It didn't take her long to find the piece she needed

As she was about to check out she saw a crowd of people lined up at the front door and a couple people running outside

Through the large windows at the front of the building she could she huge flames and black smoke surrounding a bright teal car

Her bright teal car

That you were inside of

Her mind worked a mile a minute as she dropped the steel parts to the floor

The cranks don't work, that means the windows can't open

She locked the car, that means you couldn't open the doors

She replaced the glass to make it bulletproof, that means you can't break the glass

You are inside of that car burning alive

As she runs up she sees four men behind her car, next to the trunk

And in the middle is you

Covered in soot with a couple of scratches

But breathing, alive

She runs up and hugs you so tightly you can't breathe

"I'm so sorry, I locked the doors, and the windows! How did you get out?"

"The trunk... I'm sorry Rose, I tore the backseat out"

She turns to see the trunk of her car open, with the backseat completely pulled out place

And all she does is laugh and kiss you

Emmett:

The sky was a dark grey, and thick clouds were covering the sun

The Cullens stood in their baseball uniforms, waiting for the ball to be returned so Rosalie could pitch it again

Up to bat was Emmett

A heavy metal bat was swinging in his arms

He shot you a wink out of the corner of his eye, and turned his attention back to Rosalie

With a huff she focused, and threw the ball to Emmett so fast you couldn't even see it

You heard the loud crack of thunder ring from Emmett's bat, but almost as soon as you heard it, you felt it

Like a ball made of pure fire, the baseball hit square into your chest

The force of it knocked you straight off your feet and sent you flying into the woods behind you

A good 30 feet at least

And as if that wasn't enough, your back collided with a tree, knocking the tree over and onto the ground

The force of it knocked you unconscious, which would probably be a blessing in this scenario tbh

Everybody was quick to run to your side, Emmett and Carlisle taking position up by your head

Carlisle wasted no time in picking you up and running to take you to the clinic

And of course Emmett followed

He held you in the back seat of the car, whispering apologies and professions of love into your unhearing ears, promising that he will never do this again

It takes a couple of hours and maybe two or three surgeries, but you do wake up

And Emmett is by your side the whole time

He was fully prepared to turn you if he needed to

But the moment he sees your eyes open and your doped-up smile, he finally relaxes

"You're pretty cute... are you single?"

"Darling, I just hit you with a baseball going the speed of a jet plane-"

Esme:

Your brother was getting married and asked if you would attend

Of course you said yes

But there were no plus ones

And it was tropical

Which meant flying to an island somewhere all by yourself

Not only is it nerve-wracking to travel alone, but it was also going to be boring

So Esme promised that she would have her phone on her at all times so you could facetime her if you wanted to

She even paid for your wifi on the plane

You had been on call with her for hours at that point

From the time you got out of your taxi, found your way to your terminal, went through TSA, and finally boarded your plane

It was about halfway into your flight and the conversation had naturally slowed down

You were only occasionally exchanging words

When suddenly your service cut out like a light

No warning, no crackling before, and no explanation

She tried calling you back, but nothing

She tried texting, but nothing

She was getting worried

And it definitely didn't help that only about 20 minutes later, the news anchor started talking about a plane that just crashed in the Pacific

Which is where you were

A couple hours off the coast of California

Which is where you were

From Spirit Airlines

Which is the plane you were on

She was beginning to panic

Alice couldn't see you either

She was just getting silence

Cue the whole house panicking

She went through every phase of grief in the span of a couple of hours

She was convinced you were gone, but at the same time she didn't want to believe it

Suddenly her phone started to buzz

"*Yawn*, Hey Esme. Sorry about that, I guess I fell asleep... *yawn* anyway what were we talking about?"

Stunned silence

She just laughs incredulously

Carlisle:

It's just another day the clinic

Slow, boring, a couple of broken arms, a couple pregnancy tests, nothing special

When he hears the sirens of an ambulance pulling up outside the main entrance

Like bats out of hell, three paramedics come rushing in, towing a gurney with someone on top of it

Someone that smells a hell of a lot like you

His heart drops, his breathing stops, he freezes

The paramedics are talking quickly but he can only hear broken phrases

Cliff... fell... severely injured... needs help... lost blood...

All he can smell is you

All he can see is the shirt that Alice got you

The shoes that Esme lets you borrow sometimes

The color of your hair

But no face

The face is smashed in, presumably from the aforementioned fall that the EMTs were talking about

He tries his hardest, he does everything he's supposed to, but when the monitor flatlines, there's only one more option

Just as he raises your wrist to his mouth to bite, his phone vibrates in his pocket

He wants to ignore it, but something tells him not to

And on the face of his apple watch he sees a text message

My Love: "Heyyyyyyyyyyyy... can I use your credit card to order some pizza??? I'm STARVING!!!! :)))"

You later explain that those were clothes that Alice had donated

Apparently no one washed them, so they still held a lot of your smell

He took a week off of work from the clinic after that

Vampire! Bella:

So Jacob never actually got rid of the motorcycles

After you see him and Renesmee ride away on one of them one day, you ask to try it out

Under her watchful eye, Bella helps you learn how to ride

One day, after a couple months of successful rides, you decide to take it to run some errands

Bella didn't see an issue with this, seeing as you were skilled, and let you go all by yourself

But she very quickly regrets that when she gets a rather ominous text from you that just says "help" and nothing else

Her mind starts running a mile a minute

She asks for Edward and Alice's help to hunt you down

She expects a lot of things when she finds you

She expects blood, bones, a crash, metal everywhere, and you dead

But what she finds is you standing in a parking lot trying to shove four large bags of items into the tiny space under the seat

She's so relieved she could cry

Of course, you're confused as to why your girlfriend suddenly comes out of nowhere and gives you the most bone-breaking hug she could muster

Why the fuck would you text me like that?!?!?!?"

"Like what?"

"Like this!"

"Oh... my other messages didn't send... sorry!"

No more motorcycle :(

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oceaneyesinla · 4 months ago

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Horror Games

This is a silly idea. It's also the first time I've written for Bakugo but my Bakugo loving mutuals have converted me (if i've butchered your man and he's horribly out of character, please tell me!!!)

If you can guess what horror game i was thinking of when i wrote this, you get a cookie!

Divider by @/cafekitsune

The only sounds in the room are your breathing, the clicking of your keyboard keys, and the sounds of the game running on the screen in front of you. You’re alone in the apartment, and you decided to make the most of it; you’re playing a horror game, one you’ve wanted to play for a while, and you’ve gone all out. Headphones on, lights out - crafting the perfect atmosphere to get a good scare. It’s not often you play horror games; you’re a scaredy cat, cowering in Katsuki’s arms whenever a horror gets picked for movie night. You’re not much better in real life scenarios - you still haven’t lived down your last trip to a haunted house with Denki, Eijiro, Mina and Kyoka.

You love the story behind these games, though, so you’re willing to be brave. How bad can it be, anyway? You’ve watched so many playthroughs of other people playing - surely the jumpscares can’t get you that badly.

Everything is going well - the chicken is staying the fuck away from you, the fox is keeping its ass behind its curtains where it belongs and you’re already mentally patting yourself on the back. Maybe you are good at games after all.

Then two things happen at once. A giant blue bunny face fills the screen accompanied by a horrifying scream. That alone would have been fine. Scary, but fine. Except that at the same time, the main room light flicks on, surrounding you with unexpected light.

You let out a scream of your own, ripping your headphones off your head and pushing your chair away from the desk. The combined momentum of shoving away and trying to turn around to panic about who or what was turning the light on in your empty apartment makes the chair lose balance and you end up in a heap on the floor, still screaming as your eyes adjust to the brightness. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, your palms sweaty.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Katsuki is already moving towards you, clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet your scream even as he skims the other across your skin, checking for any injuries. His eyes, too, are studying you, crimson gaze watching your expression for any pain.

You wiggle your mouth away from his hand, “What am I doing? What are you doing?! You’re supposed to be out with Eijiro and Denki!” Residual panic is making your voice pitchy and your words rushed.

Now that he’s reassured himself that you’re none the worse for wear after your little impromptu meeting with the floor, Katsuki is doing a terrible job of hiding his laughter, “Kiri got called in for a last minute patrol - we rescheduled for next week. Did you not see my text?”

“Clearly not!” Your fear is wearing off, and Katsuki’s laughter is as catching as ever. Soon, you’re both giggling as he helps you to your feet, rubbing at the skin of your thigh soothingly when you wince at the dull pain there. He tucks you against his chest, pressing a kiss to your head as he murmurs an apology into your hair (even if he doesn’t sound particularly sorry, with laughter still colouring his words).

“Why were you even playing a horror game anyway? You can barely get through a horror movie without hiding behind me. What made you think making it interactive would help?” He’s speaking the truth, but that doesn’t mean you like it. You push him away with a pout, sticking your tongue out at him for good measure. It’s not fair that the smile he shoots you in response makes him look so pretty.

“Alright, c’mon sweetness. I brought cake. Truce?”

You perk up immediately, lips ticking up into a grin as you beam at him. He scoffs at your 180, but still grabs your hand to lead you to the kitchen. You’re already fantasising about the cake he’s about to feed you (and the squirty cream you just know he’s brought home too, just because it’s your favourite) so you stop in your tracks at the finger in front of your nose.

“If you have nightmares tonight, don’t expect me to coddle you. You did this to yourself, sweetness.”

You cross your arms, defiant, “I won’t have nightmares!”

You do. And despite his earlier words, Katsuki still pulls you into his chest and murmurs comfort against your skin, rubbing his warm hand up and down your back until you fall asleep again, slipping into much sweeter dreams of being in his arms.

@pixelcafe-network

#rox writes #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

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allieslittlewritings · 3 months ago

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*not my gif <3

Rain, Periods, and Pizza

Summary: Reader gets her period on a bad day

Warnings: Menstruation, a singular swear word

Word Count: ~1.1k

You sat in class, not paying much attention to your teacher's words.

Most of the things he talked about were things Spencer had already taught you. If there was something you'd missed, Spencer would help you with it.

Rain lightly hit the classroom window, you hoped it would stop soon so you wouldn't have to walk in the rain.

Every now and then your eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall, the minutes weren't passing fast enough.

The bell finally rung, signaling the end of the school day. You quickly stood up, anxious to get out of the stuffy classroom.

And then you felt it, that specific feeling you get in your stomach. A mix of pain and unease, of something not being right.

Irritated and tired, you walked to the bathroom and entered a stall.

Your shoulders deflated when you realized you had in fact gotten your period.

After some mental math your realized it was more or less on time. That knowledge did not make the increasing discomfort any more pleasant, though.

You sighed in annoyance and reached for your backpack to retrieve a pad from it. You always kept at least one in your bag, just in case.

Searching desperately through your bag led you nowhere. Frustrated tears started blurring your eyes when you couldn't find what you needed.

You remembered then that you'd offered your last one to a classmate a few weeks ago, and apparently forgot to replace it.

You wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your jacket and started to craft a make-shift pad out of toilet paper. You would just have to walk home with more urgency than usual, it would be fine.

Hurriedly, you picked your bag up and washed your hands before exiting the bathroom.

You froze for a second when you heard the sound of rain on the roof, louder than it was before.

With a sharp inhale, you zipped up your jacket, put your hood on, and left school.

The walk from your school to your home was not far, if it were your dad wouldn't let walking be your method of transportation.

But as you walked in the rain and felt it wet your clothes, while also feeling blood seep out of you, it felt like the longest walk you had ever taken in your life.

Your walking speed increased when you finally saw your apartment building come into sight.

The urge to rush up the stairs was strong, however the thought of slipping on your wet shoes was frightening enough to stop you from doing so.

Hands cold and shivering, you reached for your house key in your pocket. Your hand paused when the sound of familiar footsteps met your ears. Dad.

Spencer nearly stumbled into you, not expecting you to be standing in front of the door.

He took in your appearance. Your clothes and a few strands of your hair sopping wet, your eyes downcast. Face pale from the cold and your lips turning a light shade of blue.

"Sweetie, what happened?" Spencer asked worriedly, quickly unlocking the door and letting you enter first. "Did you not take an umbrella with you?"

"It wasn't raining this morning, I didn't think of it," You grumbled, putting your bag down on the floor.

"Why didn't you let me know? I could've picked you up on my way home."

"I didn't know you were back yet." You bent down to take your shoes off.

Guilt started eating at him. He had just figured you would already be home, he should have asked you if you were still at school. You could get sick if you were in the cold for too long.

You sniffled quietly as you continued trying to untie your shoelaces. It was suddenly a difficult task because your hands felt like icicles.

"Can I help you?" Spencer asked softly, already bending down to do so.

He quickly undid your laces, cringing internally at how wet they were.

"Why don't you go take a shower and then we can watch something or do something fun?" He suggested.

You nodded slowly before shuffling to your room to grab clean clothes.

This could've been prevented, Spencer thought.

He felt even worse when he spotted the small stain of blood on your jeans.

‎

While you showered and got dressed, Spencer got changed into slightly more comfortable clothing before ordering your favorite flavor of pizza.

He also grabbed a few blankets and threw them on the couch. Lastly, he made you a hot water bottle and got you some painkillers and a glass of water, in case your cramps were bad.

He situated himself comfortably on the couch and read a few chapters of his current book while he waited for you.

Eventually you made your way to the living room and crashed onto the couch next to your dad, curling up under a blanket and burying your face in his arm.

"Periods fucking suck," you said, voice muffled.

Spencer put his book down and shifted so his arm was loosely wrapped around, gently scratching your back. "I know."

Your breathing was heavier than normal because of the pain, Spencer noticed. He reached forward and grabbed the glass of water and painkillers from the coffee table.

He lightly nudged you so you'd look up and then handed the pill to you.

You drank it and mumbled a quiet "Thank you" before also accepting the hot water bottle from him. You went back to lying how you were, trying to keep your breathing even.

He looked at you with concern, seeing your face scrunch up in pain as another particularly bad cramp hit you.

"Do you want to watch something, sweetheart?"

"No."

Spencer nodded, although he knew you couldn't see. "Okay, that's okay. We could also do something else like play chess, or read. I actually got you a new book from this little bookstore I went to before the team flew back, I think you'll really like it, it's about-" Spencer stopped himself and looked at you for a second.

Your eyes were tightly shut and you held your legs to your chest.

"Do you just want to stay here and not do anything for a while?" He asked instead, quieter.

"Yes, please." You mumbled.

"Okay," Spencer said softly, reaching for his book and flipping back to the page he was on.

He felt bad for making you move when he got up to get your pizza.

The pain in your stomach had eased a little so you decided to go get some plates from the kitchen.

"Wanna watch something now?" He asked when you came back.

You thought for a second before tiredly nodding your head.

Spencer turned on the show you two were currently watching and then handed you your plate.

Your gratefully took the plate and started munching on a slice of pizza as you happily watched your show with your dad.

‎

#spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x child!reader #daughter!reader #fanfiction #allieslittlewritings ★#tw: mentions of blood #tw: periods

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blurredcolour · 7 months ago

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In My Blood | Part Two

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

It is no longer safe for you to remain in Belgium. With the Gestapo closing in, Curt is finally ready to make his escape with you. But is it too late?

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Detailed Description of Murder, Death, Injuries, Angst, Grief, Fear, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6929

-------------------------

May 3, 1940

“Honestly Papa,” You protested in French, threading the telephone cord between your fingers as the line crackled and hummed with the standard overseas audio distortions,“I do not understand why you will not let me come home, nothing has happened in months–”

“Enough, my little monster,” Your father’s voice gently but firmly cut you off. “We have been over this a thousand times, it is simply too dangerous for you to leave England with war declared. Yes, it is quiet at the moment, but it is only a matter of time now that the weather has grown warm.”

Your eyes scanned across the neatly appointed Edwardian writing desk in your grandmother’s study before turning to eye the drizzly gardens of the Dower House through the spotless window behind you.

“If it is so dangerous, why do you and Mama insist on staying in Brussels? You are both more important than me and if those Nazi bastards invade you know that’s where they’re headed – straight for you.”

“Come, come now, don’t let your mother hear you using that language.” His chastisement was half-hearted and filled with laughter, pulling a reluctant grin from you. “Belgium is neutral, firstly, but if the worst happens, we will simply flee to the house in Wallonia. Chin-up my little monster, we are made of sterner stuff, are we not?”

“Yes, Papa,” You replied, feeling somewhat reassured and heartened, “we truly are.”

------------

October 28, 1943

The collision of your spine against the brick wall drove the air from your lungs, a strangled noise of pain seeping from your throat as the broken end of a bolt that had once affixed something to the side of the building tore through the fabric of your blouse and dug into the meat of your right upper arm. Gritting your teeth as your eyes watered at the searing pain and warm gush down your sleeve, your grip tightened on the handle of your knife, swinging it higher towards the vulnerable neck of the man you had lured into this alleyway.

He had been following you for at least twenty minutes, Gestapo most likely, on your way to pick up some material to then courier to another contact. You had been unsuccessful at losing him, and with the sun setting and curfew nearly upon you, confrontation had remained your only option. While sneaking out after curfew was perilous enough, being caught out around the fall of curfew was nearly suicidal. Parking your bike in front of a well-attended pub, you had made your way across the town square, wending your way through the emptying streets before ducking into this very alley to lay in wait.

Unfortunately for you, the man had proven to be much larger than you had first estimated, and along with a brutal case of halitosis, each sour breath assaulting your senses as it impacted your face, he was easily overpowering you, slowly turning your knife in your grip, threatening to use your own weapon against you. Unfortunately for him, you had been trained in all the ‘ungentlemanly’ ways one could undertake warfare, and he was utterly unprepared for the collision of your foot with his most tender parts.

A sound consisting of an intriguing mixture of a yelp and a wheeze escaped his mouth as he fell back, his oppressive weight finally easing off you. Seizing the momentum, you quickly struck with your blade, meeting the weak block of his forearm and drawing a yowl this time. While he was not proving to be a quiet kill, thankfully his racket resembled an alley cat, and could be explained away if necessary. Heart hammering in your ears, breaths coming in quick gasps under the heady influence of your own adrenaline, you swung the blade home into the defenseless flesh of his neck and tugged forward, sealing your opponent’s fate as he crumpled to the worn cobblestones.

Taking several awkward steps backward, you inhaled deep, greedy gulps of air as the man exhaled his last and grew still. It was both relieving and unsettling. Casting about for the large metal bins you had glimpsed earlier, you darted across the alley to quickly remove the lids from both, shifting the filthy contents from one into the other to make space for your deposit. Returning to his lifeless form, you assessed his bulk before struggling to strip him of his large, navy wool coat before dragging him down the alley and hoisting him into his final resting place. The wound in your triceps screamed in agonized protest with every breath until you had resecured the lid, the scene unremarkable enough in the long shadows of evening.

Shrugging into the bulky coat to conceal the damage to your blouse and retrieving your luggage, discarded moments before the altercation began, you forced yourself to exit the alley at a perfectly normal pace in the direction of Doctor Legot’s clinic, trusty bicycle abandoned for the sake of a speedy departure. Reaching the clinic well after closing, you slid around the back, setting down your suitcase to root around in the hedges for the upturned pot hiding the spare key known to only a select few. You took a moment to compose yourself, taking a deep breath and brusquely wiping at the tears of discomfort that had been stubbornly welling in your eyes the entire journey.

The lock turned soundlessly under your practiced hand, the door swinging inward to an unexpected shaft of light spilling from the patient washroom. Peering around the doorjamb, your eyes widened to see Curt standing at the small sink in the powder room, stripped down to his undershirt, carefully dragging a safety razor across one lathered cheek. Exhaustion and injury got the better of you, making you sway unsteadily, forcing you to catch yourself on the frame of the door, immediately attracting his attention.

“Marie?” He turned to look at you, well-defined muscles of his arms flexing with his movements, shaving cream adorably still adorning a great deal of his face.

Hastily lurching forward into the clinic, you quickly closed and latched the door behind you, depositing your luggage and shoulder bag before shrugging out of the claustrophobic overcoat.

“Jesus Christ, look at you!” His outburst, followed by the sound of his razor hitting the porcelain bowl of the sink, made you drop your gaze to your clothes, only to be greeted by the sight of your late opponent’s blood drenching the fabric.

“Oh, do not fret about me…” You had hoped to put on a display of bravado, but your voice was aggravatingly thin, “…the other fellow is much worse off.”

His startlingly warm palms cupping your elbows made your head jerk back up, meeting his furrowed brow, eyes darkened with concern. “That isn’t very comforting, gorgeous.” He muttered and began tugging you towards Doctor Legot’s office where a crack of light shone from beneath the door. “Doc?” He barked out before open the door without any further preamble.

Only a small noise of protest sounded before the doctor was shooting to his feet, quickly ushering you to take his recently vacated chair, rapidly looking you over before his eyes settled on your arm.

“I’m not going to ask how such misfortune befell you, Marie. I am a wiser man than that. But what, specifically, happened to your arm?” He murmured in Dutch as he retrieved a set of suture scissors to begin cutting away the sleeve of your ruined shirt.

“I backed into the shorn off end of a bolt with rather a bit of force.” You sighed wearily, glancing at Curt who remained in the room, eyeing the pair of you intensely from where he leaned against a filing cabinet. “Why is your guest upstairs?”

Your sentence ended in a hiss as you inhaled sharply through your teeth at the feeling of the doctor’s fingers prodding at the wound on the back of your upper arm.

“He cut himself shaving by candlelight one too many times. Once the cast came off, we made an agreement he could come upstairs between closing and dinner to wash up. You’ve had your tetanus vaccine?”

As Legot began to aggressively paint your wound with disinfectant, you pressed your lips together tightly against any further mortifying outbursts, and thus only managed a nod in confirmation.

“Good.” The room fell silent as he applied a square of gauze to your wound, securing it in place by wrapping your arm in a bandage, tying it off.

Your eyes drifted back to Curt who had not seemed to move an inch, not even changed position, the shaving cream on his face drying out, growing crusty against his skin. His silence was perhaps the most unnerving thing you had encountered this evening, his voice seeming to have filled every waking encounter you’d had with him thus far.

“It’s a lot of blood…” He muttered, eyes rising from your clothes, marred by scarlet quickly turning a mottled brown as the blood dried and aged.

“Mostly someone else’s.” You reminded him gently, earning a non-plussed grunt in reply.

A heavy sigh fell from the Doctor Legot’s lips, making you look up at him slowly. “Marie there has been…an increase in the Gestapo around town. A contact of mine was even questioned about a woman bearing a remarkable resemblance to you. And now that you seem to have had a run in, I’m…concerned.”

Despite similar thoughts ricocheting about your brain the entire flight back to his clinic, the breath you drew in felt like it contained thousands of tiny shards of glass which imbedded themselves deep inside your breast as you heard it from an external source. Rationally, to have survived so many months in your occupation was a feat worth celebrating.

An SOE agent typically had a life expectancy of six months, and yet to watch your ability to remain in Belgium, to remain useful to your fellow Belgians, crumble before you was incredibly painful. You allowed your exhale to accumulate in your cheeks before releasing it all at once through pursed lips with a nod, the feeling of having failed your people, your family, once again a yawning pit deep in your gut.

“It is time for me to move on.” You conceded flatly.

“If you are headed in a certain direction, might you be able to take a certain guest with you?” He asked with a nod in the American’s direction.“Couriers are still stretched thin.”

Your eyes widened slowly as it dawned on you that it was well over two months since Curt had become a guest in his cellar and should be well on his way to Spain by now. “He is well enough to travel then? Have they made him papers yet?” Your rapid-fire questions were greeted by frantic blinking from the doctor before he nodded quickly in the affirmative to both.

Turning back to Curt you tilted your head, reinvigorated by the chance to be useful one last time as you tried to remove yourself from occupied Europe, saving another’s life infinitely more important than simply trying to preserve your own. “Tell me, Curt, are you ready to head back to England?”

The apprehension that had drawn his features tight melted away, yielding to a bright smile, his eyes fairly sparkling with anticipation at the promise of beginning his escape at last. “You have no idea.”

You could do nothing to stop the uplift at the corner of your mouth in response, nodding slightly. “I’m going to change out of these clothes and then we’ll get ready to leave in the morning.”

Straightening from his lean against the cabinet, he moved to the door. “I’ll just go grab…” His voice trailed off as he disappeared down the hall before returning with your suitcase, setting it on the floor with a nod before departing once more, not loitering long enough to accept your gratitude.

Legot produced an old flour sack for you to deposit any clothes beyond saving, to be burned upstairs in his fireplace, before leaving you alone in his office. Feeling the chill of autumn in your damp clothes, you quickly stripped, using a towel to wipe any bloody remnants from your skin with water from the sink in the corner of the room, before changing into fresh clothing. Your mind was already occupied with plotting your route – to Antwerp, fetching supplies from the small flat you kept as a base of operations there, and then boarding a train to the border before crossing on foot then onto another train at Lille to Toulouse before meeting up with the Ponzán group to be guided across the Pyrenees. But this time, you would be one of the party making the crossing in neutral Spain.

Bringing your damp towel to try and blot any blood from the pilfered overcoat, hoping to save it for Curt’s benefit during the mountain crossing to come, you turned off the office lights and headed toward the storeroom, grabbing the garment from the floor on the way. Dropping it through the open trapdoor followed by the wet towel, you smiled to Curt as he appeared below, passing him your suitcase with your good arm before beginning your own descent down the ladder. Pushed well beyond all possible limits, your battered and bandaged arm gave out at your demand to bear your body weight, a yelp escaping as your right hand lost its grip on the ladder as a result.

Strong hands quickly landed on your hips, steadying and supporting you.

“Easy, gorgeous, good as you got the guy, he still hurt you.” Curt muttered behind you, the fresh scent of soap and aftershave radiating from his warm skin as he helped you down the last few rungs.

“Th, thank you, Curt.” You stammered, hugging your throbbing limb close as your feet settled onto the cellar floor, watching him easily climb up the ladder to swing the heavy trapdoor shut almost silently even from inside. “You’ve come a long way in the past few weeks…”

He smirked a little, carrying your luggage over to set on the foot of your bed for you. “Been doing a lot of shadow boxing down here.”

“Boxing!” You breathed in surprise, gathering the abandoned coat from the crumpled heap it left on the floor, trying not to notice the way his muscles moved as he pulled on a thick knit sweater in the cool damp of your hiding space. “If I had known, I would have gotten comics related to your interest…”

“I enjoyed the ones you brought, even read the book too. My teachers would be proud.”

A small laugh escaped you as you settled onto the edge of the bed, inspecting the coat for bloodstains and methodically beginning to blot them out. His own laughed intertwined with yours all too melodically, making you swallow tightly.

“That coat is awful big for you, gorgeous.” He teased, watching you from where he stood at the end of your bed.

“It’s not for me, Curt, it’s for you – you’re going to need it where we’re headed. Just need to get all the blood out first.” You murmured, turning the right sleeve inside out knowing you had surely bled on it yourself.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?”

You peered up at him a moment before shaking your head. “Other than England. That will suffice for now. I will share the goal with you day by day, but the less you know the safer you will be. Aside from a few key portions, the majority of the trip will be by train to start. Tomorrow, though, we shall have to try something new.” You trailed off into a mutter at the last, wrestling with the heavy fabric, shooting him a grateful look as he grabbed the hem of the coat to help you position it, allowing you to reach one of the last stains.

“What’s so special about tomorrow?” He prodded, clearly still listening even though your final statement had more been musing aloud than for his ears.

Pausing a moment you sighed before meeting his eyes. “I suppose you ought to know that I appear to be a known entity to the Gestapo, at the very least locally, and so we will take extra evasive manoeuvres when we leave town. I shall be disguised, we will leave just before dawn, and avoid public transportation. I have a few ideas for how we might reach where we are going first, do not worry.” You offered a reassuring smile, to which he returned a small nod. “Jan will have been by the take your photo and give you papers?”

“Oh, yeah, nice fella if a bit quiet. Gave me a couple sets of papers.” He stepped over to his cot to retrieve two well forged sets of identity papers, bringing them over for you to inspect.

Laying the now-cleaned coat to dry across your suitcase, you accepted them from him, looking them over before holding out those in your left hand. “These are your Belgian papers. I suggest you put these in your usual pocket – the one you will reach for first, so that you can produce them as naturally as possible. We will destroy them as soon as we have left Belgium.” You watched as he took them from you.

“Belgian papers, got it.” Curt made a tiny salute with the papers before grabbing a leather jacket from the back of a small chair that was a new addition to the cellar, sliding them into the inner left breast pocket.

“And these,” you held out those in your right hand, “are your French papers. You will want to keep these close, in a safe place on your person, but not somewhere you will mistakenly hand them over until they are needed.”

His eyebrow shot up playfully. “Hold up, Marie, I thought you just said you weren’t going to tell me where we’re going…”

“Did I?” You blinked innocently and his guffaw of amusement threatened to pull another unintentional smile from you.

Since when had your expressions become so very difficult to control?

“The most important thing for you to remember on our journey,” you soldiered on despite your inner struggle, “is not to speak. Your voice absolutely gives away the fact that you do not belong here. Many of the airmen whom we guide find the most success by feigning deafness. It explains both their inability to speak and the fact that they do not understand the language.”

“You could just teach me French, or whatever you speak with Doc…”

“Flemish?” You found yourself fighting back laughter. “We do not have enough time for you to master either, Curt. We leave tomorrow. Now take your French papiers and get some sleep, we leave in a few hours.” You nodded firmly, but with a kind smile.

“You too, Marie, you need dinner or anything?”

Shaking your head softly, certain you could not bring yourself to eat even if you felt hungry, the pair of you settled in to sleep, the damp wool coat taking over the chair in the middle of the room to dry, looming in the flickering candlelight like some grim reminder of your actions. Huffing at your melodramatic thoughts, you pulled the blankets over your head and rolled over to get some rest.

As agreed upon, Legot woke the pair of you shortly after four with warm bread, apples, and granola. You could almost taste the ghost of butter, jam, sugar, and cream on your tongue – heavily rationed delights that had been hard to come by in England and all but non-existent here under Nazi rule. Downing your dry, brown breakfast, you opened your suitcase to retrieve a wig from its depths, gathering your hair and securing it beneath the false strands to disguise your apparently known appearance.

“I dunno Marie…” Curt’s musing were interrupted by an exaggerated yawn as he smoothed his hair with a pot of borrowed pomade. “Your natural hair looks so much prettier on you.”

Fighting the girlish urge to preen under his indirect compliment, you shook your head. “It’s a good thing I’m not trying to look pretty then, just different.”

“Well in that case you look nothing like your usual self.” He shrugged into his leather jacket before snagging the hard-won navy coat from the back of the chair and folded it in perhaps the most unmethodical way you had ever witnessed, but it still wound up flat and small enough to fit into his suitcase.

“Good.” You muttered and snapped the latches on your own luggage closed, heading over to the ladder to climb up.

“Wait, let me help you.” He hurried over, reaching out to grasp your waist. “You sure you can pull the cases up?”

Huffing a little, more in annoyance at being injured than his offers of help, you nodded firmly. “Absolutely.” Clenching your jaw, you forced your way up the ladder, stubbornly ignoring the ache in your still-healing arm, turning to reach out expectantly for the first piece of luggage once you were kneeling on the floor above.

A bemused expression greeted you before he easily hoisted the first, waiting until you had it tucked aside before sending the second up. Taking a moment to extinguish the candles still burning below, he then quickly ascended the ladder to join you, silently securing the trapdoor behind him.

“Right, this is it then.”

About to make your way down the hall to bid a final farewell to the doctor, you turned with a soft gasp to find him stand there with a small canvas bag of food.

“For your journey.” He held it out, nodding as Curt quickly stepped forward to sling it over his shoulder.

“Be safe, Doctor Legot, thank you for all your assistance.”

“The very same to you, Marie. Best of luck on your travels.”

A small, sentimental smile poked through your serious expression before your eyes widened. “If you are in need of a bicycle, mine remains outside the pub across from the town square. Farewell.”

At serious risk of lingering too long, you turned then and headed out the backdoor, glancing over your shoulder in the faint light of early morning to ensure Curt was following you. You kept a quick pace, cutting and winding through town towards a familiar farmyard, dairy cows grazing the fields, lowing softly, as the farmer and his daughters loaded containers of milk into the back of a worn truck. The sun had escaped the confines of the horizon by now, flooding the landscape with the golden light of an autumn sunrise as you cast another glance of confirmation over your shoulder, nearly tripping over your own feet at the unjustly stunning quality of Curt’s eyes in daylight.

“Whoa, easy.” He hurried a few steps forward to steady you by the elbow, catching the attention of Tillens who quickly sent his children back into the house.

“Hush.” You whispered firmly before waving to the farmer, who squinted at you a moment before relaxing as you greeted him warmly in Dutch.

“That you, Marie? You’ve done something new with your hair, didn’t even recognize you for a moment…”

“The point, I am afraid. Are you by any chance headed to Antwerp today?” You asked hopefully, stomach falling as he shook his head.

“Could take you to Brussels, but Antwerp is tomorrow.”

Brussels was the one place you avoided, far too many familiar faces and even more Nazis along with their collaborating government.

“How much could I offer to convince you to take us to Antwerp today?”

Tillens’ brown eyes studied your disguise before looking over at your companion. “It’s only one hour out of my way, Marie, for you there is no charge. Hop in the back and I’ll pack the rest of these around you.”

Your eyes widened before you quickly gestured Curt forward, digging into the bag on his shoulder and pulling out the loaf of the bread you found there. “Then please accept this, for your family.”

“Marie…” Tillens protested but you pushed it forward insistently and he accepted it with a grateful nod. “Thank you, every bit helps.”

“Thank you, for it truly does.” Grasping Curt’s elbow, you pointed into the back of the truck, watching him step up and weave his way towards the back.

Setting your suitcase on the tailgate, you reached for the handhold with your left arm, gasping as Curt’s hands were suddenly around your waist to hoist you in amongst the containers of milk.

“Gorgeous but stubborn.” He muttered under his breath, grabbing your suitcase and leading you over to a gap he had found just large enough for the pair of you to settle on the floor.

Pulling your shoulder bag against your body, you tucked your skirt beneath yourself as you sat down beside him, nodding to Tillens as he peered in at the pair of you before sealing you in with the last of his cargo.

“It’s about a two-hour drive, feel free to sleep.” You whispered, the back of the truck going dark as Tillens secured the doors shut, the motor growling to life shortly thereafter.

“So he speaks Flemish too?” Curt asked curiously as the vehicle jolted into motion and you nodded softly.

“It’s Dutch, really, with some regional differences. In the bigger cities you’ll find more of a mix of Flemish and French.”

“And you speak it all.” Curt smirked and you nodded, hugging your knees to your chest as the cargo rattled around you. “Really somethin’…” He muttered, leaning back to close his eyes and try to get some rest as you had suggested.

The drive smoothed out as the truck navigated onto the main road, and you felt yourself relax a little after the first hour of distance was put between you and Beverst. You were by no means out of danger – the Gestapo was an insidious organization, their network a far-reaching and interconnected tangle. The fact that at least one agent had come looking for you specifically meant that, if the entirety did not know of you yet, they soon would. You had to run all the way to be truly safe.

Of their own volition, your eyes drifted towards Curt’s sleeping form, his handsome face grown slack and soft in sleep, the youth of him both striking and painful. What would his life look like if Hitler had been able to keep his hands to himself…or better yet had never even come to power? What would your life look like? Certainly neither of you would be in the back of a dairy truck sneaking your way to Antwerp.

A roughened patch of road jostled his body, threatening to wake him and you quickly wrenched your eyes away, studying the handwritten labels from Tillens’ farm. Thankfully Curt remained asleep for the rest of the drive, the truck pulling to a stop amidst the hum of the city, and you gently prodded him awake with a shake to the shoulder.

“We’re here.” You whispered before pressing a finger to your lips and he nodded drowsily before straightening.

Light flooded into the back of the truck, the pair of you blinking owlishly as Tillens shifted the cargo to make a path of exit into a familiar alley. Climbing out carefully, you turned to unload the suitcases as Curt passed each, nodding sharply to the farmer before you and the airman assembled yourselves, and strolled casually out into the foot traffic on the sidewalk.

The interference and unpredictability of humans had you on edge, not appreciating the way Curt always seemed to be not where you expected him to be with every glance over your shoulder. After the fourth time you looked for him a little too long, your heart in your throat, you stepped around a rather annoying blonde making eyes at him, and seized his free hand with yours. To keep better track of him, of course. The fact that your throat tightened slightly as his blunt fingers wrapped around your hand in return, requiring a forceful swallow to clear it, was utterly irrelevant.

Turning the corner, you looked both ways before tugging on his hand, guiding him across the street to the unassuming building of flats from which you were intending to collect your warmer clothes and some other supplies. The sight of the rather nice car out front was the first sign that something was off. The next was the sound of your neighbour, an ancient, haggard woman named Josephine De Smet, speaking loudly in the stairwell, her creaking voice cascading down the tiled stairs to the lobby, halting your feet immediately.

Clearly distracted, Curt’s body collided with your back, forcing you to brace against the wall lest you topple over.

“Geez, why’d you sto–” His less-than-hushed whisper was cut off by your palm, forcefully freed from his grasp, slapping over his mouth as you quickly pushed him back into the corner of the lobby under the stairs, casting a sharp look at him before craning your ear back upwards.

Holding your breath, you listened intently, trying to hear the rest of the conversation. To confirm if the alarm bells ringing in your head were warranted.

“Just what has that hussy gotten herself mixed up in then, sir?” The old crone rasped in French, not her usual choice of language, and you pressed your lips into a line thin.

“I cannot say, madam, other than she is a monster and you’d best be wary.” The deep male voice, a German accent poisoning his pronunciation, made you inhale sharply through your nose.

Hand dropping from where it pressed against Curt’s remarkably plush and soft lips to grasp the lapel of his jacket, you pulled hard, yanking him out of the building and back onto the street. They were a lot closer on your trail than you had realized. Pulse rabbiting at your throat, you held your suitcase out to Curt in a silent request, grateful when he took it without question, following you as you took off down the sidewalk at a brisk clip.

Darting around the next corner, you led him on a chaotic, unpredictable, and hopefully untraceable path to a tramway stop several blocks away as you dug through your shoulder bag for the coins to make fare for both of you. Once that was secured, you traded his fare for your suitcase, tucking your own coins into the pocket of your light jacket, trying to suppress your grimace at the loss of your winter clothes in that now unvisitable flat. The feeling of Curt’s sturdy hand slipping into yours, enveloping your skin in warmth and his strong grip, halted you for half a step before releasing some of the tension in your lungs.

Propelling forward across the street, the pair of you jumped onto the tram just as it was about to pull away, shuffling into the heart of the crowded carriage to purchase your tickets and keep your faces away from the windows. It was not an overly warm ride to Antwerpen-Centraal station, but you could certainly feel sweat prickling in your armpits and rolling down your back between your shoulder blades. Tugging on Curt’s sleeve, you disembarked one stop short with him and ducked into an alley to yank the wig free, hanging your head upside down to shake out your hair before repining it. It surely looked sad, but given that identity papers were required to board a train, you needed to resemble your photo and thus the wig was shoved into a nearby trash bin.

“We will be asked for papers, there will be a lot of soldiers, try to remain relaxed and do as I do.” You whispered to Curt, and he nodded, patting the left breast of his pocket with an easy smile, though you watched his adam’s apple bob sharply as he swallowed. “We will be buying tickets and travelling to the border where will stop for the night, alright?”

“Lead on, gorgeous.” He nodded and turned to following you toward the grand, stone-clad station built at the turn of the century.

The presence of Nazi soldiers was pronounced, their bright red swatiskas flashing about the otherwise pleasant square like blemishes on a beautiful face. Keeping your expression perfectly neutral yet pleasant, confident yet not cocky, you took a moment to exhale slowly as you made it past the first hurdle into the building before heading to the ticket counter, requesting two tickets to Kortrijk. It was nothing short of a miracle that you managed a polite nod rather than kissing the ticket seller full on the mouth when he informed you the train would be leaving in twenty minutes. Pulling the bills from your bag, you accepted the tickets in return before leading Curt to track three.

Rolling your shoulders in and down your back, you confidently offered your identity papers to the Nazi soldier standing at the carriage door, immensely pleased when Curt did the same without prompting.

“Where are you two headed?” The soldier asked in clipped, stilted French, his piercing blue eyes wholly unsettling as they flicked between you and Curt before coming back to you.

“Kortrijk, sir.” You answered simply.

If he wanted to know more, he would need to ask more. You certainly had a lie prepared should he require one. He made a noise of displeasure, looking over your shoulder, implying the accumulation of other passengers.

“Off you go.” He grunted, returning both sets of papers to you and you nodded rapidly, climbing aboard quickly, even as your arm shook under the strain of hauling your body up the steps.

Shuffling down the hallway of the carriage, you at last came to an empty compartment, stepping inside and setting your luggage on the bench. As soon as Curt stepped in behind you, you slid the door shut behind him, knowing it was rude with a full train but not wanting anyone else to join you. As you turned back, he was already hoisting your suitcase up onto the luggage rack, making you smile fondly.

“Merci.” You murmured, hoping he would understand your meaning.

Judging by his responding smile, it seemed he certainly did. Despite your longing to collapse onto the bench seat, you sat with decorum, trying not to stare at your watch and count down the minutes. As the last whistle blew and the cars at last shunted into motion, you finally relaxed back into the cushion behind you.

“Is it always like that?” Curt whispered and you shot him a rueful look before shaking your head.

“I am deeply sorry, that…that is solely a complication of traveling with me right now.” You murmured in response, digging out his ticket and papers, returning them to him. “The conductor will arrive closer to our destination to check your ticket, then we show the papers again in the station after we detrain.”

You watched as he carefully took the items and tucked them back into his inner pocket.

“No apologies, gorgeous. We’re both not wanted here, so it’s a good thing we’re leaving.” He nodded and you looked out the window when rain pelted the glass as the train left the shelter of the station, biting the inside of your cheek savagely to keep your emotions in check. “Why don’t we have some lunch?”

He started to root around in the bag from Legot and you forced a smile, sharing the few apples and the small wedge of cheese, akin to a rare jewel, that the man had gifted the two of you with. After a minor squabble over who ought to be resting, Curt finally gave up and obstinately remained awake as you insisted that you must, staring out the window as the fields of Flanders rolled by. The train made numerous stops until the conductor arrived to check your tickets, signalling you were about to arrive in Kortrijk, the final stop.

Courtesy of your preparation, the process went remarkably smooth, and the pair of you stepped off the train once Curt had retrieved the suitcases from overhead. Another successful check of your papers and you were melting into the population freshly departing from their workday and making their way home. Within thirty minutes, you had arrived at an unassuming home on the southern edge of town, knocking the door in the prescribed way.

A young woman with a toddler perched on her hip opened the door, eyeing each of you cautiously.

“May I help you?” She asked in Dutch.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am. We were wondering if you might be interested in some new cosmetics?” You smiled broadly, delivering the passphrase.

A flash of recognition crossed her delicate features, her plump cheeks flushing in excitement as she briefly went rigid before she reined in her emotions. “Why don’t you come in and show me what you have for sale…” She stepped back, holding the door open wider for you and Curt to step inside.

Once the door was secured behind you, she led you through her small but tidy home up the narrow stairs to a small half door before opening it slowly.

“Here you are, dinner will take some time.”

“Whatever you can spare is truly appreciated, thank you.” You thanked her softly, sliding your suitcase into the attic before crouching down to crawl in after it.

The space was smaller than Legot’s cellar but larger than the back of Tillens’ dairy truck, enough room for each of you to lay flat, high up in the very peak of the small house. It was not a safe house you would have employed for a larger group. For the first time, you were grateful it was nearly November and not the heat of summer.

“Ouch!” Curt hissed as he cracked his head on a low beam, and you frowned, shifting up onto your knees to make sure he was alright. “Yeah, yeah, m’fine Marie, just an idiot.” He gave you a lopsided grin and you shook your head.

“Sorry it’s not the Ritz, but it’s not a cellar either?” You tilted your head hopefully.

“Never stayed at the Ritz, you?” He asked, settling onto the centuries-old wooden planks beside you.

“Hmmm.” You hummed noncommittally. “She says she’ll have something for us to eat in a bit, we will rest and then start out walking after midnight.”

“Walk…?” He prompted, eyebrow raised.

“It is not easy to cross the border, we cannot simply take the train into France, so we must walk. It is best to do so at night, and even better to do so rested. I promise we can linger a little longer at our next place, but we must get out of Belgium.” Despite your efforts to quash it, a slight tremor remained in your voice and Curt shot you a look of sympathy and utterly threatened your ability to maintain your composure. “So sleep.” You tacked on firmly and pulled off your jacket, folding it up to make a pillow before laying on your side with your back to him.

There was a decidedly awkward silence as he remained seated, looming above you, before laying down with a heavy exhale, clearly frustrated with you. Well that made two of you.

Dinner arrived two hours later with a soft knock, driving home the fact that you had not slept, but the warm vegetable hash was so very welcome and filling, giving you hope that you might be able to actually fall asleep for the last few hours of your stay here. As you lay back down onto your make-shift pillow, Curt’s breaths almost immediately evened out into the heavy sighs of sleep, making your lips twitch in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Yet as you closed your eyes, all that echoed through your mind was the voice of your father ‘mon petit monstre’ and the Gestapo agent from the stairwell of your flat building ‘elle est un monstre.’

Petit monstre

Un monstre

Monstre

Grief clawed at your throat, making you sit up sharply as you gasped for air, eyes brimming with tears as the realization that you would never again hear that nickname in your father’s voice – that it would now only come to you by way of anger and insult – sank like a stone in the pit of your stomach. Sniffling petulantly as your nose began to run, you jumped at the feeling of Curt’s hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong…” He whispered groggily, shifting closer.

Shaking your head quickly, you roughly wiped the tears from your eyes trying to hide the evidence, huffing as the action only caused fresh ones to spill onto your cheeks.

“Don’t tell me then, just c’mere.” He replied and gathered you into his arms, cradling you close against his chest.

Every muscle in your body went rigid at first, your rational, well-trained self knowing this was utterly inappropriate. And yet…

And yet, he was so warm, so kind, and he was holding you so tightly that maybe you could fall apart just a little without crumbling entirely. Surrendering to the fact that no arms had attempted to hold and comfort you in years, you yielded to his embrace, becoming pliant as you loosened the clenched-fist-grip on your grief just a little, allowing tears to slide freely down your cheeks in the darkness of that attic as his palm soothed up and down your spine.

“Shhh, I’m right here, you’re not alone…”

How very much you wanted to believe him.

-------------------------

Read Part Three

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

#curtis biddick x reader #curt biddick x reader #curtis biddick #curt biddick #mota fanfic #mota fic #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #masters of the air

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1-800-local-slut · 1 year ago

Note

I would love a short story where Y/N meets Klaus at an art exhibition where Y/N admires Klaus paintings :3

Omg, I literally love your works! Thanks so much for the request, I really hope you enjoy this. I made the ready a little bit sassy, I hope you still like it!

Likes and repost are appreciated! Please let me know what you think <3

Klaus Mikaelson x Black! Sassy! Super Smart! Human! Reader

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Enticing

Sometimes, when you look at something exquisite the rest of the world fades behind you. It was happening right now. You see something that captivates you, and it’s nearly impossible to look away. Like the Grande Odalisque, or The Garden of Earthly Desires. The paints and the story told on the canvas kept the attention of many for centuries. Now though, she was looking at the snowy canvas.

A bleak winter, snowing outside of a family sized, broken down shack. There were a set of large footprints leading out through the snow. Then there was another set coming back towards the home, with a line of crimson pulling through the snow. It was in a straight line, like pulled through with a sword. The home was empty, like it was devoid of life. There were multiple rooms, for multiple people, windows all open. The wind blew ripped curtains through a few of the rooms. The darkness of the painting made it seem like there was light pulled from the home. The area around the house was dark, but the further away from the house it got, light seemed to come in. Like it was saying, the inhabitants of the house itself were evil and broken. Her eyes couldn’t help but be glued to the painting. What a sad story it must be telling.

“Are you enjoying my work?” A charming, deep accent pulled her eyes from the painting. Slowly she looked up, glancing over her shoulder. There was a handsome blonde man, staring down at her with enticing eyes. His red lips smirked down at her. Something about him looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps she’d seen him at one of the many other shows she’s attended. Her eyes narrowed smugly.

He wasn’t the first artist she’d encountered. He wasn’t the first who felt special because she took an extra moment to stare. She always had an extra appreciation for art. All types of art truly. Music, plays, sculpting, painting, dancing. Everything, she adored it. While this painting is magnificent, it truly wasn’t the best work the man could produce.

“I’m enjoying all the work here.” She responded, with a sip and smiled smugly.

“Yes, I believe I’ve seen you before. Tell me, as an avid lover of art, what do you think of this piece?” The man stepped around and in front of her. With a thoughtful ‘hm’, she ran her eyes up and down him. He was handsome without a doubt, but much like his art something about him was mesmerizing. Tilting her head, she looked at the painting once more.

“It’s not your best work. I’m certain you could do better than this.” Was all she shrugged. A look of shock came over him at first. Then he smiled and glanced at his shoes. His tongue ran over his teeth, and he let out a small huff. Like all artists he wasn’t thrilled to hear harsh criticism about his work. Then again, who wanted to hear something so painful about their craft? But she never cared. Art was true beauty, you can’t sugar coat anything like that. That plus, the knowledge that her opinion never truly mattered. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. If this man thought this painting was his best, then it was.

“Pray tell?” He inquired. Now the woman turned to face him, and looked over his face.

“Well, it just isn’t. That’s my personal opinion, love. It’s like you’re telling a story, but you’re holding something back from it. You’re only comfortable to tell part of it. If you put all the pain of whatever this is into this, it would’ve been far more raw. You’re holding something else deep inside. I feel like art should be a full expression, and a full release of truthful emotions. Do try not to implode over it.” She continued, flipping her hair over her shoulders. Blueish green eyes looked at the ceiling in thought. Then he nodded with another charming smile.

“You know, I’ve seen you quite a bit. What brings you to all these shows?” He asked, plucking her empty glass from her hand. With his free hand, grabbed two more champagne glasses from a passing waiter. He put down the empty one, and handed her one. Raising an eyebrow, she accepted it. The glasses clinked and they both took a sip. Turning, she started to walk away. He followed after her flowing trail. She felt his eyes glued on her back, and adjusted the shawl on her arms.

“A woman can’t enjoy the titillations of art? I find it’s severely important to take good care of the mind. The arts help refine the mind. And yourself? Seeing as you have so many questions.” The man chuckled as they walked past spectators. Many men enjoyed her biting nature, and it seemed he was no different. Something about this man though, made her a bit nervous. The way he looked at her like he was waiting to eat her.

“Well, as you know I’m an artist. I paint as a metaphor for control, it helps calm me. I chose the colors, and I chose what goes where. I enjoy art, even if I'm not the one who creates it.” She nodded, in thought. He seemed poetic, his accent incredibly enticing. It was to the point where he was distracting her from the art. His eyes never left her, like he was studying her relentlessly. They approached a large door, leading to a hallway she wasn’t even aware she was going towards.

“That’s wonderful. It’s nice to meet such a devoted artist in this day and age.” He pushed the door open for her and she nodded her head as if to say thank you. They stepped into the empty holiday, and she felt aware of everything. Even more aware of her body and everything else. Maybe it was being alone with the mysterious man that suddenly made her heart rate race in a good way.

“Thank you. It’s been wonderful to meet such a connoisseur. Will you be at the Visionary Vanguard show tomorrow?” He asked, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to it. With a smile and a head tilt, she already knew she was more curious than she needed too. He kept his eyes locked on hers, with a strange passion.

“Well if you continue to charm me, I’ll have no choice. And who should I be looking for tomorrow night?” She asked as the man's phone rang. Slowly, he slipped his phone from his pocket and hit decline. He opened his mouth to resume speaking, but then three loud pinging noises broke the silence.

“I think that’s your phone.” With a closed mouth smile, he sent a furious text. With an annoyed sigh, he rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I have some pressing matters I need to see too.” He apologized, and looked at her apologetically. He looked like a sad puppy, how adorable. She heard the light giggle escape her throat, and it made her a bit self conscious. Then she cleared her throat, and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Well see to them. And be sure you see to me tomorrow night as well.” With a turn, her high ponytail swished as she turned and placed a hand on the bathroom door. She pushed, feeling the champagne from earlier moving through her at light speed.

“Klaus.” She turned her head back, to see the man smiling at her.

“Klaus Mikaelson. It’s who you’ll be looking for tomorrow night.” With that he was gone. A smirk crossed her face, and deep down inside she knew this was the start of something enticing.

#black reader #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson x reader #the originals #tvd #tvdu #the vampire diaries #the mikaelsons #x black reader

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kunasthiast · 8 months ago

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Sandwiches and Numbers

It is always the special sandwiches with Sukuna and the bittersweet feeling of knowing you'll leave him again. But, it is what it is... right?

Oh please, yes, I listened to Taylor Swift's Fortnight and Cruel Summer a lot of times already that I've crafted this story because this is what I see everytime I listen to them T^T

Also, this is kind of my first time to post my writing drafts OTL this is part of a series I'm starting called 'Fortnight' – all stories in this series will be in a masterpost and part of the Summer Love!Sukuna AU <333

Hope you'll enjoy this one as I've enjoyed writing this one so far ~

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + light angst, Summer Love AU Word Count: 800+ All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

It was perfect. The kisses he marked you with on your neck. The tight hugs and cuddles. Your warm body on top of him. The love you shared. Yet, everything comes to an end.

As you stared into his eyes full of love, regret, and pain, you speak up, ”I’ll miss us. I don’t want to let you go again, ‘Kuna.”

“Then don’t,” Sukuna replied as looked down on your eyes. He hugged you tighter and kissed you on the forehead. With a sigh, you continued, “I wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

“Neither do I, but it is what it is.” You looked up to him and replied back, “Well, I always find my way back to you.” Sukuna released you from the hug and sat up with his back turned back to you, looking for his boxers. He tosses you his shirt and stood up to wear his now found boxers. “What, gonna treat me like your rebound?” He scoffed with a growing smirk as he looked back at you.

You gladly wore Sukuna’s shirt and rolled your eyes at his reply. You know and he knows he’s not a rebound. You could never. It’s just that, he was the best person to ever happen to you. The best kisses. The best laughs. The best moments. The best sex. The best banters. Just, the best. Funny how the universe works. With those thoughts in mind, you chuckled and tried your best to make the cutest, pleading face to Sukuna, “Yeah, yeah. I’m hungry, can you make me food? Pretty please, ‘Kuna?”

“What do I do with you?” Sukuna groaned and left the room to prep up the food. With that, you also got up from the bed and went to the kitchen to watch him make food. As you walked through his house, there’s a lot of picture frames of him, his late brother, his late grandpa, and his nephew, Yuji. This reminds you of his nephew and as you pick up the picture to look at it better, you asked Sukuna, “Where’s Yuji now?”

With his back turned back to you while prepping the food on the kitchen island, he replied with a scoff, “You’ve been here for a fortnight and you just remembered Yuji now?”

“Well, forgive my fish memory! I haven’t seen him since I got back.” You replied back and put back the picture to where it was before. You continued walking to the kitchen and sat down on the chair near the kitchen island, he said, “Yuji’s in the city.” You looked at what he was prepping and exclaimed excitedly, “Where in the city? I’d love to visit him, I missed his chubby cheeks!”

As Sukuna finished prepping the food, he slid the plate to you and took a bite at his food. While chewing, he said, “In the big ass university you went to. He’s not a little kid you remembered him to be.” You looked at the plate he gave you and admired the yummy food in front of you.

As always, he makes my favorite snack. A sandwich full of lettuce, bacon, ham, and cheese, with his homemade sauce that makes it all the more special. Before taking a bite, you replied solemnly “Well, that doesn’t stop my excitement to see him again. Can you give me his contacts before I go?”

“Fine.” He exclaimed with a gruff as he finishes his sandwich and pulled out his phone to look for Yuji’s number to give it to you. You gladly put Yuji’s number on your phone and saved it as, ‘Little Yuji.’

A few years ago, before you moved to the city, you often visit Sukuna’s house to babysit his little nephew. He practically was raised by you and you take great pride in that. Sukuna, on the other hand, just lets you do what you want with Yuji and doesn’t bother help you babysit him every time.

“Oh! I gotta get your number, too, ‘Kuna. Give it to me.” You excitingly exclaimed and continued munching on your sandwich. Sukuna reached for your plate and his to clean up and casually said, “What’s the use? You’re leaving tomorrow and not coming back.” Ouch, that hurts. He doesn’t have to say it obviously like that. You feigned a sigh, “For when you’re in the city?”

“Just finish your sandwich.” And so you did.

Looking back on the two weeks you’ve been back in this town, you missed this slow life as compared to the busy, bustling, fast-paced city. You missed everyone. You especially missed Sukuna. His sweetest grin, his lovable laugh, his fluffiest pink fluff of hair, and his most adoring eyes.

Where did everything go wrong? As you thought and realized. Oh yeah, you cut him off and didn’t contact him for over 10 years only to go back to him two weeks ago out of nowhere and you’re leaving again tomorrow with an indefinite time if you'll ever be back again in his arms.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #summer love #summer love!sukuna au

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iridescent-petrichor · 2 years ago

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my brain holds too many poisons

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Warnings: drinking, jj gets drunk and stupid twice, reader's boyfriend sucks

Words: 10K (holy shit)

A/N: Officially my longest fic !! i'm really happy with this one, I've had this song stuck in my head for weeks crafting this fic!! shoutout to two of my closest friends for giving me a bunch of ideas for this :D

(this is a songfic by the way!)

I called you with a few too many drinks in me

Saying JJ was drunk would be an understatement. It was nearing the end of a kegger thrown down at the Boneyard, and he was definitely more than a few drinks deep at this point. The entire night, he’d kept an eye out, looking over the crowd and scanning it every so often just to make sure he didn’t miss you.

You, however, skipped out on the party tonight. Instead, you were spending the night with your new boyfriend, Roman, who JJ openly despised. He was another snobby rich kid from Figure Eight that wasn’t good enough for someone like you.

JJ knew it wasn’t his place to judge who you were dating when he couldn’t even man up enough to ask you out, but he couldn’t help but remind you as often as he could that Roman didn’t deserve you. You brushed him off every time, always coming up with some excuse for him that JJ didn’t believe.

The thought of you skipping out on him to stay with your boyfriend made JJ feel sick, and it wasn’t long before he was pulling his phone out, calling you before he could think better of it.

Well, at least you didn't answer

When you didn’t answer, his heart sank to the floor. He didn’t like the thought of you being alone with him. As much as you constantly assured him that he was a good guy, that he cared about you, JJ knew guys like him all too well.

Your voicemail rang through his ears, and he couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips at the sound of your voice. It distracted him long enough that there was suddenly a loud beep, flustering him as his voicemail began.

“Oh shit,” He blinked, not prepared to actually leave you a message. “Uh, hey sweetheart. Shit- I didn’t mean to call you that-”

John B, who had been staying relatively sober the whole night so he could drive everyone to his house once the party died down, noticed JJ off to the side, muttering something on the phone. It must’ve been some sixth sense John B had for knowing whenever JJ was doing something stupid, but he instantly excused himself from his conversation and started making his way toward his best friend.

“I just- I really think you’re better than that asshole. I know you hate when I say that shit, but he really doesn’t deserve you. You’re bright, and- and you can cheer anyone up just by being around them. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I just need you to know that. I need you to know that you deserve better than him. I would treat you better than he does. I know I would. I love you, Y/N, I love you so much.”

At this point, John B reached JJ, pulling the phone away from his ear and quickly hanging up, shoving the phone in his shorts pocket before JJ could do any more damage.

“What are you doing?” John B asked now that JJ’s attention was on him.

“Was just callin’ Y/N.” He answered, a slight slur in his speech that made John B understand how bad of an idea that was.

John B sighed, putting an arm around JJ, and quickly guiding him in the direction of the Twinkie. “Let’s get you home, big guy.”

Woke up, prayed to God it was only a dream

JJ woke up, immediately feeling the pain of the killer hangover he had. Forcing himself to sit up in the bed he didn’t remember stumbling into the night before, he looked around the room. It didn’t take long to realize he was in the guest room at the Chateau, the room that had become unofficially his after so many years of friendship with John B.

His head was still pounding as he tried to piece together what had happened the night before. Instinctively, he reached for where his phone would be on the nightstand, confused to find it wasn’t there.

That’s when the memories started to come back to him.

He was drunk. He was wasted. He tried calling you. You didn’t answer. He said he loved you. He said he loved you.

“Oh, fuck.” He dropped his throbbing head into his hands, rubbing his temples. “Oh, I’m so fucked.”

You were in the shower when JJ called you the night before, and your boyfriend was the one to notice your phone buzzing where you’d left it on the bed. He didn’t answer, of course he didn’t, not when JJ was the one calling, he instead watched it ring. It wasn’t until he noticed JJ left a voicemail that his interest was piqued.

Glancing in the direction of the bathroom, he could still hear the shower running. Quickly, he reached to grab your phone, typing in the passcode.

You told him your passcode offhandedly one day when you asked him to respond to a text from Kiara while you were driving, and he remembered it ever since. He told himself it was just in case, and as he listened to JJ’s voicemail, he convinced himself he was doing this out of love.

His fists clenched when he heard JJ’s confession. It was obvious he was drunk, but Roman knew hearing this would ruin everything. It would destroy the relationship he worked so hard to build.

By the time he finished the voicemail, he heard you turn the shower off, hurriedly deleting the voicemail before tossing your phone back on the bed.

Well, at least I took my chances

JJ trudged out of the bedroom, seeing John B cooking breakfast, along with Kiara and Pope still fast asleep on either side of the pullout couch.

“Morning, sunshine.” John B chuckled, giving JJ a look. “How’s the headache?”

“Fuck off.” JJ groaned, peering at what John B was cooking. He reached forward, plucking a strip of freshly cooked bacon off the plate they’d been set on, dodging John B swatting at him with the spatula.

“Your phone’s on the table.” John B said, pointing halfheartedly to the kitchen table.

JJ groaned again, not wanting to be reminded of the consequences of him calling you.

“Hey, at least you finally took your chances.” John B couldn’t help but laugh, earning a light smack on the arm from JJ.

“Shut up, dude.”

When JJ picked up his phone, he swore his heart stopped when he saw a text from you.

When you got out of the shower, you threw some pajamas on and walked back into the bedroom, your boyfriend was giving you an unreadable look.

“What?” You asked, trying to smile at him, your grin faltering when he didn’t react.

“JJ called you.” His tone was flat, and you tilted your head in confusion.

“Okay…? Is he alright? Did he need a ride home, or…?” Your mind wandered to JJ at the party. He was no doubt drunk out of his mind, and you were worried he’d gone and gotten himself hurt. Surely someone would’ve had his back, you knew the rest of the pogues were at the party as well.

Roman sighed heavily in a way that made you tense. “I think you should keep your distance from him.”

Your jaw dropped. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

When he stood up, you immediately shut your mouth despite the firm look you were still giving him.

“He’s my friend, Roman.” You insisted, though your voice was much quieter now.

“He wants to jeopardize our relationship.” His voice was low, and the way he stepped closer to you almost felt threatening.

“He- what?” JJ would never do that. You knew he didn’t approve of your boyfriend, he made that very clear, but would he actually try to jeopardize your relationship?

“Just- here.” He grabbed your phone off the bed, shoving it in your hand. You took it hesitantly, still giving him a confused look. “Just text him. Tell him you’re not gonna speak to him again.”

“What?!” You looked up at him, mouth agape in shock. He couldn’t be serious, right?

When his face darkened, you gripped your phone just a bit tighter. “He wants to ruin our relationship. You’re gonna have to make a choice here.”

Part of you wanted to keep arguing, to say that you could talk to JJ, that you would sort it out. But something in the look in Roman’s eyes made you nod, backing down.

“Okay. I’ll text him.”

You said you never wanted to speak again

“She text you?” John B asked, not looking up from the eggs he was cooking.

JJ didn’t respond, still staring down at the text.

Please don’t speak to me anymore.

“JJ?” John B glanced up at him before scraping the eggs onto a plate, walking over to see the phone.

JJ moved so John B could see it, still saying nothing. The silence hung in the air for a while before John B spoke again.

“Holy shit.”

JJ sighed, tossing his phone back onto the table with a loud enough clatter that it startled Kiara and Pope from their sleep, looking between him and John B with furrowed brows. Kiara opened her mouth to tell him off for waking her up before noticing the tension in the room.

“Dude, it’s probably not that bad.” John B tried to say, but JJ grimaced.

“Not that bad? I fucked everything up!” He resisted the urge to hit something, pacing back and forth in the room clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Kiara spoke up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“JJ drunk dialed Y/N last night and told her he’s in love with her.”

“Dude!” JJ snapped, glaring at John B. He shrugged back lamely, mouthing an apology.

“Is that not what happened?” John B asked under his breath, grabbing a couple plates of food and handing them off to Kiara and Pope.

“She’s got a boyfriend, man,” Pope said through a bite of food.

JJ rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing heavily. “Yeah, Pope. Thanks. I’m well aware of that.”

Kiara stretched forward, grabbing JJ’s phone off the table to see the text. Pope leaned close to her, peering over her shoulder to read it as well.

“Oh.” She cringed, setting the phone back on the table with a pitying look. “Yeah, that’s… not great.”

“Thanks, Kie,” JJ said dryly, shooting her a halfhearted glare. “Real helpful.

“Maybe you can reason with her?” She said, taking a bite of food. “I mean, this’ll all blow over in like a week, I’m sure.”

I was never one to listen

The next morning, you’d barely finished getting ready for the day when you felt your phone buzzing on the table you set it down on. Roman looked up from his spot on your bed, eyeing you before turning his gaze to your phone.

“I can answer that.” He said, standing.

You almost mindlessly agreed until you saw the contact name.

JJ Maybank.

“Wait- Uh, I’ll get it.” You caught the look Roman gave you as you grabbed your phone, shrinking in on yourself. “I’ll just- I’ll tell him to leave me alone.”

The words felt bitter on your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stand up to Roman. It wasn’t that your boyfriend was a bad person, he was just… protective. And he seemed to know something you didn’t about JJ wanting to ruin your relationship, so maybe you should just believe him.

With a sigh, unsure of if you actually believed him or if you were just trying to convince yourself of the fact, you answered the call and brought your phone to your ear.

“JJ-”

“Hey! Holy shit, I didn’t think you’d answer! Uh, listen-” JJ started talking quickly, trying to explain, but the longer you stayed silent, the more you could feel the tension coming from your boyfriend.

“Please don’t call me, JJ.” Despite how weak you felt your voice was, it instantly made JJ fall silent.

You hung up without another word, exhaling shakily, trying with all your might to ignore the reality of what you’d done. Even a month ago if you were told to not speak to JJ, you would’ve laughed in their face. Things felt so different now, and it made you feel sick.

“Thank you.” Roman smiled at you, but the grin on his face resembled that of a shark.

You felt your phone buzzing, still in your hand. JJ was calling you again. Quickly, you shut it off, shoving it in your back pocket, forcing yourself to return Roman’s smile.

And it's fine, just wish you'd get out of my head

JJ had never gone this long without seeing you, not since the two of you became friends. It had been a little over two weeks since you last spoke to him, and he felt like he was going insane. You hadn’t hung out with the pogues since before that fateful night. They never stopped reaching out, though, telling you every plan they made just in case you decided to show.

Your response was always the same: Sorry! I’m hanging with Roman tonight. Another time!

JJ tried to play it off like he was fine, like he didn’t care. Still, every time Kiara would text you to ask if you could make it only to get a measly text apologizing for missing out, everyone could see the way JJ’s face fell. Whenever they met up, he counted the heads, heart sinking just a little when he saw you weren’t there. Everyone saw the way his grin faltered when your name was mentioned, or the way his attention snapped to anyone that looked a little too much like you, sounded a little too much like you, or laughed a little too much like you.

Every time JJ found himself surrounded by his best friends, he couldn’t help but notice the empty seat that was always left open – a silent agreement to keep it available just in case. It stayed empty every time, though, and JJ was never able to take his eyes off it.

Well, you never did

It was another party. Being deep in the throes of Summer, there were new parties nearly every night, and the pogues joined more than half the time. Tonight was unlike any other, and everyone was piling into the Twinkie for a kegger.

JJ pulled his flask out of his shorts pocket, taking a quick swig as John B parked outside the beach, the rest of the pogues clambering out of the van the second the car stopped moving. John B tossed the keys to Pope, who had agreed to be the designated driver for the night. The pogues often took turns, with the exception of JJ, who recently had gotten into a habit of getting as drunk as possible to drown out any thoughts of you any chance he could get.

It wasn’t long before the group had a few drinks, with JJ being much further gone than anyone else. The pogues were keeping a worried eye on him, exchanging looks with each other every time he went to grab another drink.

JJ was leaning against a tree now, only half listening to the conversation between John B and Pope when he noticed you a good distance away. Your boyfriend was a few feet away from you, and JJ couldn’t help but notice the fact that you clearly weren’t getting the attention you deserved.

JJ could feel his heart beat just a little faster at the sight of you, sat on a log and watching your boyfriend talk to his friends. Roman wasn’t even looking at you, and JJ could see the way your face fell at the lack of attention. He knows you’re so much better than that asshole, but he also knows he can’t be the one to tell you that.

Not anymore.

Still, JJ isn’t able to take his eyes off of you, and as he downed another drink, he barely acknowledged whatever question Pope was asking him.

My brain holds too many poisons

JJ nearly winced at the sight of you. He knew he could treat you better. He knew you deserved to be treated like royalty, and all Roman saw you as was arm candy.

“JJ?” He turned at the sound of Pope’s voice, not bothering to mask the annoyance on his face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” JJ waved him off, looking back to you and the way you were sitting on the edge of your seat to watch Roman chat with his friends. You were trying so hard to seem like you were enjoying yourself, but JJ had always known you better. He can see every movement of yours, awkwardly fiddling with your hands in your lap, glancing around the crowd every so often, and the forced smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was always the little things that JJ noticed about you, that your boyfriend would never bother to care about.

Suddenly, JJ stands, ignoring the looks from John B and Pope. Kiara had disappeared from the group a while ago, mingling with some people she’d met a few times before.

“I’m getting another drink.”

He pushed through the crowd, weaving past drunk teenagers until he got to the keg of beer, refilling his solo cup.

“How many drinks does this make?” Kiara’s voice made him spin around, facing her with a forced smile.

“Lost track.” He raised the cup, tapping it against her own. “Cheers.”

She gives him a firm look, one of her hands on her waist. “I think you’ve had enough.”

JJ shook his head, walking beside her in the direction of where Pope and John B were still standing. “Not yet.”

Kiara exchanged worried looks with the boys when they finally approached before making herself comfortable, taking a seat next to John B.

Loud laughter and cheering from afar pulled JJ’s attention away from his friends, glancing over and seeing your boyfriend in the middle of a game of beer pong with his kook friends. JJ rolled his eyes, the story Kiara started telling going entirely unnoticed while he stared down your boyfriend, taking another swig from his solo cup.

They helped me make the wrong choices

“Hey,” Pope reached a hand out, tapping JJ on the arm a few times to get him to look away from Roman. “Are you even paying attention?”

JJ leans away from Pope, lazily hitting his hand away. He looked at Pope for only a moment, making a face at him before turning his focus back to you.

You were sat with your hands still in your lap, wearing an outfit that JJ knew you well enough to know you were uncomfortable in. Your boyfriend wasn’t far off, still hard at work in his game of beer pong.

John B took note of his friend’s distraction now, following JJ’s gaze and sighing to himself when he saw you. “JJ, don’t do anything you’re gonna regret.”

JJ didn’t respond. He was still focused on the way you were looking at Roman. You had reached up at this point, fiddling with the necklace you were wearing absentmindedly. The same necklace JJ bought you for your birthday almost two years ago. It tugged at his heartstrings to know that you were still wearing it, but he wasn’t surprised. You’d worn it every day since JJ bought it for you, of course you still had it on.

When you stood up, JJ tensed, watching you step toward Roman. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to whisper something to him. Without even looking in your direction, Roman nudged you away from him, muttering something JJ couldn’t hear that made you frown.

The dejected look on your face was enough to have JJ downing the rest of his drink, handing the empty cup off to John B, ignoring the pogues calling after him.

We all make stupid mistakes sometimes

Before JJ could think better of what he was doing, he was storming across the beach, sand kicking up under his feet. There was something in the way your gaze softened looking at Roman despite how much he was ignoring you that made his chest feel tight. You didn’t deserve that. You may not want to talk to him, but he needed you to know you deserved better.

“Hey!” JJ’s voice made Roman’s head snap up to him, along with each of his friends. You looked up as well, eyes wide when you saw how quickly JJ was approaching.

You were the only one who wasn’t staring JJ down like he was their next target.

Roman gave JJ a lazy smile that looked more like a grimace. “JJ Maybank. What can I do for you?”

JJ stopped right in front of him, the alcohol in his system mixing with the rage he felt boiling over. “You too good to pay attention to your girlfriend all of a sudden?”

Roman blinked, his eyes darkening as he glanced at you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher before he looked back to JJ. He stepped closer, trying to intimidate JJ with the few inches he had above him, despite not having the strength that JJ had.

“What did you say?”

The beer pong game had now been officially paused, and every kook in the area was watching JJ’s every move. Everyone was on edge, waiting for the pogue to do something worthy of jumping him.

As if they ever needed a reason.

“You heard me.” JJ sneered, his jaw clenching. “Too good to pay attention to your girlfriend?”

But I make them more than most

When Roman grabbed the front of JJ’s shirt, he swore he heard you gasp. He pulled JJ close to him, breathing heavily.

“Walk away, Maybank.” He said through gritted teeth, glaring down at JJ. The crowd around them was growing by the second, and it was almost entirely kooks. There was hardly anyone around that would jump to his defense. He started to wonder if you would jump to his defense, or your boyfriend’s.

JJ glanced toward you, realizing with a start that for the first time in weeks, your full attention was on him, and it only encouraged him further.

Turning back to Roman, he couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face. “Or what?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you stand up, nervously hovering near the interaction in case anything happened. It made JJ wonder again who you were more worried about.

If he got hurt would you go to him? Or would you let Roman drag you away from him again?

“Or we’ll escort you out of here.” A kook that had been playing beer pong piped up, earning a glare from JJ.

“Did I ask you?” JJ took a few steps in his direction, momentarily forgetting the grasp Roman had on his shirt until he stopped him.

“I think you should go back to your own turf,” Roman said, leaning down to talk right in JJ’s ear, quiet enough that only he could hear him. “Pogue.”

And it's my fault that I live my life

The sound of JJ’s fist colliding with Roman’s jaw instantly incited chaos within the crowd. Kooks were on JJ within a second, but all of his focus was stuck on Roman. The punch sent him stumbling to the ground, but he was quick to rally, jumping back up and throwing a punch that almost knocked JJ off balance.

“JJ!” Your voice was muffled by the ringing in his ears, but he couldn’t shake the knowledge that you were worried about him.

You cared. You care.

JJ rolled his head back, planting his feet and glaring at Roman, who was cocky enough that he let the other kooks let him go, calling for a fair fight.

He knew most of these kooks worked out like it was their only hobby – in all honesty, it probably was, but he also knew better than anyone that strength is useless if you don’t know how to fight.

And JJ knows how to fight.

He took a deep breath, his fists clenching and unclenching for a moment before he lunged forward, ducking to avoid another hit from Roman, tackling him into the sand.

Running away from ghosts

Once he had Roman on the ground, JJ hovered above him, hitting him again.

The kooks surrounding them were screaming now, and a few of them tried to pull him up off of Roman. He shook them off, raising his fist again.

“Just like your old man, aren’t you?” Roman’s voice was weak, but it made JJ freeze.

While the crowd continued to yell and scream and cheer, JJ couldn’t hear a damn thing other than his own heartbeat, the only thing repeating in his head – just like your old man, aren’t you?

JJ saw red, bringing his fist down again and again, deaf to the crowd around him.

He didn’t see the kooks staring at him in fear, didn’t see the few pogues in the crowd whispering, didn’t see you standing at the front of the crowd, jaw agape as you watched this happen.

Word was spreading quickly through the party, whispers of the pogue beating the shit out of a kook rippling throughout the Boneyard and eventually, everyone at the party was aware of what was happening.

By the time Kiara, Pope, and John B got wind of what the crowd was surrounding, there were so many people they could barely get through to get to JJ.

Too many skeletons

Roman managed to shove JJ off, causing him to fall backwards into the sand. He caught your eye for just a moment, distracting him long enough that Roman was able to land a solid punch.

The look in your eyes made JJ’s stomach churn nauseatingly, and he swore seeing you that terrified was more painful than the punch itself. He couldn’t decipher who you were actually worried about, but when he saw Roman reeling back to hit him again, he knew he didn’t have the time to worry about it.

Rolling to the side, he barely managed to dodge Roman’s fist. When he missed, it made Roman tumble forward, giving JJ the opportunity to clamber to his feet.

The kooks steered clear of JJ this time, no one daring to interfere now. Still, he could hear the kooks egging Roman on when JJ wiped the fresh blood dripping from the cut on his lip.

Despite himself, he looked at you once more.

The fear in your eyes made him tense, but you still didn’t look away from him. It made him realize that ever since the fight began, you’d only been looking at him.

Too hard to keep them in the closet where they've been

He looked at you long enough to see your head shake just slightly, but before he could respond, Roman was knocking him to the ground. He felt another hit to the face, dizzying him for a moment before he shoved Roman to the side, hard enough that JJ was able to climb up and land another punch to the face.

He hit him hard, noticing a few spots of blood staining the sand around them.

The pain stinging his face and knuckles was getting harder to ignore, but he wasn’t one to back away from a fight. Especially from a kook who deserved to get a few teeth knocked in.

“Roman, don’t-” Your voice rang out, just before he noticed Roman’s hand closing around an empty beer bottle.

He brought it over JJ’s head, and JJ just barely reacted in time, throwing his hands up to block it, wincing when it shattered over his arms.

“JJ!” He heard you shriek. He almost felt proud in a sickening way, that it was his name you called out, that it was him you were worried about, that it was him you wanted to be okay.

We all make stupid mistakes sometimes

JJ dropped his hands from in front of his face, vaguely aware of the cuts along his arms from the shards of glass. He wanted to look at you, wanted to see how you were feeling.

More than anything, he wanted to hold you.

But still, Roman was glaring up at him, and JJ had to lurch back to avoid getting hit across the face. Quickly, JJ brought a hand back, ready to hit him again.

Before he could, though, two arms wrapped around him and dragged him up to his feet. He struggled instinctively, before realizing it was only John B. His brows were furrowed, and he was going off on him, lecturing him about something he couldn’t process with his heartbeat still loud in his ears and adrenaline still flowing in his veins.

He dragged JJ away from the scene, shoving past kooks that were sneering at the two of them, and continuing to scold him.

You're the one that I miss the most

He looked back only one time while John B was dragging him off to the Twinkie, his breath catching in his throat when he saw you. You were gently lifting Roman to his feet, running a hand over a cut on his cheek like you’d done so often to JJ.

It made his chest burn to know you weren’t his.

John B sat JJ in the passenger seat of the Twinkie, and only then did JJ see Kiara and Pope also trailing behind them, now climbing into the van after him.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his head. The image of you staring at him in horror was burned into his mind. Over and over, he could hear you calling his name, the way your voice cracked when you were terrified for him.

Worst of all, he couldn’t stop thinking of how quickly you went to Roman the second the fight was over.

Pope gave him a concerned look every minute or so while he drove to the Chateau. Everyone knew how uncharacteristic it was for JJ to be so quiet, but no one wanted to bring up what had just happened.

He was spiraling, and everyone knew it. Even him.

JJ pulled his phone out, sending you a text before he could stop himself.

I saw that a text I sent was left on read

Once they got to the Chateau, John B followed JJ into the guest room, dipping quickly into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit on the way there.

“You’re an idiot.” John B’s tone was harsh, and he set the first aid kit on the nightstand, disappearing for less than a minute to wet a cloth and appearing back in the room to start cleaning up his wounds.

“I know.” JJ’s voice was hoarse, and he was so resigned that John B almost faltered. He thought JJ would still be defensive, and it would lead to an argument.

There was nothing left from JJ, though. He was like a walking corpse, just running on autopilot with the knowledge that you were gone for good.

JJ pulled his phone back out, looking at the text he sent you from the car.

I’m sorry.

You read it a little over ten minutes ago.

He couldn’t stop thinking about all the times he’d gone to you after a fight. You would always chastise him for getting hurt or getting in a fight in the first place, but you were always impossibly gentle.

Gentle in a way John B wasn’t. In a way he couldn’t be. Because no matter how carefully John B tried to help him, he still wasn’t you.

“Ow, dude!” JJ swatted John B’s hand away from his face when he dragged over a cut a little too harshly, grabbing the wet cloth from him. “Jesus, I’ll do it myself.”

Well, I guess I get the message

John B sighed, dropping his head in disappointment before looking back up at him, a stern look on his face.

“Fine. I’ll leave you be. But jesus, JJ, you have to get your shit together.”

JJ nodded, watching John B leave without another word, closing the door to the bedroom a little harder than usual.

Taking a deep breath, JJ stared back down at his phone.

Then he threw it across the room.

It landed on the carpet, rolling a few times before finally stopping. Luckily, it was unharmed, but that still didn’t quell JJ’s anger.

He stood from his spot on the bed, running a hand through his hair, cursing to himself.

“What the fuck, JJ? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He muttered, pacing from one end of the room to the other.

How could he be so stupid? Why did he have to call you that night? Why did he have to ruin everything?

JJ finally dropped back into the bed, fighting back the harsh tears stinging in his eyes. His energy was entirely sapped, and the damp cloth John B was using to clean up his wounds had gone long forgotten on the nightstand beside the still unopened first aid kit.

I lied when I said I really loved your friends

After carefully guiding Roman away from the crowd and inside, you could still hear your friends talking about what happened. You used the term friends loosely, as they were mostly people you knew through Roman, most of which you’d only spoken to a few times.

Now that you set Roman down on a couch, you were staring down at the text JJ just sent you when you happened to overhear the conversation happening behind you.

“I mean, he’s just out of control!” A girl you’d spoken to maybe three times had said. Her name was Mandi, you caught the way she was looking at your boyfriend the whole night. It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would.

“I know!” Another girl spoke up. She’d introduced herself to you earlier, but you couldn’t remember her name for the life of you. “It’s no surprise though, those pogues are insane!”

You stiffened. They were talking about JJ. Your JJ.

“Well, it’s no shocker, right? Have you seen his dad? He spends so much time locked up, of course he raised someone like that!”

You turned, momentarily forgetting your boyfriend and the bruises all over his face.

JJ had always been polite when you had to sneak off to hang out with the kooks. When you called them your friends, JJ never said anything about it, even though you could see how little he trusted them. You knew better than anyone how much JJ hated them, but he never slandered them to you, all he would do is carefully remind you of your worth.

That’s always what he’d done. Remind you of your worth. And you were worth more than this.

Well, I never did

“Can you just shut up?” The words spilled from your lips before you could catch them, and suddenly everyone was staring at you.

“Excuse me?” One of the girls gives you a look, expecting you to back down the instant you got any pushback.

“Don’t tell me you’re defending the guy that beat the shit out of your boyfriend.” Another said, and you briefly remembered where you were, who you were surrounded by. You cast a guilty look to Roman, who was still sat on the couch, now glaring harshly at you.

“I-” Your brain felt scrambled, trapped between your best friends and the group of kooks staring at you. “JJ’s my friend.”

The girls exchanged looks, holding back a laugh. You took a step away from them, beginning to realize that you’ve been more worried about JJ than Roman this whole time.

For a moment, you remembered the day JJ pulled you aside to remind you how much better than these kooks you were. You tried to brush him off, but he wouldn’t let you. He kept his hands on your shoulders until he felt like he’d cemented the fact that you deserved better in your mind.

“You know what?” Your voice sounded much stronger than you felt. “You’re all assholes.”

With that, you spun around, heading towards the door. For a second, you weren’t sure of where you were going, but the destination was engrained deep within your soul.

My brain holds too many poisons

Just before you could get to the door, you felt a hand on your arm, pulling you back.

“Y/N.” Roman’s voice was tight, holding back a deep anger. “Don’t leave.”

Looking up at him, you hesitated. His eye was swollen, and there was a cut on his cheek with a dark bruise forming along his jaw. When he opened his mouth, you could see blood faintly staining his teeth.

“JJ’s my friend.” You repeated, keeping your voice even.

“Well, your friend just attacked me.” He kept his hand on your arm, tightening his grip a little more. “I can’t believe you’re still defending him after what he did, you’re insane!”

You were too conflicted. Sure, it hurt seeing him like this, but you couldn’t shake the worry you had for JJ. It was a worry you couldn’t shake after being the one to clean him up after a fight so many times.

“I’m not-” You stopped, taking a breath to collect your thoughts.

“Not what? He’s just trying to ruin our relationship, why can’t you see that?” The way he raised his voice made you flinch back, eyes wide with shock. “He’s always been trying to ruin us, ever since- ever since he left you that stupid voicemail!”

They helped me make the wrong choices

Every part of your body tensed up, staring at him.

“What voicemail?”

It felt like something was happening around you, like there was something big looming just behind you but you couldn’t see it yet.

Roman hesitated, his grip on your arm loosening enough that you could pull away. “I didn’t mean-”

“What voicemail, Roman?” It felt like you were outside of your own body watching this happen. Your voice felt distant, as if you weren’t the one speaking.

“Nothing.” He reached out for your hand, growing exasperated. The way he tried to grab you felt performative, like he was trying to play the part of the perfect boyfriend. “Let’s just talk, okay? In private.” He glanced for a moment at the group of girls still standing nearby, whispering while they stared the two of you down.

All he cared about was his reputation.

You took a step back, your brows furrowing. “No.”

“No?” He looked at you, the possessive tone making your stomach churn. “Y/N. Let’s talk.”

Another few steps and you’d be at the door. You could leave right now if you wanted.

But you needed answers.

“What. Voicemail.” You asked again, twisting your arm away from him when he tried to grab it.

We all make stupid mistakes sometimes

Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That night he called you. He left a voicemail.” He started to explain, not looking at you.

“No, he didn’t.” You looked at him, confused, taking another step away from him. “No, he- I didn’t see a voicemail. He didn’t leave a voicemail.”

Still refusing to look at you, Roman shook his head.

“That’s cause I deleted it.”

And the ball drops.

You stared at him for a long time, feeling your world turning upside down in real time. A trust broken forever in the blink of an eye.

“How did you even-” You whispered, taking another step back. Just a few more and you’d be gone.

“You told me your phone password a few months ago.” Despite the guilt in his tone, when he finally met your gaze, he looked at you as if it was your fault. As if you should take the blame for daring to trust him.

Your mind jumped to every moment you let him borrow your phone, every moment you gave it to him for safekeeping, every moment you trusted him.

But I make them more than most

“We’re done.” You said, taking a final step back. You were at the door now, resting a hand on the handle.

“No, wait-” He rushed towards you, pulling on your wrist. “Please, hear me out.”

“Hear you out?” Your voice was louder than you expected, and if stragglers from the party weren’t staring at you already, they definitely were now. “You looked through my phone?”

You couldn’t believe this. You felt like your head was spinning. Pulling away, you threw the door open, storming outside, hearing his footsteps following just behind you.

“It was just to see what the voicemail said! I swear, I just- I did it 'cause I love you!”

You froze.

Neither of you had said those words yet.

Spinning around, you glared at him, desperately trying to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes. “No, you don’t!”

He caught up to you almost immediately, putting both hands on your shoulders. “I swear, I just did it 'cause I didn’t want you to get all confused. I know you used to have feelings for him…”

Used to?

“What did he say?” You asked, forcing yourself not to look away from him.

“Please-”

“What. Did. He. Say.” His touch on your shoulders was making you feel sick, but you didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“He- he said he loved you. Kept going on about how I wasn’t treating you right, that he would treat you better-”

“He’s right.” Finally pulling away, you gave him as firm of a look as you could manage with tears in your eyes.

And it's my fault that I live my life

“I can’t believe you.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, turning away from him and walking away from the beach. The party had almost entirely died down by now, but you could still feel every eye on you as you stormed away from Roman, wiping angry tears from your eyes.

He called after you, but you refused to turn around. Your mind had already shifted to the thought of JJ, wondering if he was okay.

You walked past a few groups of people before you finally made it out of the sand, reaching the street.

Faintly, you could still hear him calling after you, begging you to reconsider and give him a second chance. His voice sounded desperate like he was starting to cry.

Sniffling, you wiped away another tear that slipped down your cheek.

You still didn’t turn around.

Running away from ghosts

The Chateau wasn’t very far from the party, but it was still a bit of a walk. Long enough that the times you’d wanted to walk back, JJ never let you go alone.

You sighed at the memory, kicking a rock as you took another step.

It didn’t help that after five minutes, you felt a droplet of water hit you. It was starting to rain.

Still, you continued on, the thought of JJ sitting alone in the guest room of the Chateau only encouraging you further. Logically, you knew he could reach out to John B, Pope, or Kiara if he wanted to. But you also knew he wouldn’t. He had a tendency to shut down, pushing people away in his worst moments.

You walked right past his house, knowing better than to check to see if he was even home. Especially after a party, there was no way he’d be going home like that.

The rain continued to fall, growing quickly from a small drizzle into pouring rain. It didn’t take long for your clothes to be soaked through before you even made it halfway to the house.

Too many skeletons

As you trudged down the street, you couldn’t help but think about JJ. You’d been avoiding him and the pogues for weeks. You knew they weren’t stupid enough to know you were pushing them away, saying no every time they wanted to hang out with you. Part of you worried he wouldn’t even want to see you again, but you couldn’t let it happen. You needed to talk to him again.

The last time you hung out with JJ alone felt like years ago. Sure, you’d hung out with the pogues and he’d been there, but you and JJ hadn’t hung out just the two of you in forever.

He snuck in through your window – you started keeping a ladder by it just in case ever since the second time he showed up unannounced. He brought snacks and sat next to you in your bed while you watched movies for hours.

Despite the rain and the tears streaming down your face, you smiled at the memory before your face quickly fell, remembering just how long ago it was. It happened about a week before you started dating Roman. A week before your relationship with JJ got tense and distant.

How could you be so stupid? How could you let Roman ruin everything?

Another tear slipped down your face, mixing with the rain.

Too hard to keep them in the closet where they've been

After a while, you looked up, seeing the Chateau in the distance. You picked up your pace, a newfound energy in you once your destination was in sight.

The lights were on, and through one of the windows, you could see someone moving around. Squinting, you noticed it couldn’t be JJ. The movements were too casual, and the silhouette wasn’t quite right.

“John B,” You whispered, running a hand over your face to wipe off some of the rainwater that covered you.

When you got closer, you saw Kiara and Pope sitting outside on the covered porch. They immediately halted their conversation when they saw you, staring wide-eyed.

“Uh,” You walked up the steps, facing them nervously. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Kiara gave you a tight smile, glancing at Pope, the two having a silent conversation.

“How’s Roman’s face?” Pope asked, earning another look from Kiara.

“He’s… I don’t know, I-” You stopped, having so much you wanted to say, but you couldn’t form a coherent sentence. After a moment, you took a shaky breath. “I kinda just broke up with him.”

“Oh shit.” Pope leaned forward in his seat.

“You did? Oh my god.” You could tell from the look in Kiara’s eyes that her first thought was JJ. She was the first one you told about how in love with him you were, after all.

There was a beat of silence, where none of you knew what to say.

“He’s, uh, he’s inside,” Kiara said quietly, nodding towards the house.

You nodded, turning away from them to knock at the door.

We all make stupid mistakes sometimes

You heard immediate shuffling once you knocked at the door.

It wasn’t long before John B pulled the door open, freezing when he saw you.

“Can I see him?” You asked, not even realizing you were still shivering from the rain.

“Uh,” He glanced behind him, craning his neck to look down the hall to the guest room where the door was still shut.

“Please.” John B looked back at you, seeing the desperation in your eyes.

“Yeah. He’s in his room.”

He stepped aside and you walked into the Chateau. The instant you were inside, you felt the memories flooding back to you. It was painful, realizing that you were pushing your best friends away.

“Need a towel?” John B’s voice brought you out of your daze. “You’re kinda-” He gestured vaguely to you, shivering and soaked to the bone.

You had half a mind to say no, wanting nothing more than to beeling to the guest room to see JJ. Still, John B was already grabbing a towel, tossing it into your arms.

Quickly, you wiped it over your face, drying off as much as you could. You were still freezing, but you felt slightly better.

“Thank you.” Carefully, you set the towel down, now looking down the hallway where the guest room was.

At first, your steps were slow, but by the time you reached the door, you were practically running.

You're the one that I miss the most

You burst through the door, freezing in your tracks when you saw JJ.

He was sat at the head of the bed, covering his face with his hands, not looking up at you. His hair was messed up, and you could clearly see the bruises and cuts along his knuckles, still fresh from the fight. You didn’t get a good glimpse of his face at the party, and you knew it was going to kill you to see what Roman did to him.

At the sound of the door opening, JJ sighed quietly. He looked so defeated.

“John B, can you just-”

“JJ.” You breathed out, making him visibly tense. He looked up quickly, disbelief in his eyes.

You couldn’t form any words past his name, staring at the boy you loved for so long. There were tear stains on his face, and the sight almost destroyed you. Seeing him sitting there, staring back at you, just as speechless as you felt, made your heart swell.

The feeling faded almost instantly, and you felt sick to your stomach when his gaze shifted, and a wave of forced indifference fell over his features.

My brain holds too many poisons

“What are you doing here?” His voice had a harshness to it that you fought hard to ignore.

“I-” You tried to speak, but your voice kept getting caught in your throat.

All you could do was stare at him. How much he’d changed in two weeks and how little he changed at the same time. He looked endlessly tired, and he had his guard up in a way he didn’t have since the two of you met.

“JJ-”

“You shouldn’t be here. Don’t you have a boyfriend to be taking care of?” The coldness in his voice made you shrink in on yourself.

“I don’t- I was-” You forced yourself to inhale, before exhaling slowly. “I was worried about you.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be.” His voice wasn’t as harsh now, but you could hear the bitterness behind it.

The fact that you hurt JJ hurt you so much that you almost started crying again.

They helped me make the wrong choices

He’s refusing to look at you, but you can still see the damage Roman had done.

Slowly, you walked toward him, gently lifting his chin to make him look at you, your gaze softening at how bad his face looked. It was slightly reassuring to see that they didn’t look nearly as bad as Roman’s looked, but it hurt more seeing JJ hurt like this.

He moved your hand away, being gentle with you despite the glare still on his face.

“John B cleaned me up. Why are you here?”

“He didn’t do a very good job.” You said, noticing the first aid kit and the damp cloth still sitting on the nightstand.

Opening it, you inspect what supplies you have to work with, before grabbing the cloth and turning back to JJ.

“Can I?”

He nodded ever so slightly, not looking at you.

As carefully as you could, you began to clean up his face. He had a busted lip, and there was a cut under one of his eyes with a bruise forming around it. When he hissed in pain at your touch, you stop for a moment, moving as gently and carefully as possible.

We all make stupid mistakes sometimes

Once you finished up, you took a step back to inspect his face. He still won’t look up at you, and you understood why. You couldn’t blame him for being angry.

“I fucked up, I know.” You sighed, picking the damp cloth back up.

JJ said nothing, finally looking at you while you carefully picked up his hand, cradling it in yours. You inspected the bruises along his knuckles, frowning.

“This looks bad.” You muttered, dabbing the wet cloth over the few cuts on his hand.

“Looks worse than it feels.” He said, his voice softer now. It didn’t have the same coldness to it anymore, and you had to stop yourself from tearing up at the thought that he just might forgive you.

You stayed silent for a while, trying to ignore JJ’s gaze burning into you while you worked on his hand. JJ was the one to break the silence, shifting slightly in his spot on the bed.

“You’re soaking wet.” There was a rasp to his voice while he observed you, noticing the slight shiver while your clothes clung to your body.

“It started raining while I was running over here.” You replied now that you finished cleaning his knuckles, voice so quiet JJ had to strain to hear you.

But I make them more than most

Hesitantly, you took a seat next to him on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

“I never knew, you know.” You tucked your knees close to your chest, not looking at him. “How you felt.”

“Then why did you ignore me? You told me not to speak to you again-” JJ stopped himself, noticing the way he was raising his voice. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Just- why?”

“My boyfriend.” You started, resting your head on your knees. Still, you couldn’t look at him, a deep-rooted shame building within you, disappointed at yourself for listening to Roman blindly. “He told me you were trying to ruin my relationship.”

JJ rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. He inhaled sharply, opening his mouth to speak again when you stopped him.

“I broke up with him.”

Now, JJ’s full focus was on you, the anger in his eyes dying just a little. “You what?”

“I didn’t know about the voicemail.” You continued, shifting a little in your seat.

JJ reached a hand out, resting it on your leg as a silent reminder.

A reminder that he’s here for you. After everything.

And it's my fault that I live my life

“I didn’t know, I really didn’t.” You said quietly, cringing at the way your voice broke.

The bed dipped a little when JJ moved, leaning forward to look at you.

“Hey-”

“He deleted it, I never-” You turn slightly to look at him, realizing just how close he was to you now. “I never heard it.”

“It’s fine, I was drunk. It was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry it happened.” He looked away from you for only a moment before his eyes were on you again. “I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything.” You turned your attention to JJ’s hand still on your leg, his thumb rubbing up and down.

“Y/N-” He started, sighing softly.

“No, JJ, don’t.” You knew JJ well enough to know he would start blaming himself, and you tried to put a stop to it, putting your hands on either side of his face.

Running away from ghosts

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I shouldn’t have listened to him, he-” With a start, you realized how close you were to JJ now, not having the heart to move your hands away from his face.

“Okay. I believe you. It wasn’t my fault.” He said, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

“He’s an asshole.” You tried to laugh it off, but it fell short when you saw JJ’s eyes dart down to your lips before focusing back on your eyes.

“So,” He whispered, one of his hands resting on your waist, the other still on your leg. “Why did you come here, anyway?”

The question hung in the air, floating in the small space between you and JJ. He was only inches away, and it was becoming increasingly hard to focus on anything other than the urge to kiss him.

“Y/N?” He spoke up again when you didn’t respond. But who could blame you? He was so close, looking at you so softly that it was making your brain short-circuit.

“I needed to see you.” You finally said, looking between JJ’s eyes and his lips.

JJ didn’t respond, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher.

Too many skeletons

“Why did you need to see me?” He asked after what felt like forever.

“I was worried about you. I had to make sure you were okay.” Your voice was soft, whispering like the words were meant for JJ alone.

“I’m okay.” He said, his voice holding the same softness yours did.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from him, dropping your hands to your lap. JJ, however, kept his hands on you, bringing the hand on your waist up to rub your arm.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for letting Roman ruin our friendship. I just- I was just scared.” You couldn’t look up at him, dropping your gaze down to your lap.

“Scared of what?” He leaned forward slightly, still needing to be so close to you.

“I think I was just scared of my feelings.” The second the words left your mouth, you felt warm all over, not wanting to be rejected by JJ after everything.

“Your feelings?”

You nodded, keeping your attention down, fiddling with the blanket laid over the top of the bed.

Too hard to keep them in the closet where they've been

“I’ve always liked you, JJ. I’ve- I’ve always loved you.”

JJ’s breath hitched, and you could hear him whisper your name. Still, you don’t look up at him, unable to make eye contact with how vulnerable you felt.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, and you don’t move away when one of his hands rests over yours. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

Weakly, you looked up at him, seeing a fondness in his eyes that you’d never seen before. There was a smile pulling at his lips

You found yourself entranced by the look in his eyes, unable to look away.

We all make stupid mistakes sometimes

“It was stupid, I shouldn’t have left you because he told me to.” He leaned closer, listening to your apology with a newfound giddiness. “I’m sorry.”

There was a frown on your face despite the growing smile on his own face.

“You love me?”

For a moment, you were surprised, suddenly feeling very vulnerable with the way JJ was looking at you. It felt like he could see into your soul, unearthing every secret you’d ever had.

“I-” There was a part of you that wanted to deny it, to save face and tell him you didn’t mean it. But something about the way he was staring at you like you held all the stars in your eyes made you stop. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you. Of course I do, JJ.”

His grin grew wider, and he leaned closer still.

You're the one that I miss the most

JJ put one hand on your cheek, his other hand still resting over your hand. As gently as he could, he pulled you toward him until your face was inches away from his.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart beating fast in your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, so close to you that his nose was touching yours.

Instead of responding, you closed the distance between you two, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck while he brought you closer.

Finally, when you pulled back for air, JJ rested his forehead against yours.

“I missed you.” He mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

You grinned, feeling like your heart might beat entirely out of your chest as you shut him up with another kiss. It was a silent agreement between the two of you, to never leave again.

An agreement that you would be here for each other. After everything.

#jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader

295 notes · View notes

gwen-ever · 19 days ago

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Chapter 2: The Traitor

Hey there, fabulous readers! 🖤 This is not your usual Chapter 1—it’s the remastered, deluxe edition! 🎉 I’ve sprinkled in extra details, hidden gems, and juicy insights that I think you’ll absolutely love. Think of it as the director’s cut of this fic! While you’re diving into this revamped chapter, know that I’m also hard at work crafting brand-new, never-before-seen chapters (exciting, right?!). These will hit your screens on either Saturdays or Sundays—so mark your calendars and keep an eye out! ⏳ A little extra fun: I’d love to hear your thoughts! What do you think is going to happen between Thorin and Geira? 🤔 Do you have any spicy theories or suspicions about where the story is headed? Drop your predictions—I’m dying to know! 🔮 Thank you so much for your incredible support—it means the world to me. If you enjoyed this chapter, consider leaving a review or reblogging it on Tumblr. Seriously, every little bit helps this story grow! 💖 Now, let’s jump back into the action and explore all the new twists and turns. Enjoy! Huge thank you to @lathalea to being my beta reader and tell me when I am messing up! <3 Mashkil: Dirt 'Angûna: Filth

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived… whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin’s past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins’ house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC Rating: M Warnings: none. AO3 LINK: HERE

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“What is she doing here?” roared Thorin Oakenshield, pointing an accusatory finger at the newcomer, who had just set her wooden bow down in a corner and removed her heavy black travelling cloak.

She felt the king's gaze burn into her like fire but avoided looking at him, even as he stepped closer, like an animal poised to attack. Instead, she raised her eyes towards the tall figure of the wizard, who smiled at her faintly from the corner of his mouth.

“My dear Geira, allow me to introduce our host, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf announced in a composed tone, ignoring, like her, the dwarven king’s question.

With small steps, Gandalf moved to one side, gesturing towards the small hobbit standing in the centre of the hallway.

“Good evening.” The hobbit tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her.

She guessed that he probably didn’t like being surrounded by so many intruders. Now that another one had arrived, he was likely in complete panic. She understood, as she could imagine how bewildering the scene must be for him.

For a brief moment, she felt sincere sympathy for him. But she herself was not in the best of moods, and maintaining that façade of indifference was becoming increasingly difficult.

Maintaining her composure, she offered him a small smile, inclined her head slightly, and touched her chest while clutching the edge of her red tunic. “Geira, daughter of Geiri, at your service,” she introduced herself.

“Traitor to her people!” Dwalin added scornfully, shouting at the top of his lungs.

She tried to ignore the dwarf’s words and continued smiling faintly at the hobbit before her. But then another voice, one she could never forget even in a thousand years, spoke.

“What are you doing here, filthy mashkil ?” Thorin growled, his voice reverberating through the house.

Her resolve to stay calm shattered like a crystal glass thrown to the ground.

Geira lifted her eyes, finally meeting Thorin’s. His icy blue gaze bore into hers, cold as a winter’s night during a snowstorm. Yet what she felt was... nothing.

She felt nothing. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

“No one asked for you to speak, King Under the Mountain,” she spat.

The moment she finished speaking, several elderly dwarves around the table erupted with exclamations. In an instant, some of them stood up, shouting at her.

One dwarf in particular kicked over his stool and slammed his two iron fists onto the wooden table, making it groan under the force.

“Filthy traitor, say that again!” Dwalin roared. “I dare you to say it again!”

Her eyes were drawn to the muscles of his arms, rippling with anger, and to the scars on his forearms, which seemed to take on a life of their own. She needed to extract herself from the situation—for the sake of the promise she had made to herself.

“Sit down, Dwalin...” Geira murmured.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do, angûna . Just breathing your air disgusts me. You should die for daring to show your face here!”

“This is not dwarven territory...”

“As long as I am under this roof, everything around me is dwarven territory!”

At this, however, Geira couldn’t suppress a sneer. “It’s ironic that you’re so preoccupied with noticing and acknowledging my presence instead of thinking about how to reclaim your territory,” she shot back, staring him down.

The dwarf roared, stepping away from the table with a swift movement.

“One word from you, Thorin, and I’ll make her regret it bitterly! Damned traitor!” he bellowed, consumed by rage.

Geira turned her gaze to the Dwarven king, who remained standing. She locked eyes with him, waiting silently for his response to the warrior dwarf’s demand. And she got it.

The frown on Thorin’s brow deepened, but his gaze remained cold—icy and terrifying, like the last look he had given her long ago.

Thorin opened his mouth to issue a command, but both were interrupted by the most unexpected voice, which, to her surprise, came to her defence.

“Excuse me, but I don’t believe that’s the proper way to speak to a lady.” All eyes turned to the side of the corridor—to Bilbo.

The hobbit stammered under their scrutiny, adjusting his stance with his feet planted together.

“Although, I mean... If she’s what you’re saying... or what you think you’re saying,” he added, glancing at Thorin. “But not in my home. No, sir!” He tugged on the straps of his trousers, more out of irritation than anything else.

Geira released her grip on the sword hilt at her side, startled by the hobbit’s boldness towards Thorin. That small gesture of courage piqued her interest, a rarity for her these days.

She noticed Gandalf’s amused glance at the hobbit, who rocked on his heels, likely expecting Dwalin and Thorin to return to their seats—but they didn’t.

Instead, the clatter of dishes and a few chuckles from the adjoining sitting room broke the icy silence that had descended upon them, dispelling the tension that had thickened like frost.

“Uh-oh! Someone’s angered Master Dwalin! Take this pint, brother, and tread carefully.”

“Watch it yourself, you’re the one stepping on my foot, Kili!”

“Well, then move over! We’re missing all the fun because of you!”

The entire room quickly turned towards the source of the noise—all except for one dwarf: Thorin, who kept his eyes fixed on the dwarf woman without a moment’s distraction.

Before Geira could wonder what was happening, two young dwarves appeared from the kitchen, each carrying two pints. One had hair as golden as molten gold, and the other sported dark and curly locks that were painfully familiar.

Geira held her breath for a few seconds.

“Oh, shut it, Fili! You’re always in the way. If you’d just step aside, I might figure out why they’ve all stopped shouting too,” said the younger dwarf, lifting the pints to take a seat.

“Surely Uncle has finished,” the other replied, mimicking his brother’s movements. “Or the other... burg... lady... has arrived…”

The blonde dwarf didn’t finish his sentence as his blue eyes landed on Geira.

His jaw dropped, causing the twin braids of his moustache to sway.

The hazel-haired dwarf tilted his head to the side as he observed his brother in confusion, slowly lowering himself into a seat.

“What’s a burg... lady?”

Finally, his gaze also fell upon her. But unlike his brother’s stunned expression, his open mouth soon curved into a warm smile.

“SO YOU’RE THE NEW MEMBER! WELCOME!” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air, pints still in hand.

Geira said nothing, remaining impassive, all while feeling the other brother’s gaze still upon her.

“WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? SIT DOWN! I EVEN HAVE AN EXTRA PINT FOR YOU IF YOU WANT IT!”

“Kili...” Thorin growled a warning.

“Why were you all shouting like that? And why are you still standing? We were about to explain to Mister Baggins how...”

“Kili,” the elder of the two brothers interrupted, motioning with a glance towards Geira’s sword hilt.

Geira noticed Fili’s eyes and quickly covered the visible seal on the pommel of her sword with her hand. Yet his blue eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re a...”

“Fili, Kili, silence!” Thorin stopped them, but Kili persisted, seemingly unaware that they were only making matters worse.

“Oh, come on, Uncle, it’s wonderful! It will be all...”

“Silence, I said!” Thorin’s roar shook the room, his fist slamming against the table.

Both brothers froze, mouths agape, stunned by their uncle’s sudden outburst. Yet they obeyed, remaining silent as instructed, although their eyes cast accusatory glances of the room. They instinctively knew something wasn’t right.

Geira’s hand slipped away from her sword hilt, her fingers falling as if pulled by an invisible force. Though she avoided meeting the two brothers’ gazes, she felt the weight of their silent scrutiny. They sat back down quietly, their eyes fixed on her.

The dwarven king, however, narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening as he shifted his focus back to Gandalf.

A heavy silence once again filled the room, laden with unspoken words.

“I want her gone,” Thorin declared emotionlessly.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Gandalf replied calmly as he returned to his seat.

“I won’t allow her to stay here. I won’t permit her to remain near my company and endanger it simply with her presence,” Thorin growled lowly. “I don’t trust her, and I don’t trust anything she says!” he snapped, refusing to look at her.

Geira clenched her fists, struggling to remain calm, though it was becoming increasingly difficult.

How dare he speak of trust? Him, of all people—he who had betrayed her.

How dare he!

She gritted her teeth as a blind fury clouded her vision.

“You’ll have to, for I have done what I thought was right, and recalling her from exile is the right choice,” Gandalf interjected.

“The right choice?” Thorin’s voice rose, his piercing blue eyes glinting dangerously. “And how would we know that?”

Gandalf gestured towards Geira, encouraging her to speak with a slight nod of his head. Thirteen heads turned towards her, and even Thorin finally rested his cold gaze upon her.

For a moment, his mere glance made her falter, causing her to choke on the words she had not yet uttered. Yet she had to say them—for herself, for her father, for her 120 years of exile, and for all the pain she had endured because of the cursed dwarf staring at her.

Swallowing her anger, her vision slowly cleared.

“I am here to fulfil my oath,” she said, looking the dwarven king straight in the eyes.

A subtle shiver swept through the room, penetrating to the bones of those present.

A dull thud echoed through the room—the sound of a cup slamming onto the wooden table.

“This is too much!” Dwalin roared, rising to his feet again. “Thorin, just say a word and I’ll take her head off her shoulders, as I should have done years ago!”

Thorin didn’t respond to Dwalin, keeping his attention fixed on her.

“Your oath?” he asked, his tone unnervingly calm.

With a few strides, he closed the distance between them, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. “Your oath holds no value anymore. It was broken long ago. Your words, your oath, are nothing but a heap of cold ash!”

She almost dug her nails into her palm. “An oath is for life. You were there when I swore it.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched again, his breathing unsteady.

“And I was there when you broke it,” he growled lowly. “Right in front of my eyes...”

A pang of pain tore through her chest, memories of that day rushing back to her. She could see his look again, feel the tears streaking her face, feel her heart being torn from her chest. She could see her world burning before her eyes, her life reduced to ashes—and then... exile.

The exile he had condemned her to.

“I have no intention of fulfilling my oath for you , if that’s what concerns you, King Under the Mountain,” she spat.

“I don’t care why you want to keep it. I don’t need you to keep it!” Thorin roared, enraged. “Your words mean nothing to me, a'lâju Mahal !”

His words were followed by the screech of a chair being pushed back.

“Thorin...” Balin whispered, but Thorin was unstoppable, like a raging fire.

“You have no place among us, no honour, no name, no clan! You are nothing! Your oaths were broken the moment you turned your back on us. Your blood is tainted, just like your father’s!”

For Geira, this was the final straw.

She approached him with a few steps, glaring down at him, her words pouring out like an unstoppable torrent.

“Then let Dwalin take my head now, this instant, for I assure you, Thorin, son of Thrain, that I would rather be buried in the ground than keep the words I once swore to your family!” she retorted mercilessly. “If I could, I would take them back one by one!”

“Silence, traitor!” he shouted at her, slamming his fist against the wall beside him.

“ENOUGH!”

Darkness suddenly descended over everyone present, enveloping the room in a dense, almost tangible shadow. Before Geira could respond, a profound silence fell around them, broken only by the power Gandalf had just unleashed.

Gandalf looked down with an intensity that seemed to shrink them, as if the darkness itself sought to break their determination.

Almost. For as sure as the sunrise, dwarves were not easily intimidated—even when the shadow’s power belonged to a wizard.

“You dwarves and your stubbornness! You’ll ruin us all before we even begin our journey! Geira will come with us. If I say her presence is essential, then it is essential! Her reasons do not matter to me, nor should they to any of you!”

“It does matter,” Thorin’s deep voice rose from the silence that had gripped his companions. “You cannot ask us to trust her, Gandalf. What she did is...”

“I know, but I ask you, for the sake of this mission, to set aside old grievances. Otherwise, we won’t get far if you keep quarrelling. When we reach the Lonely Mountain...” Gandalf paused briefly, taking a deep breath. “Geira will accompany us there and help us reclaim it, and then...”

“Then I’ll leave, if that’s what you wish, Thorin Oakenshield,” Geira interrupted, glancing at Thorin’s hand still resting against the wall beside her.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and slowly stepped back, returning to his seat. “That is what I wish for now—that you leave—and that will not change,” he stated, casting a glance at her hair, so short that it revealed her neck, shoulders, and part of her ears.

The same length it had been when he last saw her.

“I don’t want it to change...” she replied, ashamed of those short locks once more after so long.

The cut he had given her.

And with one last disgusted glance from Thorin at her head, the discussion came to an end. Geira bit her tongue, lowering her gaze. After that long exchange, she accepted the chair that the hobbit kindly offered her with a smile. Meanwhile, the company resumed the conversations they had been having before her arrival.

But the grave atmosphere continued to permeate the room, even as everyone’s focus shifted back to the hobbit.

Geira observed him as Gandalf began explaining the mission to him. It seemed suicidal, at best. The hobbit’s brow furrowed with each new detail, each wrinkle reflecting a small, desperate question. He glanced back and forth between Thorin and Gandalf, his wide eyes almost pleading, as though hoping one of them would reveal that it was all just a cruel joke.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. She felt an odd kinship with him. She knew the instinct to flee, to turn around, and slip out through the round door, pretending none of it had happened.

But she remained rooted in place, her feet practically sinking into the floorboards.

She had given her word to Gandalf and, more importantly, to herself. This time, she wouldn’t run. Her father’s voice echoed faintly in her memory, reminding her that she was more than the whispered stories people told about her. Enough hiding , she thought, steadying her heart.

It was time to face whatever was thrown at her.

A long scroll, resembling a contract, appeared in Gandalf’s hands, drawing her attention back to the room. She watched as the hobbit examined it, his brow tightening, his shoulders slumping with every line, his fingers twitching faintly. Every word seemed to weigh him down, dragging him deeper into the journey that awaited them.

“Incineration?” he asked incredulously, unfurling the parchment further. “...I’m going to faint...” he whispered.

“Think of a furnace with wings: a flash of light, searing pain, and puff! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!” quipped Bofur, peering out from the doorway where he sat.

Bilbo lost all colour in his face, becoming alarmingly pale. To Geira, it looked like an alarm bell; she held her breath until he fainted, collapsing onto the green carpet like a sack of potatoes.

So his courage in speaking to Thorin earlier had been a fleeting spark of bravery?

Chaos erupted in that moment. Everyone leapt to their feet, the floorboards creaking under the sudden commotion. Hands reached out, voices shouted over one another, a frenzied attempt to help—but all they managed to do was create more disorder. The room seemed to come alive with confusion.

“Out. All of you. Now,” Gandalf’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. With a wave of his hand, he ushered them outside, sending them stumbling into the open air.

Dwalin and Nori stayed behind, carefully lifting Bilbo with their strong hands and helping him sit upright. They murmured soft, reassuring words to him, though Geira, already heading to the kitchen, barely noticed.

It had been years since she had worked in a proper kitchen, and the delicate dishes felt foreign to her now.

Her fingers brushed the edge of a blue-and-yellow cup, its smooth surface almost startling her. She picked it up carefully. After what felt like an eternity, she finally brought a steaming cup back into the parlour, her hands trembling slightly from the effort.

Bilbo was seated in a deep armchair, his gaze distant and unfocused, his posture rigid. The moment he heard her steps, his eyes darted to her, following her every movement with quiet intensity.

As soon as she approached, his eyes remained fixed on her, watching each of her gestures until she broke the silence, offering him the cup of aromatic tea.

“Your eyes haven’t stopped following me since I stepped through your door, Bilbo Baggins. I get the feeling you have many questions to ask me,” she said, forcing a smile and trying to appear as friendly as possible.

It was so difficult.

“Well, I... uh...” he stammered, unsure how to continue, perhaps embarrassed to have been caught staring.

He watched her silently as she found a spot near the lit fireplace, leaning her back against its side. “Well, you... you’re like them, aren’t you?”

“A dwarf?”

He nodded, shifting the warm cup between his hands. “But, well, I’d heard that dwarf women... had long...” The hobbit trailed off abruptly, glancing quickly at her hair.

She sighed, deciding to tell him a half-truth.

“I cut them a long time ago,” she explained hurriedly, though she tried not to offend him. “As a sign of... mourning,” she murmured.

It wasn’t the whole truth.

Bilbo’s eyes lingered on her, as though trying to read the story hidden in the dark, tormented depths of her gaze. For a moment, his curiosity took root, growing like a vine left undisturbed for too long. When was the last time anyone had intrigued him like this?

The silence between them grew, filled only by the crackling of the fire, until at last, he spoke, unable to resist.

“May I ask another question?” he ventured, watching her eyes gradually lose themselves in the flames. “Is it true, what they said about you earlier? Those names they called you—are they true?”

“Are you afraid I’ll stab you in your sleep?” she retorted sharply, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo cursed himself—cursed his Tookish curiosity.

“N-no... no...”

“I am exiled, yes. But a traitor... that...” She hesitated, staring again into the fire that crackled silently before them. “That I am not. Never...” she said softly, her voice trailing off. “I am here for one purpose only: to fulfil a promise I made long ago, too long ago...” she murmured, turning towards him. Grey, curious but respectful eyes met dark, deep, tormented ones.

“All of you have a purpose, a mission in all this. I... I’m just a hobbit. I’m not what you all think I am...”

Geira watched the hobbit’s fingers tighten around the cup, and her gaze clouded momentarily.

They were good questions he was asking. Yet Gandalf believed in him, and the dwarves in the other room trusted him far more than they trusted her, someone of their own kind.

For a moment, he reminded her of a young dwarven lady in a grand, luxurious room in a distant mountain, years and years ago, questioning what she wanted to do with her life.

Slowly, she moved closer to him, kneeling beside his green armchair and resting her hands on the armrest.

“I believe you’ll only find out if you come with us. There’s much more to you than meets the eye, Bilbo. I saw it before, and... even if you can’t see it, it’s there. It always is,” she said gently, surprised at her own words.

Why was she speaking to him like this, in that tone, as though she knew him? As though she cared about his opinion? Perhaps it was because she hadn’t spoken to anyone this way in years.

“The journey would be fraught with danger—both from outside and within the Company. It would require courage, but also a deep fear of the unknown, to achieve what we need to do. Because what awaits us on the other side of the known world could be everything—or nothing. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to come with us.”

“Danger... within the Company?” Bilbo repeated.

Geira was about to respond when the moment was interrupted by approaching footsteps. The wizard entered, his gaze immediately falling on Bilbo as he checked on the hobbit’s condition.

“Excuse me,” Geira murmured, stepping back and preparing to leave, understanding that it might be better to leave the hobbit with the wizard.

She adjusted her cloak, her fingers brushing the fabric as she approached the door. Just as her hand closed around the handle, Bilbo’s voice called after her.

“Thank you, Lady Geira.”

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a faint smile. “You may call me Geira,” she replied, her voice soft and unexpectedly warm.

Bilbo’s gaze lingered on her, wide-eyed, before quickly shifting back to the cup in his hands. He gave a small nod, his expression a mixture of surprise and gratitude.

Geira caught the subtle smile that curled at the corners of his lips—hesitant, but present. She returned the gesture with a slight smile of her own. With one final look at the hobbit, she opened the door.

The cool night air brushed her face as she stepped out into the darkness, the gentle rustle of leaves accompanying the soft creak of the door closing behind her.

She needed to calm her nerves, to regain the composure and cold detachment that the evening’s events had so thoroughly shaken. From an inner pocket of her cloak, she retrieved her long white wooden pipe. From another, she pulled out her pipe weed pouch.

Before long, she was peacefully smoking, seated on the bench just outside the door. Each long puff released small clouds that dissipated into the air; she watched them with her eyes until they disappeared, her mind wandering into the labyrinth of her tangled thoughts.

From the moment Gandalf had appeared before her in that human village, she had known this would be anything but a stroll in the woods. She knew how the others would see her, how they would treat her for the entirety of the journey. What she had experienced earlier was merely a taste of it.

She shook her head, taking another long drag from her pipe to clear her thoughts. She was here for a good reason—she had explained it to Bilbo. She just needed to focus on that and nothing else. It didn’t matter if they ignored her, refused to speak to her along the leagues they would travel, or treated her with suspicion and indifference. She would let them. Their stares would have to slide off her like water on stone.

What Gandalf had told her had haunted her for weeks. The possibility of hope—that if she fulfilled her oath, perhaps, if she survived, she could reclaim her name and return... home.

But did she truly want to go home? Why was she still clinging to a broken oath?

“Are we interrupting?”

A young voice pulled her from her thoughts. Turning, she found herself facing not one, but two young dwarves. They were the same two who had tried to persuade Thorin to include her in the group—Fili and Kili, if she recalled correctly. They had recognised what she was and who she was.

Thorin’s nephews.

Two princes.

Removing the pipe from her mouth, a mix of emotions swirled in her chest—the desire to send them away battling against the impulse to ask them to stay.

“That depends on what you want,” she replied cautiously.

Kili sat beside her without waiting for an invitation. Despite sensing Geira’s wary gaze on him, he paid it no mind.

He pulled out his own pipe and, after lighting it, leaned back on the bench, exhaling small clouds of smoke.

“We just wanted to share some tobacco with you, that’s all,” he insisted, offering a brief smile.

“But perhaps I don’t want to share.”

The younger dwarf widened his eyes and looked at her, almost apologetically.

Geira reproached herself—perhaps that wasn’t the right way to proceed. They were her companions now, and she should at least try not to quarrel with them. Yet the situation was proving so complicated, and the blue eyes of the other brother weren’t making it any easier.

“You should, if you don’t want to isolate yourself before we even set off...” Fili interjected.

Even in the moonlight, his piercing blue eyes gleamed—so familiar it hurt.

She forced herself not to let the sting in his words seep into her voice. “I thought I was already an outcast before we set off, Master Dwarf. And forgive me, but I don’t yet officially know your names, which seems unfair given that you already know mine.”

The dark-haired dwarf sitting next to her laughed, throwing his head back. “You’re right, forgive us. But the earlier circumstances didn’t allow for introductions. I’m Kili, and this is my brother Fili. We’re the sons of Vili.”

Sons of Vili, this mean that they were also Dís’s sons.

A pang in her stomach made her grip her pipe tightly, and suddenly her chest felt incredibly heavy.

The sons of Dís, Princess Dís.

How many years had passed? Had it truly been so long? Had time around her slowed so much that she didn’t even know how many years she had lived this life?

They had been children, but they were older now—older than she had been when everything had changed.

Geira remained silent, trying to calm her racing heart after the revelation. She took another puff of smoke only to realise she was out of tobacco. She cursed silently, cleaned her pipe, and placed it back in her pocket.

Wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself, she braced against a gust of wind that cut through her heavy travelling clothes.

“You’re not very talkative, are you? Yet you spoke to the hobbit. I heard you!” Kili teased, sitting far too close.

“You’re talkative enough for the both of us, young prince,” she replied.

His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing suspiciously.

Geira explained herself before the situation could escalate. “You called Thorin ‘uncle’ earlier. I don’t possess magical powers, if that’s what you fear.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking. But I am surprised you called me young. You don’t seem as old as Balin, or Dori, or Master Óin...”

This time, it was Geira who smiled. She barely lifted the corner of her lips, but it was enough for Kili—even if he didn’t know it.

“Appearances can be deceiving. To me, you are certainly quite young—mere boys.”

“How old...”

His brother Fili interrupted him sharply, his glacial eyes again fixating on Geira’s sword, just as they had before.“The sword. Where did you..?” “Lads, come back inside, please. The hobbit has decided,” Balin’s voice interrupted Fili’s question as he appeared in the doorway.

This allowed Geira to avoid answering a rather uncomfortable query.

The old dwarf cast her a brief but penetrating glance before retreating indoors with the two brothers, not bothering to check if she followed. Geira chose to remain outside a little longer, alone.

Balin left Bag End’s door slightly ajar, and from the ensuing murmurs and heavy sighs, Geira deduced that Bilbo had refused to join them on their quest.

A part of her felt a deep sadness and regret. She had resigned herself to embarking on this journey with dwarves who despised her, but the burden seemed less heavy knowing that a face less hostile than the others would have been at her side.

She let out a deep sigh, straining to catch snippets of arguments, angry exclamations, or stubborn remonstrances from inside, but her ears were met with an unsettling silence.

Then, softly, a melody hummed through the quiet; Thorin’s voice, deep and warm, filled the air like an intoxicating scent.

Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old, We must away, ere break of day, To find our long-forgotten gold.

Geira froze as the melody swelled. The words were different from what she remembered, but the song struck her deeply.

A powerful grip seemed to seize her chest, as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart. The words carried a bitter flavour, nostalgia for something lost long ago—a longing for home, for family.

Soon, Thorin was no longer the only one singing; the others joined in.

The pines were roaring on the height, The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread, The trees like torches blazed with light.

The song ended, but the sorrow lingered.

Geira quickly retreated further into the shadows of the night, her old and familiar companion, to hide the sadness gripping her chest.

She blinked rapidly to stop the tears from falling and took a deep breath, forcing herself to listen as Thorin gave instructions for the next morning’s departure.

“Get as much rest as possible. Gandalf will guide us to our lodgings...”

The room stirred with movement, signs that everyone was gathering their belongings. Not wanting to be seen in such a pitiful state, Geira decided to wait outside. Perhaps, under the cover of darkness, no one would notice her.

As she expected, the others emerged, their faces grim. They cast her fleeting glances before disappearing down a path leading to a small inn. Once the last of them—Ori—had vanished from view, Geira entered the hobbit’s home, looking for her bow. She found it where she had left it, leaning against the small kitchen wall. She cast a quick glance around, noting how clean and orderly everything was once again, as though nothing had happened.

It was a beautiful home, one that belonged to someone who loved their life and wouldn’t change it for all the gold in the world.

Securing her bow across her back, she picked up her quiver and slung it over her shoulder. She moved briskly through the hallway but stopped when her eyes fell on the long contract Thorin had signed, countersigned by Balin, resting on a stool in front of the chair.

Bilbo’s signature was missing—untouched, blank.

She sighed again, brushing her fingers lightly across the parchment.

When Bilbo had thanked her, had he already decided in his heart not to take part? Running a hand through her short hair, she touched each lock from her forehead to her nape.

“You’ll see. He’ll come,” Gandalf’s voice echoed as he approached, his hands clasped behind his back and his usual sardonic smile playing on his lips. He regarded her for a long moment, those piercing blue eyes seeming to delve into her very soul.

Geira, deep down, feared them.

“The contract will be signed very soon,” he insisted.

“You’re so sure? That young hobbit wasn’t convinced. I’ve seen that look far too often—in young soldiers, recruits, even captains of the guard.”

“Oh, I have hope! But, as usual, my hopes tend to be correct!”

“Like the hope that I would come?” she retorted sharply, raising her gaze to meet his.

Gandalf took a deep breath, tilting his head slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling. “That is the uncertainty that, whether you believe me or not, has tormented me for weeks,” he explained softly. “I won’t hide that I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I didn’t want to,” Geira admitted. “I waited in Aldburg as long as I could,” she added, smoothing her travelling bag with a swipe of her hand.

The wizard nodded before speaking again. “I understand. What changed your mind?”

At that unexpected question, Geira stiffened. She had spent weeks in a small inn room in the village of Aldburg in Rohan, mulling over the wizard’s proposal. Until a fortnight ago, she had been more than certain that she would not participate in the expedition.

Why should she? Why should she believe what Gandalf had told her outside that inn? She had known nothing of what lay ahead, yet the future he had painted for her had been too much even for a hardened soul like hers.

He could revoke your exile, Geira. You could return home, fulfil your oath, and be free. Isn’t that what you want? To be free again?

“ I don’t want to die like this—in the filth of a human village, with an invisible chain wrapped around my chest... I don’t want to be bound to him any longer,” she replied hastily, reciting the words as though they were a well-rehearsed chant.

“And it’s not about him?”

She raised her eyes to Gandalf. “Would you ask that of a victim at the executioner’s block? Or the wife of a soldier killed in battle?”

“That depends on how much the victim cared for the executioner—and vice versa,” he answered quietly.

For Geira, it felt like a punch to the chest. A surge of frustration and anger overwhelmed her, and she fought the urge to shout, to release the fury she had held inside all evening.

She trembled, furious, and finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her for months.

“Why did you want me to come? You have warriors, smart and capable dwarves. Why did you come to me? And don’t tell me it was for me !” she nearly growled.

As he had done throughout the evening, Gandalf remained silent for several seconds. He didn’t show anger or displeasure, but the way he looked at her made the world around her feel cold and heavy. For a moment, she felt the same.

“Because you must fulfil your oath,” he finally said.

"I never intended to honour it! That oath was broken long ago, just like the one he made to me! You know i just want to get this thing away from me and the only way to do it is to cut any connection with him. Stop lying to me!" she insisted, pleading with her eyes.

She was owed an answer, a simple answer, nothing more. She just wanted to know why Gandalf wanted her to suffer, why he wanted her so badly in that Company, why he cared so much that he forced Thorin to accept her as a member of his Company.

Gandalf sighed gently, smiling sadly at the corner of his mouth. "I didn’t do it for you, I did it for the executioner, the warrior, the king..."

Geira unexpectedly smiled, a sad smile, without the slightest hint of joy on her face. "You know Gandalf, now I understand why you lied to me, because if those had been the true reasons, you know, I’m sure I would have rejected your invitation."

And without saying another word, she turned and exited through the rounded green door.

She left the hobbit’s house behind, following the same path the others had taken, passing more green mounds— the hobbits' homes— and finally stopping at the inn where the entire company was already lodging, though still awake. And she knew that tonight, like many others, she would find no rest.

Was she really doing this just for herself? Yes, that was the answer, because if it had been otherwise, she would rather have died at his hands than relive all this. To feel it again. To be betrayed again.

—————-

"I told you coming here would be a waste of time!"

"Hiring a hobbit, where did he get such an idea?!"

"I didn’t think such a small body could possess so much..."

"Stubbornness, Oin?"

"Well, why would he help us if he doesn’t even know us?" Bofur observed, relighting his pipe with a flint and sitting more comfortably on the windowsill."Gandalf promised us the hobbit would come with us; an’ if he said so, we must trust him."

"How about a bet then? Come on, Nori! What do ya say?"

A long conversation began, involving everyone, and bets were placed on whether Bilbo would arrive by the next morning.

The hustle and bustle filling the small inn room, where they were to sleep, allowed two dwarves to slip into the corridor, out of sight and earshot.

"What do you think, lad?" Balin asked, smoothing his long white beard.

The other dwarf sighed wearily, the inevitable frown between his brows speaking louder than words; even after removing his heavy cloak to reveal the long blue tunic covering his trousers, his figure was imposing and commanded awe and respect.

No matter how hard Balin tried, he still struggled to believe that this dwarf, once a child, then a young man, would become king so soon, facing two great battles that had taken everything from him and with which he had to reckon every day, every night.

The old dwarf knew with certainty: even in his dreams, Thorin Oakenshield had never been free, safe from resentment and regret.

"I think this mission began under the worst of omens: I wonder if..." Thorin paused, not quite sure how to continue.

"If we should continuewith the quest?"

The king nodded, but his gaze was far from convinced, lost in thoughts unknown to most, but perceptible to Balin; or, at least, for most of the time. But, for safety's sake, he decided to approach the subject calmly, one step at a time.

"Don’t trouble yourself about the hobbit: if you hadn’t given me a sign and brought me here, I would have placed a bet in his favour, you know?" he gave a half-smile.

Thorin made a dismissive sound, somewhere between scepticism and despair.

"Dwalin was right: coming here was a waste of time. It was madness to believe in his help; but even without him, we must go on. No, it’s not his presence that concerns me... no... not him."

There it was, the exposed nerve, the sore point. Just as Balin had imagined: it wasn’t the thought of the failed thief that troubled him.

"Thorin..." Balin began, placing a hand on Thorin’s forearm. But as soon as he did, the muscles beneath the shirt tensed, and the old dwarf was stopped by a raised hand and a fierce look.

"No, Balin. I don’t want to talk about it," came his abrupt reply; and no matter how much the older dwarf insisted, he would not be listened to. The pride of his king was stronger than reason, which struggled to prevail: if he had even tried to think, Thorin would have understood; but stubbornness and rage blinded him.

Balin sighed deeply and shook his head, but in his heart, he hoped this journey would bring victories beyond the dwarves' lost pride.

———————-

Dawn came too soon, and the continuous yawns surprised Geira as she splashed her face with cold water and then fastened her sword to her side, but first, she drew it from its scabbard, inspecting the blade for new scratches. The daylight broke across it, sending blinding glimmers along the walls: her hand caressed the finely crafted hilt.

That sword was her past, her present, perhaps her future. Everything she still possessed was that sword, all that tied her to who she had been was that sword.

She had allowed the two princes to know who she was and what she had been.

She had managed to avoid their questions, but she was sure, having seen the two princes, they would ask Balin, Dwalin... or Thorin for confirmation. And what would they hear?

She returned the sword to its place and stopped losing herself in pointless thoughts; she took one last quick look around the room, tracing the outlines of the simple wooden bed, the chest against the wall, and the windowsill, where a vase of fragrant lilac and yellow flowers stood: perfect, she hadn’t forgotten anything.

She adjusted her travel pack on her shoulder and closed the door, descending to the ground floor; she nodded to the innkeeper and handed him a coin, then stepped out into the warm morning air. Outside, a riot of colours and scents overwhelmed her, leaving her stunned: everything was so wonderfully green, and as the previous evening, she wondered what life could be like there.

"Good morning!"

Kili’s sunny, mischievous smile interrupted her thoughts, just as it had the evening before. He was standing in front of her, chewing a piece of dried meat with his usual nonchalance, while Fili joined him at his side, wearing the same roguish grin.

"Come on, we’ll show you your pony."

"My pony?" she asked, incredulous.

With a nod, Fili invited her to follow them, or rather, to follow his younger brother, who had already begun walking with his hands crossed behind his neck. They took her to the back of the inn, where three animals stood in a large pen. Kili opened the wooden gate and pointed to the pony, a female with an entirely white coat, calm and gentle: Geira approached her, gently stroking her; the pony neighed, appreciating the gesture and making her new mistress smile.

Yes, she liked her, she admitted: she would be a good travelling companion.

"Thank you, lads," she said, offering a grateful smile to the two brothers.

They lowered their heads in response, still focusing on the straps of their bags before leading their horses outside, where the others waited in silence.

Geira followed them without receiving a single greeting from the other members of the company: only a deep and penetrating silence that reminded her of everything they thought of her.

Even her smile slipped from her lips like a shadow chased away by the light.

Silently, she mounted her pony, preparing for the long road ahead. When they were all ready, Thorin looked at each of them, including Gandalf and Geira, with a solemn and distant look, as though he was searching for an ancient strength or perhaps a hint of fear in their faces.

He did not say a word; there was no need. Each of them knew the task that awaited them, the risks and dangers that accompanied it. Yet, nothing would dissuade them: their hearts belonged to Erebor, their promised land, and nothing would deter or stop them from claiming what was theirs.

Thorin led his mount along the paths of Hobbiton, and the others followed in silence. Geira did not look back, keeping her gaze forward while her heart balanced between the weight of memories and an unexpected relief.

They left the town and entered a clearing bordered by ancient trees, whose branches bent under the weight of past ages.

"Wait!"

A familiar voice stopped them, and Geira turned in the saddle, almost incredulous.

Bilbo Baggins, the little hobbit, was now to their left, panting after the long run that brought him there. With an awkward smile, he handed the contract to Balin, claiming his decision with the pride of one who has crossed a threshold. When the old dwarf confirmed the signature, Geira smiled at Bilbo warmly and sincerely, a look that erased any doubt from the hobbit’s face.

#thorin oakenshield #richard armitage #the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit fanfiction #thorin x y/n #thorin #middle earth #middle earth fic

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pxrplebxtterfly · 2 years ago

Text

Feeling Warmer? (Dean)

18+

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem reader

Warnings: blood, nudity, oral sex, penetrative sex, nothing too dark bc this is my first fic ever.

Summary: Dean shows up at your door freezing and bleeding.

Word count: 3k

Notes: This is my first fic!! I’ve never written anything like this before so if anyone has any advice, please let me know! Also, this fic is in first person but does not use any particular name for the reader. Also, this same fic but for Sam, will be posted on my account. Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoy! (all gifs belong to me)

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

I've known him for two years now. Within these two years, I’ve found myself attracted to him more than I’d like to be; especially because he’s a friend. But there’s something about his character that stirs something in me.

As a self proclaimed “good” witch, I focus my craft on helping others. That's how I met Dean and his brother Sam.

Both hunters, they kill monsters like me; except I'm not a monster. I met him when he came to town on a case, hunting another witch. Locals talked to them about me and they confronted me at my home. Before killing me, the other witch appeared, to watch them kill me and then to kill them.

Either way, before they could hurt me too badly, I was able to recite a spell and trigger the hex bag the other witch stood under. She sparked into flames and burnt to ash in my doorway.

Realizing I had helped them, they decided to hear me out and let me explain myself. I told them how I was raised by a wiccan, that was devoted to nature and the ways it can be harnessed to do good.

They let me live, noting I was still mortal. Since then I've been helping them occasionally, when they need it.

I hadn't heard from them in a while until one of them, the one I've always liked more, shows up at my door.

“Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?” I ask.

Dean's standing on my doorstep, the cold, dim light from the porch lamp creating deep shadows over his tall form. Snow is piling up outside, coating my lawn and the fields around my house.

He’s covered in snow, soaking wet, and almost frozen, making him shiver intensely. There’s dried blood from small cuts on his face.

“Demon” he pants.

Bruises are starting to form on his eye and jaw. I grab his wrist to pull him inside and feel that his skin is like ice.

“Jesus, come in, I’ll start a bath for you, you’re freezing” I say, feeling his large hands between my own. I walk to the bathroom and kneel next to the bathtub. I turn on the hot water and the water starts to fill the basin.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I was a quarter way to the city and my car ran out of gas. I knew it was something else when the gas meter was still on half a tank. A demon pulled me out of the car and roughed me up a bit but I've got the knife so I was able to… get away” he hesitates and adjusts his words appropriately but I know what he means. “Out here, you’re the closest to where I was” he explains, teeth chattering and pain in his eyes.

“How long did it take you to get here?”

“Forty-five minutes maybe” he says, hugging himself and still shivering.

“Where’s Sam? I didn’t know the both of you were in town,” I ask, getting up from my knees to face him.

“He’s with Bobby in Tulsa working on a case. I was on my way down there, and was hoping to make it by morning.”

“Why weren’t you with them?”

“Since when did you become so inquisitive?”

I roll my eyes and say “Nevermind, I was just wondering”

Steam begins to rise off the water's surface and that’s when I say, “Okay, cmon get this stuff off.”

He begins to pull off his jacket but has trouble with his cold, stiff muscles and frozen clothes so I reach over to help. I pry his jacket off and then lift his shirt. He shivers when I peel his shirt off his back.

I can't help but admire his tanned, muscular torso, chest, and arms. I sometimes forget just how enjoyable his body is to look at.

“This is so pathetic” he says, and looks so shy about needing help.

“No it’s not, your clothes are frozen to your skin, just let me help you” I say.

Without thought, I sit on the edge of the bathtub and begin to unbuckle his belt. I look up at him and shrink when I see the way he’s looking at me. A look of shock and desperation is painted on his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think-” I apologize and remove my hands from his hips.

He pauses, collecting his thoughts. I stand up, the most embarrassed I've ever been, and wait for him to move so I can leave.

Instead, he says, “It’s okay” softly and cautiously, looking at me. He pulls his belt off timidly and tosses it on the floor next to me. He continues undressing, unbuttoning his pants. I look away from him and let him peel his jeans down and off his legs.

He stands upright, just in his underwear now, and looks down at me with coyness. Trying hard not to glance down I say, “I don’t want to intrude”

“It’s alright” he nods and slides his boxers off. I don't look, but hear them hit the tile floor.

I cannot begin to process the fact he’s bare in front of me. I'm so flustered at his lack of privacy that I can't move my feet. So instead, he takes a step past me to get into the bath.

I turn around and watch, hypnotized, as he lowers himself in, big hands, clutching the sides of the tub. I hold my breath watching his muscles work to ease him in.

“Nice and warm,” he says and looks at me.

He’s so big he barely fits in the tub; thighs pressed against the sides, arms draped over the edge.

Trying to distract myself from his naked glory, I turn the faucet off.

“Okay, um, I’m just gonna go read a book or something” I say, trying to brush off the awkward sexual tension.

There is no friendly explanation for the occurrence that has just happened between us, and I need a moment to myself, to freak out alone.

“Actually, will you stay?” he asks, puppy eyes and pretty eyelashes blinking at me.

“You want me to stay?” I can't understand what’s happening between us right now.

“Yeah, I… I don’t want to be alone right now” he almost begs.

“Oh-okay” I nod and say gently.

I notice the washcloth on the counter so I grab it, and sit next to the bath. The side of the tub cuts off part of my view of him so I'm able to relax a little bit more.

The swarming heat in my body, due to him, makes me confident enough to ask him something I'd never ask anyone else.

“Do you want me to?” I gesture at his cuts on his face with the washcloth.

“Sure,” he says and sits up.

I soak the washcloth in the water and then bring it up, dripping wet, to his face. I tenderly pat at one of the wounds, dabbing at the blood. I hold his face gently with my other hand to steady my movements. He seethes slightly under my touch and the heat and longing in me increases. His eyes are shut in uncomfortability.

When I finish cleaning up the cuts on his face, I dip the rag back into the water and then bring it to his shoulder. I rub his shoulder with the cloth and then squeeze it so the hot water can run down his back. As I rub him, I watch his skin and the way the water trickles over him.

“Thank you” he says, his head hung, hair floppy, and the back of his neck on full display. There's something so tantalizing about it.

“Of course, you looked like you had hypothermia,” I say.

“Nah, I’ll be okay” he looks over his shoulder at me, as if to say that he’s okay because of me.

I bite my lip in an attempt not to smile but it doesn’t work and I blush. I push myself to my knees and loom over him, trying to get a better angle for my arms. I don't look at what I want to look at, I stay focused on the rag. Even though my core is aching, I'm putting his comfort first.

I dip the cloth back into the water and this time bring it up to his chest. I run it over his collarbones and feel his heart beating fast. We stare at each other while I drag the washcloth over his tattoo and down his sternum.

He looks up at me, so nervous, yet so bewitched.

Once again I bring my hand back down into the water but this time, my fingers brush something hard. I look down to see what I touched and see his erection.

“Oh, I didn't mean to-“ I stutter and look at him. He's looking right back at me with intense shame.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, “You’re just touching me so gently and you’re being so kind, I- I can’t help but-“

I shake my head, an apologetic look on my face and say, “Oh god, really it’s fine! I’m the one who should apologize, it’s my fault, I should have known, it wasn’t my intention”

He looks away, “I should leave,” he starts to say, but I can hear in his voice it’s only because he’s embarrassed.

“And go where? You don’t have a car, outside’s a blizzard by now, and I'm not driving you into town at this hour, no place will be open" I say, trying not to sound desperate.

While I completely am, if he’s not okay with this, then neither am I. However, that doesn’t mean I don't want to try to seize the opportunity.

“You’re right but this is really embarrassing and I don't want to make you uncomfortable” he says, almost restless.

“You’re not,” I say, “I- I’m willing to- I just want to take care of you. Will you let me help?”

This is the moment. The moment I've been waiting for since I met him.

He hesitates, “What do you mean by help?” he asks and looks so infatuated.

“I mean this” I say and go in slowly to kiss him. After I kiss him he stares at my lips for a second, but then kisses me back deeply. He brings his wet hand up to my face, tangling my hair. He caresses my face with his other hand as I timidly slide my tongue into his mouth. Our kissing is passionate and aches with years of unspoken lust.

I place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, and then run them up his neck to hold his face and then back down again.

I decide to get bold, so I submerge my hand in the water and wrap it around him.

He moans into me, surprised by my boldness. He whispers out “Fuck” as we part and searches my eyes, as if trying to figure out if I’m insane or not. He leans back letting me continue. I begin to pump and he closes his eyes in pleasure.

His chest is heaving and he’s biting down on his fist to try and keep himself at bay.

“God,” he hisses, “you’re so good at that”

His hips start to raise and thrust into my fist and that’s when I decide he’s done bathing.

My arms and knees are sore and I need to sit down on something comfortable. I let go of his cock and he groans.

“Can we go to the living room?” I ask, standing up.

He doesn’t answer, just scrambles to drain the tub and get out.

He follows me down the hallway, damp feet padding behind me. When we get to the living room, the fire in the fireplace is burning bright and I sit on the couch in front of it.

He has the towel wrapped low around his waist, hardly covering anything.

Before I'm even able to invite him to sit next to me, he’s kneeling in front of me, face hovering in front of my knees.

“What are you doing?” I giggle.

“I just want to look at you” he breathes out, unable to hold back a grin.

“Okay” I whisper and smile.

He peppers kisses on my knees and my thighs, slowly working his way to my core. Before he goes too far he asks, “Can I?” referring to the pajama shorts I'm wearing and I nod.

He reaches up and tugs my shorts off leaving me in just my panties.

He spreads my legs apart and says, “Fuck, you’re so wet,” noticing the damp spot on my underwear.

He brings the knuckle of his finger to my cunt and brushes the wet patch. I whimper, wanting him to touch me more. He looks up at me and scoffs through a smile. He doesn’t break eye contact as he begins to kiss and suck all over the insides of my thighs.

Naturally, my legs try to close but he keeps me spread with his huge hands, so that he can tease me a bit.

He pulls back and slips his hands in the band of my panties and pulls them off me.

“Fuuuck, look at you” he drawls when he’s eye level with my throbbing pussy. “Can I taste you?”

I nod enthusiastically, and watch as he kisses my clit. I feel his finger run through my entrance collecting my arousal. He brings his finger to my clit and rubs it gently.

I moan at his touch, and the way he cares to make sure I’m wet all over. Then he wraps his arms around my legs, enabling him to stay nuzzled close to me.

He slides his tongue over my hole. I lean back into the couch. He begins to make out with my cunt and I almost faint from how sexy he is and how good he’s making me feel.

“Jesus” I stutter. His mouth feels so nice on me that I sit back up and hold his head while his nose is burying into my clit. I squeal as he tongue-fucks me and grind up into his face. I run my hands through his hair pulling at it and he moans into me.

I can’t help but groan from the waves of heat I’m experiencing. I’m almost at my climax but I want this to be drawn out as long as it can, so I decide to stop him.

I push at his head and he looks up at me, the lower half of his face shiny.

“God,” I whisper and shake my head slightly, in disbelief at his perfection.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re just so…” I can’t finish my thought with my head swimming the way it is.

He laughs at me but stretches up to kiss me. I taste myself on him and it only makes me feel hotter. I pull his body flush against mine and can feel his dick through the towel on my lower stomach. Evidently he feels it too and begins to rut against me.

He pulls the towel off and now his cock is poking at the hem of my shirt. I once again wrap my palm around him and massage his pre-cum into his dick. I rub my thumb underneath the head of his cock and he moans.

“Oh, do you like that?” I ask sultrily.

“Fuck yeah I do” he replies against my neck. His hands are digging into the cushions of the couch beside my legs.

I take my other hand and alternate between fondling his balls and pumping along with my right hand.

“You’re so good to me” he says breathlessly, his head buried into my shoulder. He keeps trying to kiss my shoulder and collarbone but fails due to the overwhelming pleasure.

“I know baby” I say into his ear and kiss it.

He’s moaning and thrusting into my hands, but pulls away so he can look at me. I become even more wet as I watch him get off in my hands.

“Hold on,” I say and slow my movements.

He grunts as I slow down and says, “You’re killing me”

It’s because I’ve edged him twice now and I chuckle.

“I want you to fuck me”

“I can do that” he nods, drunk off his denial.

“Oh good” I reply and kiss him.

I reach over to the little end table next to the couch and pull out a condom.

He raises an eyebrow at me, intrigued that I keep them close. I hand it to him and let him put it on while I lay back on the couch.

Condom on, he climbs on top of me kissing my stomach up to my breasts, neck, and then mouth. He rubs my clit with one hand and I rock my hips into his palm.

He’s breathing fast when he pulls away and looks down at my entrance. He swipes his dick through my folds and prods at my weeping hole.

“Please” I whine, begging him to fill me.

He pushes into me and instantly seethes and moans when my tightness tries to push him out.

“Jesus” he stutters as he begins to fuck me.

I’m whimpering under him, completely helpless to his massive frame. He’s looking into my eyes while I run my hands up into his hair and hold his body against mine. I can’t stop muttering curse words and babbling nonsense as he hits that deep spot inside of me.

He’s panting and groaning in my ear and I feel myself clenching around him, and building up to my climax.

I reach my hand in between our bodies to help further myself along, when he whispers “I’m so close”

Instantly I’m reaching the edge and so is he. In a tremendous peak, we both come. He continues to fuck into me while we ride our orgasms. I think I’ve gone both blind and deaf with the surge of pleasure I felt.

As we come down from our highs, he slows his thrusts and kisses me over and over, everywhere on my face. He eventually pulls out and we both sigh, at the feeling.

He pulls the condom off and flings it in the wastebasket under the end table.

Then, he lays next to me on the couch and holds me against him. He kisses my forehead again and again while he rubs my arm gently. I bury into his side and drape my arm over his torso.

“Feeling warmer?” I tease.

“Absolutely,” he laughs.

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #smut

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lucky-clover-gazette · 6 months ago

Text

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 17

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

If Damen was rougher than he needed to be, it was because he didn’t approve of this plan. Hearing it described, he’d felt as though his body was under a weight, a hard pressure. Now he released Enguerran in the tent and watched him get to his feet without helping him. Enguerran had a wound in his side that still leaked blood. Laurent, entering the tent, pulled off his helm, and Damen saw what Enguerran saw: a golden prince with his armour covered in blood, his hair sweat-dampened, his eyes unsparing. The wound in Enguerran’s side had come from Laurent’s blade; the blood on Laurent’s armour was Enguerran’s.

lamen back at it with the strategic improv. we love to see it

He wanted no part of what was about to unfold.

support your boyfriend’s tactical theatrics, damen. let laurent get a little silly with it

‘I see. So you need me to get inside Ravenel. That is the real reason I am alive. You expect me to betray the people I have served for ten years.’ ‘To get inside Ravenel? My dear Enguerran, I’m afraid you are quite mistaken.’ Laurent’s gaze travelled over Enguerran again, his blue eyes cold. ‘I don’t need you,’ said Laurent. ‘I just need your clothes.’

i love the little moments where laurent explains his plan with like. total seriousness. but the plan itself is something that would happen in a dungeons and dragons game or animated film.

Damen was repelled by the disguise. He had argued against it. The deception was wrong, the pretence of friendship.

going crazy with that nice vs. good theme lately damen. i wonder if there’s some other reason you’re particularly opposed to the idea of disguising oneself and poisoning a friendship with deception at the moment

The brazen audacity of this was characteristic of Laurent, though dressing up his entire troop was on a different scale to walking into a small town inn with a sapphire in his ear, batting his lashes. It was one thing to disguise yourself, another to force your whole army to do it.

As the heavy latticed iron beetled above their heads, Damen found himself wanting it, wanting disruption, a cry of outrage, or of challenge, wanting it as a release to this—feeling. Traitor. Stop. But none came. Of course it didn’t. Of course the men of Ravenel welcomed them, believing them to be friends. Of course they trusted in the face of a deception, leaving themselves wide open.

this is sooooo mean (and clever) of pacat, given the interpersonal stuff between damen and laurent rn

Barrels were upended into a courtyard fountain, so that men could scoop wine out as they pleased.

love this detail

He dispatched men to take Touars’s nine-year-old son Thevenin and hold him under house arrest. Laurent was developing quite a collection of sons.

well someone has to be nice to children in this fucked up world

Then Laurent turned and saw him, and the pressure in his chest grew like pain as Laurent greeted him, half-stripped and bright-eyed. ‘How do you like my fort?’

laurent is especially fascinating as things really heat up between him and damen. it’s part cognitive dissonance, but also… i think damen has changed his mind. i don’t think laurent hates damen anymore. i think everything that seems to have developed between them, actually has developed both ways. even if laurent goes back on it later, and says mean things, damen has at this point completely changed laurent’s initial perception of him. damen is damen, who laurent knows and trusts, and not damianos. that’s where the cognitive dissonance comes in—not in any kind of false impression of damen himself. it’s, again, sad in a different way to read with the context i have. because laurent is being true here, despite the lie, and i just wish they could come by this with total honestly. but that would never have been possible for them, with their history. and the auguste thing will have to be reckoned with, eventually. laurent just has it on ice for now.

All right,’ said Laurent. ‘You see? I’m learning to take your advice.’ He spoke with an unselfconscious little smile that was wholly new.

i don’t think laurent is enjoying damen’s turmoil. i don’t even think he notices it. while he definitely respects damen, laurent still doesn’t expect him to stay past the point of his given freedom. and that’s why he flirts, and is friendly, and fucks him, despite the auguste thing. because it all ends tomorrow anyway, by damen’s choice. so laurent might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

of course, laurent underestimates damen’s devotion, as usual. even when he has sex with damen, i’m sure laurent thinks damen is counting it as just another conquest that he’ll forget about the day after. so it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t have to matter—which good, because if it did matter to damen, it would matter SO MUCH to laurent as well. and laurent knows that his brother’s killer can’t matter to him, because that would be insane. so it’s good that damen just sees him as 1) partaking in an agreement that he (damen) will leave as soon as he’s freed and 2) a piece of ass. yep. that’s definitely it, laurent. good job.

He said, ‘What will you do next?’ ‘Bathe,’ answered Laurent, in a tone that said he knew perfectly well what Damen had meant, ‘and change into something that’s not made of metal. You should do the same. I had the servants lay out some clothing for you that befits your new station. Very Veretian, you’ll hate it. I have something else for you as well.’ He turned back in time to see Laurent move briefly to pick up a half-circle of metal from a small table by the wall. It felt like the slow push of a spear into his body, the awful unfolding inevitability of it, in front of servants, in this small, intimate room. ‘I didn’t have time to give this to you before the battle,’ said Laurent.

ohhh laurent’s going full delusional here, riding the high of his previous act. but this isn’t an act, not really. but it has to be an act, for laurent to be okay with it. just how laurent performed cruelty in book 1 with hate in his heart, he’s performing affection here with love in his heart. but it can’t be true—it can’t NOT be in some ways a performance, and laurent has made sure of that by keeping the lie going for this long. this man is in a heaven/hell of his own design. it’s honestly impressive how deeply he manages to complicate things for himself. he made his own bed and now he’s getting fucked in it

The last thing he heard was Laurent saying, ‘See to my Captain. Tonight he is to have anything that he asks for.’

HELL yeah he is

‘We are lucky the Prince’s messenger got through with his signet ring,’ Damen acknowledged. ‘What messenger?’ said Torveld.

lmaooo i think the messenger was about loyse’s whole reveal? like VERY long game?

‘I’m a Captain through your help. I owe you a great deal.’ Shyly, after a pause: ‘I told you that I would repay you. You did so much to help me in the palace. And . . .’ Erasmus hesitated, looking over at Torveld. When Torveld nodded that he should speak, he lifted his chin, uncharacteristically. ‘And I didn’t like the Regent. He burnt my leg.’ Torveld gave him a proud look, and Erasmus flushed and made obeisance again with perfect form.

eugh i haaaaaate the way the akielion slaves talk. it’s especially jarring after not having to see them for like an entire book. i know it’s supposed to be off-putting though so job well done i guess

Damen repressed another instinct to tell him to stand up.

buddy you're so close don't repress it!

He looked at Erasmus, the demure limbs and the lowered lashes. He had bedded slaves like this, as pliant in bed as they were out of it. He remembered enjoying it, but the memory was distant, as though it belonged to someone else. Erasmus was pretty, he could see that. Erasmus, he recalled, had been trained for him. He would be obedient to every order, intuit every whim, willingly. Damen turned his eyes to Laurent. A picture of cool, difficult distance confronted him. Laurent sat in brief conversation, wrist balanced on the edge of the great table, fingertips resting on the base of a goblet. From the severe, straight-backed posture to the impersonal grace of his cupped yellow head; from his detached blue eyes to the arrogance of his cheekbones, Laurent was complicated and contradictory, and Damen could look nowhere else.

LET'S GOOOOOO

As though responding to some instinct, Laurent looked up and met Damen’s eyes, and in the next moment Laurent was rising and making his way over.

‘It can wait. You just won me a fort,’ said Laurent. ‘Let me spoil you a little.’

yeah he’s just going all out he knows it’s over tomorrow nothing matters

‘That wasn’t a play against my uncle. That was a play against Nicaise. Boys are easy. At thirteen,’ said Laurent, ‘you could have led me around by the nose.’ ‘I can’t believe you were ever easy.’

an untraumatized 13 year old laurent would have been soooooo fucking weird around damen

‘Torveld tells me that in Akielos, it’s the slave who feeds the master.’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘Then you can’t have any objection,’ said Laurent, picking up the morsel, and lifting it.

laurent i think you forgot who’s the sl—you know what it’s fine they’re roleplaying again

He took a second bite. He didn’t look at the food, he looked at Laurent, at the way he held himself, always so controlled, so that all of his reactions were subtle, his blue eyes difficult to read, but not cold. He could see that Laurent was pleased, that he was enjoying the acquiescence for its rarity, its exclusivity. It felt like he was on the edge of understanding, as though Laurent was coming into view for the first time.

laurent really just said “fuck it i’ve got one night left time to be a freak about it”

Damen’s attention was on Laurent’s ivory and gold colouring, the overfine skin, the last traces of bruising from where he’d been tied up and hit. Damen’s gaze travelled, inch by inch, taking in the proud lift of his chin, the uncooperative eyes, the arch of his cheekbone, and dropping back down to his mouth. His sweet, vicious mouth.

Everything would be simple in the morning.

definitely

‘I thought you helped them out of compassion.’ ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Laurent.

He’d never stood against his father for anything. He’d never needed to, so closely had their values aligned.

damen please keep pulling at this thread and think about why that might be

‘I never questioned the way my father saw the world. It was enough for me to be the kind of son he was proud of. I could never bring shame to his memory, but for the first time I realise I don’t want to be . . .’ His kind of King.

YESSS GOOD JOB DAMEN

Father, I can beat him, he’d said, and he’d ridden out and returned to a hero’s welcome, to have his armour stripped by servants, to have his father greet him with pride. He remembered that night, all those nights, the galvanising power of his father’s expansionist victories, the approbation, as success flowed from success. He had not thought about the way it had played out on the other side of the field. When this game began, I was younger. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Damen.

the apology for auguste… ohhhhh my god. damen you’re having a character development!!!! you’re questioning things!!!!

Laurent gave him a strange look. ‘Why would you apologise to me?’

okay shut up let him have this you know why

He said, ‘I didn’t understand what being King meant to you.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘An end to fighting.’

‘I wish it could have been different between us, I wish I could have behaved to you with more honour. I want you to know that you will have a friend across the border, whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens to both of us.’

damen you behaved with an insane amount of honor. and don’t make promises you can’t keep

‘Friends,’ said Laurent. ‘Is that what we are?’ Laurent’s voice was tightly knotted, as though the answer was obvious; as though it was as obvious as what was happening between them, the air disappearing, mote by mote.

Damen said, with helpless honesty, ‘Laurent, I am your slave.’ The words laid him open, truth exposed in the space between them. He wanted to prove it, as though, inarticulate, he could make up for what divided them.

my reading of this line is that damen is admitting his metaphorical devotion to laurent. like forget the cuffs or whatever, he’s just helplessly down bad. not suuuure if that’s the point of the line, though. the last line also implies that he wants to be with laurent as if they're equals, despite the power imbalance, soooo badly that he doesn't even care about the power imbalance

The touch he offered was accepted as it had not been last time, fingers gentle on Laurent’s jaw, thumb passing over his cheekbone, soft. Laurent’s controlled body was hard with tension, his rapid pulse urgent for flight, but he closed his eyes in the last seconds before it happened. Damen’s palm slid over Laurent’s warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth. The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent’s shallow breathing against his own lips.

all the little details of laurent’s reactions continue to really touch me. for reasons previously mentioned. the contrast of words like “gentle” and soft” with “tension” and “rigidity” is very good

It felt, in all the lies between them, as if this was the only true thing. It didn’t matter that he was leaving tomorrow. He felt remade with the desire to give Laurent this: to give him all he would allow, and to ask for nothing, this careful threshold something to be savoured because it was all Laurent would let himself have.

a kingdom or this babyyyyyyyyy

do you think laurent is thinking something similar? it seems like he’s been thinking that all evening. this is the only true thing, and damen may be leaving tomorrow, but it isn’t tomorrow yet

They broke apart at the voice, the burst of sound, of nearby footsteps. A head was cresting the stone steps. Damen took a step backwards, his stomach twisting. It was Jord.

is this a lamen hr complaint? they did go somewhere private, it’s more of a jord hr complaint, like he’s at fault here. i won’t count it.

#LAMEN FIRST KISS YAYYYY #sam reads capri #captive prince #prince's gambit #lamen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #capri

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black-dhalias · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!! I absolutely love your writing✨✨

I was wondering if you’d write a Ethari x Reader (pronouns are she/her) x Runaan where it takes place in the time of the assassination of King Harrow.

Ethari and reader witnesses the assassins flowers sink one by one leading down to Rayla and Runaan.

Days later, it depends on how many days Runaan was in the dungeon before he got trapped in a coin. They witness Runaan’s flower sink and are of course struck by grief.

If it’s not a bother could you write days later after Runaan’s "death" the time where Callum and Rayla goes to their house.

Reader is reading a book while Ethari is crafting weapons and he witnesses Rayla from the reflection and you know what happens next.

If you don’t want to write this it’s completely fine! Once again, I love your writing!!✨🤍🌙

Floating Flowers

Poly!Runaan X Reader X Poly!Ethari

Warnings: angst, kinda sad ngl, mentions of death and some descriptions of violence

One does not love without sacrifice, and one does not truly want to take the risk unless they know it's worth it. With all that at stake, it does not make sense to ever really let someone in. To love, is to let your heart beat in time with another—with many, and in so few words, all of it can disappear.

In a blink.

In an instant.

Within a single breath.

All love causes is pain. You thought you knew the worst of it, felt the bitter edge of loss, but you were so wrong. You had it all figured out only a year ago. You had Runaan... A voice of reason and rock. You had Raela... In all her stubbornness and sweet personality. You have Ethari... As your warmth, and your light. You loved all three extensively, dove head first into the chasm of love—hopeful and invested. They gave you purpose and warmth, and that's all you ever wanted.

You thought the price of love was worth all the pain, but now as you fold your arms over your knotted up stomach. You could barely tear your eyes away from Runaan and Rayla prepare for the mission. The one to avenge all of Xadia, but it was not worth it to you. Nothing in all of the realms was worth the price of watching them walk out of this village.

Soon it would be just you and Ethari—you begged for a minute longer as Runaan's palm embraces your cheek, "Goodbye my love." The words taste acidic, another minute of him would never be enough. You'd plead for hour after hour, for every second was worth a thousand pleas.

While Runaan notes your rigid form, the distant look in your eyes—he knows that he cannot stay. "It is not good bye..." He whispers quietly, "I will always return to you both." Your lips press into that all too familiar line, shaking your head as you part from him completely.

Hating the distance, but knowing you must let him go.

"Do not make us promises you cannot keep." Your words are dark, striking cold fear into Ethari—the sensation of pain mirrors into him.

Hesitantly, Ethari embraces Runaan and Rayla throws herself into your arms. You told Runaan she was not ready, that you were not ready to let her go into a battle she may not return from.

She's the closest you ever came to a child, you are certain that she'll be the only child you ever have. All her life was spent under your careful gaze, and embraced tightly in your arms. Your cheek rests atop her hair, and even when your eyes mist over—you do not let yourself cry.

"I love you Rayla... All the way to the moon." You insisted she was more like you, more like Ethari, but Runaan was certain. And when he was certain, there was no reason to try to talk sense into him.

When you finally gather enough strength to look up at Runaan, Rayla at his side and Ethari's palm on the small of your back. Runaan gives a tight smile, one he only gives when he is not sure.

"I love you..." You don't know if you'd forgive yourself if he didn't hear it at least once more, you see the softness of his eyes. "Both of you, and we expect you home before 30 nights have passed."

Soon enough, they disappear and leave only floating flowers in their wake. No one moved from the fountain, too many souls rest upon the surface—hardly a ripple as the air catches deep in your throat.

When the day came to pass, the crowd was thick with anxiety without a word of comfort to be shared. No one could say anything at all. Ethari held you close, unable to stop the tightening of his grip as each flower sunk to rest on the bottom. The ripples were jarring, the water stirred with grief.

The cries were haunting, even when no one knew who would come next... The tears remained locked up. And with each sunken flower, you felt a wave of guilt and relief because you wished it to be anyone else. Until it was only them.

All you had was the hope that they had succeeded, and were already halfway home right now. It is all that you have left.

"Come to bed starlight." Ethari's sweet nickname sounded so soft, you could hardly enjoy the comfort, but it was there nonetheless. "I miss your warmth..." You tear your eyes rom the water, and stare into his. You wonder if he knows how much you adore him, how safe and welcoming his arms had become since they found you. "I miss sharing a bed..." You hardly slept since they left, leaving Ethari to an empty home most days. Ethari and Runaan had saved you all those years ago, brought you back from the edge of the universe—a startouch elf who could hardly bring themselves to love. To care.

"Just tonight..." You take his outstretched hand, his hope brought you optimism. Gave you hope. That meant something to you.

"I miss you too."

In the quiet and dark, you lay entangled in your husband—embraced tightly in the linens and his arms. The shadows crest through the window, a moonlit night, but you struggle to see through the light. Almost certain that there is—not evil, but nothing good coming your way.

Ethari's arms tighten around and bring you closer than before, chin nuzzled into your neck. His hair is soft against your arm, there is so much on your mind and sleep seems distant.

The way his eyes are shut so lightly, lashes brushing his cheeks and while not a smile—his face is not contorted with nightmares. To be honest, this is the first time since Runaan left that you've seen Ethari sleep so peacefully. While you could not bring yourself to sleep, you were never too far away as to not soothe away the nightmares when they came to him. He truly is the last testament of your sanity. As light as you can manage, you brush your thumb along the highest point of his cheek.

"If you wanted me awake, you should have just asked." Sleep clouds his visit, but he sees you so clearly against the sharp contrast of night. A vision of pure, unscathed—starlight.

He tilts his head up so that he is looking at you, a look of pure admiration. "Have I told you how beautiful you are, starlight?" You find it in yourself to smile.

"More often with every passing day." He returns your smile, Ethari always was the one who stood in awe of you even when you doubted yourself. Your good nature seemed to move in step with his own, but something about the stars that danced in your eyes—you often seemed otherworldly to him.

"Good, I will never allow you to forget." And you know that he's telling the truth, you believe every word. "They'll come home to us. I know they will." Yet you are not as sure, humans are too unforgivable. Too dangerous and unpredictable. You hate them, and fear what else they are capable of taking away from you.

Neither of you say another word, finding comfort in each other. Letting the comfort exist in this singular moment, tomorrow you will face more fear and anxiety. Tonight, you find peace in Ethari's arms.

"Hope for the both of us, my love. I can only hope it's enough."

Only when you watched Runaan's flower sink so suddenly, when the ripples began to shatter the surface of the water. Your entire world seemed to shatter with your reflection. It felt like the world was on fire, and completely still; all at once, you had little left. Stones burn your knees in scrapes as you cry out for him, even the slam of the door is not enough to rouse you from your torture.

The way Ethari saw you and then saw the flower in the bottom of the pool. The heave as he sees the sunken hope. It was always a fool's mission, but the sensation of your crying form within his own arms is enough to send him into tears. The way your hands grip him without remorse—screaming at the universe that they can't have them.

Runaan is gone.

It hits Ethari like the whole of Xadia was put directly on his shoulders, their husband is dead.

He's gone, and he isn't coming back.

Ethari attempted to focus on the task at hand, the tools and weapons atop his desk never seemed so far from him. It felt as though he was staring at a puzzle he was no longer capable of understanding, but he did his best to keep himself occupied when the silence of the house threatened to consume.

Is this grief? Or is this the new normal?

Where you used to find comfort in Ethari, he could only ever reach you when the books were far from your grasp. A cycle of three titles, meticulously memorizing each page because it reminded you of Runaan. The nights when you would stay up with Runaan when the nightmares were too much, and you would read to him until he lulled off to sleep.

Neither really said a word, silent and long days until the time came to crawl into bed. Only then, arms around each other and duvets tightly enveloping both forms—did the tears freely flow. Did the pain finally mount and the length of the universe seemed to weigh heavy on you both.

However, by the time morning breaks, the silence returns and the image of a sunken flower haunts your vision. Ethari closes his eyes, adjusting himself and returns his gaze to his work. Only something catches his eye, a glimpse—nothing short of a miracle, one that causes his expression to falter.

Rayla...

Unable to turn for a moment, he pauses before walking out the door. Knowing that she would follow, unable to break your heart anymore than it has been already.

"Rayla. Before you left, I told Runaan that you were to goodhearted for the work of an assassin. Y/N told him too." He pauses, glancing into the reflection once more. "So I know you did not betray them out of malice. But that doesn't matter. They're gone. He's gone. Because you abandoned them." His words are harsh, not loud, but there is a sharpness as he recalls your cries from the night before.

Even when she disappeared from the reflection, Ethari was already back inside of the home. You had not moved from your position, and for a moment, Ethari wishes you could have seen her. Known she was alright, even if she cannot come home.

He exhales deeply, gathering what he needs before leaving once more to find her. "This will only break the spell for a moment, but I couldn't bear to let you leave without seeing you one last time." Ethari had to know, to hear her out, and find some comfort in her words. "But I don't understand, Rayla. How could you abandon them?"

She looked the same, different and more worn in others, but he saw her as she was. "I failed them. it was my fault we were discovered, btu I didn't run away." She pauses. "Ethari, we found something. Callum, show him."

"Oh uh..." Ethari turns his attention to the human, smiling a little. "I'm Rayla's earthblood elf friend. Trees to meet you."

"Trees to meet you, too."

"Don't humor him. We found the dragon prince."

"The egg wasn't destroyed."

"And I knew that if we could get him home to his mother, there could be peace."

"It's a miracle. I can't believe it." Ethari's eyes darken, recalling the letter he received from Ibis not too long ago. "But, Rayla, you need to know. The Dragon Queen is dying. Since the death of her mate, she's fallen very ill."

"We have to get to her. It's the only way." Ethari pauses, as he watches Rayla's eyes trail to the home. "Where is Y/N? Can I see them?" Looking through the window to spot you, to catch your gaze.

Rayla is struck by confusion at your still form—you were never that still. Never so quiet. Her eyes wander the way you seem awake, locked in on the book and every so often she’d catch Ethari glance over with concern.

Ethari watches Rayla, as she looks at you—“When we met Y/N, they were deeply wounded by abandonment. Alone and on the cusp of giving up.” His eyes are sad, she notes how he casts you loving glances in between the concern. “Runaan is dead. You exiled. Something in them finally snapped.”

“Will they ever be the same?”

“No Rayla. I don’t think that they will, they might recover, but Y/N has faced great losses…More than most, it’s why they loved you so dear. Because you’ve lost a lot too.”

Ethari whistles: "You can ride faster than you can walk. I'll see a message to the Dragon Queen. If she knows her little one still lives, perhaps she'll hold on."

"Ethari, can I ever come home again?"

"I don't know." His eyes are sad, he knows the devastation you felt when the rumors spread. When the word shifted to call Rayla a betrayer and to ghost her. You fought against it, but soon even you could not fight the thought. Consider the possibility that there might have been some truth to the village's words. "It's a real moon opal..." He holds it out to her. "When I gave its match to Runaan, I told him, "My love will be with you even when the moon is not."

Rayla looks through the window once more and then back at Ethari: "Good bye, Rayla."

Ethari came into the home with a purpose as he gathered another arrow, preparing it to be fired and for the first time since, you looked up at him. Eyes wandering to the message, to the way he seemed certain.

Something in the way he moved, it reminded you of who he once was. "What are you doing?" He meets your eyes, seeing the whole universe fall together in a dance as you rise to your feet.

"I have found us hope." Still, even now, he is holding onto the hope that he can somehow fix this. Change the way things are and you trust him.

"Runaan, the last time I made you one of these, it carried a message of death. but this arrow will carry a message of life. Regina Draconis!" While you do not understand completely, you understand enough to know that Ethari is still fighting for you. Still fighting for your future, the one you will share together. And you trust him.

Long before you loved Ethari and Runaan, before the turn of the century—eons before written history began. There was you and your brother, Aarravos. It was all you knew, and it was all you thought you needed. Masters of the primal energies—the epitome of Star Touch Elf perfection. There was no beauty like yours, and no power that tasted as sweet as the power you possessed.

However, it was never enough for Aarravos and soon enough, you had lost him completely. Your entire existence seemed to erase itself with his loss, the universe seemed so much smaller. It seemed so much more void. No longer did stars shine for you, and soon enough, you saw only the darkness. A never ending abyss of despair, and confusion. You no longer knew what your purpose was beyond the world you were building with your brother. It meant nothing without someone to share the success with.

You lean into the darkness, you found comfort in the silence—perhaps comfort is the wrong word. You found silence in the darkness, your bottomless pit of despair was less violent and loud. Your wandering felt less aimless when you accepted the loneliness. You were not at peace, but the numbness felt bitterly better than the pain of loss.

The greatest of your sins was never looking for him, for you assumed he had simply left you to your misery. Had finally had enough, and so you left him to his adventures—you imagined he must have left you willingly, no one could against the power you wielded.

Seven centuries, long and painful blistering years, in that time you only heard whispers of your brothers antics. Until you heard nothing at all.

Soon enough the sadness no longer touched you, or perhaps you wore it proudly—you rarely missed the brother that had left you alone. If he cared, he would have taken you with him.

A crest of moonlight breaks over the treetops and reflects off the waterfalls, the crisp blue hue brings a soft smile to your lip. Knelt before the basin, you submerge your palms into the clear water and bring it to your lips. The water is not bitter or heavy with minerals, you finish what is in your palm and remove the canteen from your hip. Using one hand, you pinch the lid and the other you submerge the object and wait for the bubbles to stop.

Crack!, you stiffen—eyes flickering to the left side, someone or something is near. The forest has gone quiet, and it leaves you to think that it is a someone. You hum, shifting your leg out from under you and leaning onto it—knife on your hip, another on your chest and ankle. You cap the canteen and tie it off to your belt, swallowing as you place the final knot. Only to hear the rustling once more.

Trying your best not to move, to hush your body and heighten your senses—your fingers curl tightly around the blade, clutching onto it just as the pair of elves break the clearing. You turn quickly, drawing your weapon and posing it high—“If you’re here to start something, it’s probably best you leave.” Before, with Aarravos, you were the voice of reason—diplomatic and poise, but now it is different. It is just you. Their eyes widen significantly, as startled by you as you are by them.

One is smaller physically, but his hair is much longer—he seems more muscular, less lean. While the other seems to be just as imposing, but not physically—there is knowledge behind those eyes. He is the first one to speak, “You’re a Startouch elf.” You nod, posing your weapon higher. “Fascinating.”

However, when your weapon does not drop it is the other who steps protectively in front of the scholar—his expression less than kind. “Startouch or not, please drop your knife. We never meant you any harm.

“We never looked back. It was just the three of us against all of Xadia.”

#imagines #imagine #requests are open #fandom request #imagine requests #x reader #requests #love #the dragon prince x reader #runaan x reader #ethari #Ethari x reader #poly!ethari and runaan #poly imagine #polyamory #poly!runaan

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myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

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𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟐

Summary: Your life is threatened by Alys, and you see Aemond fading away. What will you do?

Warnings: angst, mention of blood Masterlist (Part 31 - Part 33)

A/N: I apologise for the wait,I have been dealing with things on my own, and it's not fair to you that I slowed down so close to the end. You will find this chapter unbalanced, I’m not very happy with it but hope you’ll enjoy it all the same.

You knew your father had been angry of late, and that it had nothing to do with the upcoming peace council, but everything to do with you, or rather, with Aemond.

The Prince had a beautiful daughter you have given him, yet he had never seen him in her company once. He had a wife that had fallen ill, yet he had not inquired about her. But what irritated him the most was the rumours, the looks, and the dishonour over the fact that a wet-nurse spent this much time with his daughter’s husband. It was bringing shame to his family, his house, to you.

He had said nothing out loud, or in public for that matter, but all the Greens knew, but did not act. All the efforts were concentrated on the fragile peace that had been so hardly won and was close to its outcome, shoving every other matter in the background.

However, matters of the war were not what you cared for at the moment, the pain in your chest and the blue spots you had started to appear in your vision the second Addam had forced you back to your tent after your encounter with Alys your utmost concern. Nonetheless, you still had to act.

But what could you do?

“I need to talk to him, reach him somehow. She wouldn’t let me, it had to mean that she sees me as a threat, and that there is hope,” you said with difficulty, trying to ignore the way the pain in your lungs shortened your breath.

“There is, but I fear that it is too dangerous, my Lady,” Addam pointed out, lowering you gently so you could sit on a cushioned stool. "You are in no state to act at the moment, you need care. Rest. The Gods know what spell she has inflicted upon you.”

“But what would you have me do, Addam?” you said in frustration, unsure of how much your friend had heard from your conversation with the witch. “I can’t rest and let her threaten me, threaten my family and most of all let my husband under her care while she… she…”

Addam’s walked closer as you struggled to say the words, understanding how hard it must be for you, to feel helpless and alone.

“I won’t risk your health or your life,” he said firmly, before his tone became bitter. “Witches are not to be played with. I know of it first-hand.”

You raised a curious gaze to him, sensing his… regret?

“What is it that you know?” you asked, careful, and you saw Addam hesitate.

“I… come from a land where old traditions, traditions that were here before the Targaryens came have remained. Some of the ways of the Andals and the First Men are not lost here north of the Stoney Sept,” he began, drawing all of your attention to his words, and away from your pain. “I have heard of a witch in Harrenhal, but I only assumed that she was long gone, tales of her craft spreading around since before I was even born. With all of what happened here, I did not expect to find one so close to the nobility, even less to act among them with such impunity.”

You frowned, both in frustration and in pain. Addam’s resentment was clearly palpable.

Good, you could use it.

“However deep a wet-nurse is with some Lords of the Riverlands, I will not sit idly by and let her manipulate my husband. I simply cannot.”

“My Lady, you should not take it lightly. Witches gain loyalty from the people around them through their skills and services, they inspire fear among the common folk, wariness. This is how they make people owe them. We will find very little support if we wish to fight her, none from her peers at least.”

“So what do you propose I do?” you inquired louder than you had meant, making him arch a brow. “I have nothing. No powers, no magic, no ways of tricking her as she did with me. No knowledge of her craft...”

“But I do.”

And then he told you about his mother, how she had fallen gravely ill when he was only a boy and the maesters had remained inefficient, only for his grandsire to call on a woodwitch of the Whispering Woods to treat his daughter, desperate. It had angered his own father, Denys Vance, who had no trust in witches and their reputation, and even less in those that were rumoured to practise blood magic.

“My mother survived, but she became only the ghost of herself. Later, my grandfather began to fall ill and died a short while after. It was so sudden, my father did not hesitate to accuse the witch for this disaster, executing her before she could do us more harm, blaming my grandfather for his eagerness to save his daughter. Even in death."

Then Addam said something that made you fear for your husband more than for you.

“My father believes that if blood magic is used, you still lose in the end. Even if somehow you have a glimpse of what you wanted. It is a curse, something only bloodmages of old had managed to master, or so they said they had,” he had continued, stern and in contemplation.

“I am… so sorry Addam. I didn’t know any of that.”

“My father did well at hiding my grandsire’s actions,” he stated, eyes drifting to something you could not see. “He had heard of this 'witch of Harrenhal’, one people around were loyal to, and did not wish to anger her. So he kept it quiet.”

“You mean…” you asked, name lost on your tongue, bitter.

“Yes. I believe we have found our witch. Hidden among lords and babes. This is why I cannot let you endanger yourself if she has you as a target as well my Lady. She had partisans here, people that are obliged to her. She may not have deceived Daemon, but she apparently found other ways to achieve her misdoings after this time."

Your head painted you again, your vision becoming blurry from time to time. You would not be intimidated by this, whatever threat loomed over your own life.

“You sound like I should remain inactive, that I have already lost. You know that I won’t settle for that,” you assured gently, ignoring how the prospect of not succeeding sickened you more than you already were.

Addam bit his lips, pondering as if he regretted disappointing you. But Addam’s weakness for you was greater than his common sense.

“I apologise, I did not mean to make you lose hope, only to preserve you from magical demise, but I now realise that unless something is done, far worse might happen, and not only to you,” he stated, maintaining your tiring gaze. “I will help you. I only heard part of your conversation with the woman, and for now, you must tell me what happened. She spoke of magic having a price, that you had granted the Prince a longer life. What does she mean by that, my Lady?”

You told him everything, from your first encounter with her, to the eye-patch, the ritual, and about your suspicions about the vials, of the way Aemond had been distant the moment you had approached him on that cursed field. How the witch had threatened you and assured you that you had played a big part in your husband’s recovery, even though you hadn't known it was at your own expense.

When you ended your story, Addam did not even let you a moment to breathe, starting to pace around the room agitatedly.

“She talked of visions, dreams? Of the Prince taking the throne for himself? Surely it would put the peace at risk.”

You nodded, feeling like vomiting, one hand on your stomach. You told yourself that it did not ache for you, but for Aemond.

All for him.

“Where is your daughter at the moment?” he continued, abruptly stopping his pacing to look at you.

“She… is with Queen Alicent,” you answered faintly, confused at his question. Addam approached you once again, sitting on the stool before you.

“My Lady. With my little knowledge of bloodmagic, and I believe that this is what Lady Rivers uses under the cover of nursing and healing, I think that her goal is far more dreary than I thought at first.”

“Whatever do you mean, my Lord?” you spoke, starting to grow very worried since your daughter had been brought into the conversation.

Addam paused, mustering his words as if he was delivering you terrible news. “Blood magic is not only about using blood for spells and rituals, but using a great amount of it. The more blood they have access to, the more powerful they will grow. Only, not that many people are willing to give away their blood, and in the same way, witches do not settle for any kind of blood.”

“But…” you started, remembering that night. “She did not have any. Not Aemond’s at least, she only took an item that belonged to him…”

“But I believe that she did my Lady,” Addam said mournfully, still careful with his words. “Tell me, in Essos, before the Doom, who were considered the most powerful, what blood was regarded as strong, magical, even?”

You widened your eyes in slow understanding. “Valyrians…” you whispered, unconsciously. “It is said that a single drop of blood of Old Valyria is more powerful than any others.”

“Indeed my Lady. You might know even more than me on that matter. House Targaryen’s words are Fire and Blood, both magical ingredients. Powerful in the hands of a woodwitch.”

Then it hit you.

“Naerys! She had her for days, cared for her…”

“Yes. I believe that it is how she had performed the ritual, using Targaryen blood to bind the Prince to herself. Daemon Targaryen would not bleed, not until he would battle, and once he did, he died. On her volition, that is.”

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest, hard. If that wet-nurse had hurt your daughter, she would gain more than your wrath, she would have the whole of House Lydden’s too.

“She used her blood… My own daughter’s blood, so she could take my family away from me? I…” you said in disbelief, finding it hard to contain your anger, but you had to remain calm, to think. “But why not keep her? She gave her back to me. Why not use her blood again?”

“I believe it to be a matter of purity. She had both your blood, father and mother in one, and she made sure to use it to her advantage, without your knowledge. But it would not be enough for her. Even though your husband is the product of two different Houses, he is closer to the blood of Old Valyria than your daughter is, purity being a proud tradition within House Targaryen,” Addam stated wisely. “Moreover, Aemond Taragryen possesses something your daughter does not have.”

You were watching him intensely, impressed by his intelligence and deduction. You pictured the boy, crying for the loss of his mother in Atranta, an experience so unfair that his anger had been directed on one thing only, exactly like his father was: on the author of his mother’s and grandsire's demise, a blood witch. If you had experienced that kind of loss, surely you would have done everything in your power to learn what you could about what had brought you such sorrow, to ensure that it would never happen again.

“Magic itself, in his truest form,” he continued, answering his own question. “Dragons. You see, war and death have potential for magic, one that witches can use, but what is potential when you can have the most powerful magical beast in the world?”

“Vhagar is bound to Aemond,” you stated, almost in disbelief. “She is an intelligent creature as well, and she is no slave. I doubt that she will be able to even approach her.”

As you said that, you pictured Aemond bringing Alys close to the green-scaled dragon, dragging her by the hand as Vhagar cooed, as she had done with you. Shivers dressed your skin again, and with a throbbing pain in your stomach, you felt something wet come out of your nose once more. You grabbed a cloth immediately to wipe it, seeing blood when you looked down at the fabric.

How in the Seven Hells would you be able to come up with a plan in your state?

“She does not need to, for only the mere presence of a dragon, born in the depth of the Fourteen Flames, cared by bloodmages of Old Valyria, is magic, pure. I cannot be sure of what her craft allows her to perform with such creatures, but the prospect of war alongside a Targaryen is an explanation to her deeds, her greed.”

You tried to breathe properly, all of the things you had just discussed sinking in.You felt like you had little time, and fewer options. If you could not reach Aemond, maybe a more drastic solution would work, even if it iced the blood in your veins.

“Then I know what I must do,” you stated, the firmness of your voice barely overcoming the shakiness of your breath as you pushed yourself up. “Or I least try to do. She wants blood to flow, maybe I’ll give it to her.”

Addam saw the darkness in your eyes and realised what you meant instantly, trotting toward you.

“My Lady, this is too dangerous, we’ll find another method, the vials… My Lady?”

You felt like your body was waging war against your thoughts, your murdery intentions, failing you as you tried to reach the entrance of the tent.Your head first started to throb violently, and each breath you took was fire in your lungs. You felt your body fail you, battling against your intentions as you clutch your chest and faintly heard Addam calling you.

Then your vision went black.

Aemond’s mind was focused on only one thing this morning, only one purpose. It was magnificent, and the only thing filling his spirit. He could see it, touch it as if it was real.

Today would be the day he would claim the Iron Throne.

He would show them all, show to all those lords and ladies of the realm that he was born for it, raised for it, and suited for it. Above all, he was meant for it, body and soul, and nothing could impede his plan now, he was certain, for Alys had seen it, and something inside him knew that she always saw true.

He would rule the Seven Kingdom, and curse those pitiful lords that believed that peace was an option.

He could picture, landing on Aegon’s Hill, like the Conqueror himself, force his way in, put Baela and Rhaena Velaryon in a cell, a long due punishment for instigating the fight where he lost his eye all those years ago, and claim the throne. Then he would lock the city and gather those loyal to him, before flying back to Harrenhal crowned with Valyrian steel and make them bend the knee.

For now, he took his first steps outside since he had been stuck in that cursed tent for days, courtesy of the Rogue Prince for almost cutting him in half. But now he was strong, not even feeling the wound at his chest any more, only the scared looks he was earning from the people outside finally seeing him free, standing tall and proud at the entrance of his previous prison. He was stronger than ever, and he understood why they all looked down as he passed. They were right to fear him, because he had been the one that ended up cutting the Rogue Prince in half.

He wondered why he had been this blind before, why he had settled for peace once,considered it back when he thought his armies too thin, too famished, and their dragons too few. But it did not matter, now he would claim the throne, surprise all those pitiful High Lords that believed him weak and show them what it is to rule as a true Targaryen.

But for now he would tell no one, for the only master of his destiny was him, and it was near. Lady Rivers had seen far and true, all that would come to pass, all that he will be, all that he desired.

He felt her hand snake around his arm at his side, like a reminder that he had only some steps to take and the realm would be his.“How are you feeling, my Prince?” she asked, her voice honey in his ears, her tone of adoration vibrating to his core.

“Fine,” he stated, looking straight ahead where the melted towers of Harrenhal loomed over the camp, remnants of what happened when lesser lords tried to cross Targaryens. “Let them brew some sort of peace. Soon they will see.”

Then he turned around and went straight to the direction of the form of Vhagar laying near the trees at the other side of the camp, her wings the only thing he could decipher over the tents ahead.

Alys Rivers, the wet nurse he had spared all those moons ago, walked at his side, the first and truest of his devoted followers.

He grunted when Ser Cole made him come to a stop in the muddy path. Vhagar was within reach. His glory.

“My Prince, glad to see you this strong looking,” he announced after a slight bow of his head, coming to rest his hand on the hilt of his sword, but his expression was nothing but relaxed.

“Would you have expected otherwise?” Aemond asked, chin high but the ghost of a mocking smile on his lips.

“Of course not my Prince,” the Knight answered, a flash of pride passing through his eyes at his reply, but he still bore a stern expression. “I came to meet you, I’m afraid I bring ill news.”

Cole glanced at the woman at Aemond’s side, his already dark eyes turning even darker, and Aemond began to lose his patience.

“Speak then,” he snapped.

“Your wife, Lady Lydden, had just collapsed, her condition had worsened it seems. The maesters are tending to her but they are unsure of what plagues her.” Cole finished quickly, as if expecting a surge of irritation from the Prince at any moment.

Only, Aemond did not feel irritation. In fact, he had not even been informed of his wife’s condition beforehand, not aware that there was anything to worsen in the first place. What he felt, however, was a pang somewhere inside of his body, something travelling through his blood, the flow of the warm liquid trying to whisper unshaped words to him.

But the murmurs quieted quickly, replaced by the grip of Alys on his arm, and his senses came back to him.

“Hm…” he let out, looking at Cole unphased before addressing him. “Take care of it, and next time be faster in your information delivery.”

Aemond strode away, passing by the knight to make his way to his mount, where he was truly needed. Meant to.

“Will you not go to see her?”

Cole’s voice was a little too bold to his taste. It was not a way to speak to a Prince, even less to a king. So why did his words sound so true to him? Bitter? He turned slowly, assessing the knight who bore a dismayed look.

“I’m afraid the Prince has other matters to attend, Ser Knight,” spoke Alys, drawing Cole’s gaze to her, and it lingered there for so long that Aemond thought he was debating whether he would let her speak to him that way or arrest her.

Apart from his mother, Aemond had not always been sure if Cole truly regarded women as 'an image of the mother to be spoken with reverence', as he had once put it. His mentor reported his attention back to him. "My Prince?”

Aemond was about to agree with the black-haired woman, but from afar he glimpsed the shape of a man he instantly recognised coming out of a tent displaying the Lydden coat of arms and froze.

Addam of fucking Atranta.

He felt Alys pull on his arm a little, encouraging him to continue their walk to his undeniable glory, but she was a mere force to his will, unable to stop him as blood rushed uncontrollably in his ears, even though something inside of him screamed for him to follow her.

But right now he felt like fighting, fighting him, without really knowing the reason, like a faint memory in his mind coming back to poke him. His steps led him straight to your tent, making Alys lose the grip on his arm in the abruptness of his movement, Cole hot on his heels as he walked toward the Vance Lord.

The latter was conversing with a short priest with a seven pointed star sewn on his robes, and the lord, sensing his approach, reciprocated the dark look Aemond was already bearing, not sparing Alys as he saw her trotting behind him. He could already feel the vile words on his own tongue, ready to be spoken to the boy he barely tolerated, but he was stopped.

“Thank you Ser Criston,” he heard his mother say as she exited the tent with a little smile, happy to see her son. “Lady Rivers,” she curtsies briefly when she saw the wet-nurse, the one who had tended to her son so carefully.

However, Aemond, who had managed to put Addam in the back of his mind, saw no warmth in her eyes. Instead she reached for Aemond’s hand, the one that had not been captured by Alys as soon as she had caught up with him after his striding. “I sent for you as soon as I heard. I am so sorry Aemond, nothing we do seem to work with her, it is this dreadful place…” Alicent continued, squeezing his hand lovingly. “But please come in.”

Aemond froze again. He didn’t know why, but as he slowly came to the realisation that you were behind those drapes, he found himself more unsure than he had been in the last few days, since he had been granted a glimpse of his destiny by the woman who had saved his life.

Why did he fear now?

But he followed his mother inside nonetheless, mouth closed and lips in a thin line, leaving no expression appear on his face. He recognised the maester that had been so useless for him lately standing over the bed, next to Lord Donnel and a maid who were rearranging the vials the maester kept using. When he caught the eyes of Lord Donnel Lydden, your father, he saw him flinch and his expression harden, but he stepped aside like the rest of them when Alicent announced him, letting a husband come closer to the mother of his child.

You were lying under the furs, face evidently in pain as your skin glowed with sweat. Your brows were slightly knitted, and you would move from time to time, wince or breathe sharply. However, your eyes remained closed, unresponsive, far from reach. Something inside of Aemond boiled, but he shut the feeling down. These kinds of reactions were futile right now. Surely they were.

However his fingers reached for your side without his permission, and the familiarity he had not felt since too long came back at your touch, like it had been erased but still remained somewhere, ready to wake. His state of daze and contemplation as he looked down at you was broken by the new light that came through the opening of the drapes of the tent to let pass Addam Vance and the priest, realising that he was watched by the few people around and that Alys had found her place next to him once again, hard features on her face.

He found her much more tense than ever, but it was nothing compared to how tense he found himself to be, particularly seeing a low lord enter his wife’s quarter without shame, as if it was natural for him.

But then Alys squeezed his forearm gently, the one that was touching your skin so tenderly, and images of him on the throne flashed through his mind. He would have to indulge the people around him for now, to put on a good show.

“What is with her?” he asked, tone flat, already thinking of his flight to King’s Landing.

“Her collapse must stem from an extreme state of fatigue,” the master answered him, solemn expression on his face. “Her slumber is now due to the herbal concoctions I have provided her, but none of them seems to have any effect on her affliction.”

Aemond repressed a scoff. If there was one soul here that was competent in healing people, it was not this old man, but the woman standing next to him.

“Can nothing be done?” he found himself asking, face slightly turned toward Alys so she would know he was directing his question at her as he kept his gaze on your suffering face.

He was sure that, even from his position, he had seen something red flash through her eyes, even though he was not looking at her. But he heard her inhale and came closer to you after a while, taking your hand and examining you briefly.

He did not miss the way Vance had moved forward either at Alys Rivers’s contact with you, as if ready to pounce. Aemond raised his gaze at him to see him bite the inside of his cheek, his gaze fixated on the wet-nurse.

Aemond felt uncertainty come back, like a foreign sensation.

“Nothing,” Lady Rivers declared, putting back your furs higher on your chest. “Her sickness is her own, she must fight through it on her own as well.”

They all looked up at Aemond, expecting to see his face decompose but they saw nothing of the sort, instead they narrowed their eyes in order to better hear what the woman was now whispering in his ear.

“My Prince, we must go now, we had delayed for too long,” she murmured inside of his neck, and he nodded, taking a little too long to withdraw his gaze from you for his taste and turning to leave.

But Alicent, who had been the closest to them, had overheard.

“Go where?” she asked, voice high and eyes searching for his. “Are you leaving? Has something happened?”

All looked at him now, Addam particularly decided not to give Alys any rest, and he almost felt trapped. Almost.

“This is no concern of yours. I will be back in a short time, and we will be all celebrating.”

And like this he was out of the tent, feeling Alys relax at his side, determination in his heart.

“Prince Aemond, a word?”

Aemond gritted his teeth as he was reluctant to turn around, to indulge the boy that dared address him. But he did, finding himself amused at his boldness.

“Certainly,” he voiced as he advanced toward one of the brazero next to the tent.

“Alone,” the lord demanded, eyeing his seer clutched at his arm, and Aemond was almost tempted to make him understand his disrespect by burning him to a crisp by Vhagar, if his own gaze did not have that effect before he would have the chance to.

But he chose to allow him that request, now intrigued at his courage, his irritation quieted by his sentiment of power. If the boy had the wits to stand before him alone, to fight him, Aemond would be the first to draw blood, and glad to. Man to Man.

“Addam Vance of Atranta,” Aemond greeted sarcastically, after leaving a frustrated Alys behind. “Always avoiding battles I see. How’s your brother?”

Aemond knew perfectly well that his brother was still in the hands of the Wayfarers, another branch of the boy’s family, provoking him on purpose with that cruel smile of his.

“Better than your wife, I assume.”

Aemond’s smile instantly disappeared. He had not expected that in the least, and he wondered who of the two of them was angrier at the moment. He could feel the way his fingers itched for his blade.

“Will you not stay beside her?” he continued, not impressed by the way Aemond’s eye shot daggers at him. “Do you not see what is happening?”

“Why do you care?” Aemond asked coldly, shortening the distance between his fingers and the dagger at his belt. “She is not yours.”

“If she is yours, as you so claim, you should be able to see the plague that is inflicted upon her. To understand.”

“Please refrain from speaking like a child with half-formed sentences," he accused, still furious, but the damn doubts of his finding their way to his head again. Why could he not focus? He had to concentrate, his destiny was so near, Alys had promised him.

The young lord dared scoff, glancing at the answer to all of his desires behind Aemond, like she was nothing but a low woman.

“You truly are blind then, if you truly cannot see, or are so lost and deep into the lion’s den that you cannot reach the light any more,” Addam said with disgust, eyes digging into Alys. “I assume that you must have important matters to do with your new acolyte, if you are this eager to abandon the mother of your child to perish. Very worthy of you, Prince.”

Aemond stepped into the Lord’s personal space in a flash, towering over him and holding the steel of his dagger he had drawn with dexterity between their two faces.

“Careful, Vance, or I will have more than your tongue. You have played around with Y/N long enough, and only for her sake have I allowed it. Do not play with me too or I swear you will have what is coming for you.”

Addam had jumped at the sight of the dagger millimetres from his skin, but now that Aemond had threatened him and that they both heard Alys come closer, alarmed by Aemond’s sudden outburst, the lord had nothing but loathing on his expression, not an ounce of fear left.

"Open your eyes, and maybe you will see, even with one eye. I am not the one playing you,” he said with disdain as Alys came to pull at Aemond’s shoulder, giving Addam the opportunity to free himself from him and take a few steps back. “Maybe it will be for the best if you leave after all, far away from her,” he said, backing away from them.

“You truly don’t deserve her,” he spat at last looking at Aemond dead in the eye before turning away and returning under the tent.

Aemond felt awful, torn between following him and spilling his guts onto the carpet of the tent or giving in to an urge within himself he could not grasp the meaning of, the same one that had been bothering him since he came out of his own tent earlier.

How dared he? And why did he feel like his muscles were not obeying him?

“Aemond, look at me,” he heard next to his shoulder, the voice of Alys drawing his gaze away from the spot Addam had disappeared to and into her eyes. “Leave him be, he is not worth it, he is nothing, only a boy ignorant of what is to come,” she said, words firm and true. “You, on the other hand, is everything, and he will see it. Soon, they will all witness. You know what we must do."

Aemond looked into her eyes, hoping to find the grounding he was desperate for, maybe see the visions she promised him in those green irises. But as he looked, he could only notice how different her eyes were from yours, colder, unreachable, with a hint of black yours did not possess.

No. He had to concentrate.

“I know,” he finally spoke, voice hoarse as he sheathed his dagger at his belt and found his way to Vhagar again, feeling his anger deflate as Alys walked beside him.

Why was he still so upset?

No one was around but the few soldiers that Vhagar had grown accustomed to, but they departed as soon as Aemond passed near them, eager to step away.

Being close to his dragon again felt like breathing was easier somehow, like being reunited with a part of himself, gazing into her yellow eyes for the first time since his trial with the Rogue Prince, and when he touched her snout, smelling the flaming air she breathed out, he could feel the power, the glory, his destiny within reach.

But he could also feel the uncertainty, the sadness, echoing within his own blood, for Vhagar and himself were one. He also felt wariness, as well as a strong feeling of loss, one he had previously associated with being apart with his dragon, but the feeling in his blood told him otherwise. He couldn’t decipher what, and he took a moment to truly sense her.

Could these feelings be his own?

He had almost forgotten about the woman behind him, still several steps away from Vhagar’s long neck as she watched with awe the most beautiful dragon in his eyes, the mightiest of all, his ally. Vhagar had now set her big eyes on Alys, and he felt the emotions from before enhance. He let the green dragon show a single menacing fang to Alys before grabbing her hand and flattening it on the spot below her eye, keeping it there under his palm. Vhagar let out a strangled sound, but put away her fang at last, eyeing her rider who was content to have the wanted effect out of her.

Alys’s eyes were wide with excitement, and Aemond could even see satisfaction in her expression. He observed her for a moment before letting his thoughts fly out of his mouth, the presence of Vhagar giving him somehow more poise with her than he usually had.

"What did you mean when you said her sickness was her own? What plagues my wife, Alys?”

The woman turned her head toward him, letting her hand placed on the warm scales of Vhagar fall at her side and the creature instantly shifted in order to face them, not liking having them on her weak side, growling.

“I only meant that nothing can be done, even from my hand. Do not let her cloud your path, this is only the order of things, my Prince. You are above it all." She assured, taking both of his hands, as if her words were supposed to make sense.

“You are the most capable healer I have met, the ‘order of things’ does not frighten you. Yet, you assure me that your powers are useless?” Aemond tried again, without really knowing why. He had been told you needed rest, and Alys had done the same. So why did he feel the need to insist?

She looked at him with pity, as if he was a child asking for something impossible. “Nothing, except for nature to do its work, in the same way that you are meant to sit on the Iron Throne and rule, Aemond. You of all people know that sacrifices must be made to reach what others desire.”

Vhagar emitted a low growl beside them, Aemond feeling himself frown at her words, uneasiness flowing through him as something in his mind stirred.

Leave.

“Sacrifices? I have sacrificed enough. My brother, my sister, my blood… I am entitled to the throne, nature has nothing to do with it, only my will and your visions. I will not let it be taken from me again.”

He was beginning to be very annoyed by the way his mind worked at the moment. All he had to do was mount Vhagar and take King’s Landing for himself, and he would have all that he has ever wanted.

Didn’t he?

“Not all is set in stone, my Prince,” she said, coming to place a hand on his cheek to caress it. “But my visions are true. Do not let your efforts go to waste, our efforts, we must choose our fights and they are not here, where your family tries for peace, but in King’s Landing, where your ancestors claimed the land and ruled it as their own for the first time. Isn’t that what you want?”

Aemond reached for her hand on his cheek, more as a reflex than a need for touch, and Vhagar rumbled again at the same time his throat turned dry. He hated that feeling of doubt, the sense that a fear he was not in control of had taken hold of his body, and the way he could not withdraw his eyes from Alys’ enticing ones, searching for something he could not reach in her words.

You don’t deserve her.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, tone harder, less forgiving. “You know more than you claim to, do you not? Otherwise, you would not have talked of sacrifices when I talked about my wife.”

Aemond saw slight alarm pass into her green eyes at his words, taking a step away from Vhagar in the process before eyeing the beast warily, as if she was seeing it for the first time, surprised. She, however, quickly recovered, putting her hands on his chest gently, but it was too late, Aemond had seen, and he could feel his blood whisper to him again.

I am not the one playing you.

“Aemond, my Prince, you are the heir to the throne, the only one worthy of-”

He caught her wrist placed on his chest and squeezed, just enough so that she would hear him properly this time. Her eyes went dark in a flash, before turning into that panic he had a snippet of earlier, pupils searching his frantically, and Aemond could almost see the gears turning in her head, looking for something.

“You have visions, dreams,” he kept on, the feeling in his guts becoming stronger as minutes passed, leaving a sour taste on his tongue, the comfort he had felt with her in the last few days fading away. “Tell me what you saw, and don’t lie to me.”

You don’t deserve her.

Aemond saw her confidence drop for a fleeting moment, saw how her brows knitted together, as if suddenly realising something.

“My Prince, did you take the medicine I gave you last night?” she asked, and Aemond refrained a scoff, irritation growing inside of him at her reluctance to answer his questions.

“Why would I? I have no need for it any more, traces of what my uncle did to me are gone, I am strong again.”

Now he could clearly see it, how the black-haired woman bit her lips, evidently at unease, and Aemond had never seen her so unsure. He, on the other hand, sensed his doubts falter.

I am not the one playing you .

“This was a mistake. You still need them, even though you have gained your strength back,” she stated, finding her sweet tone again. “Please my Prince, you must drink-”

Vhagar breathed steam behind her as he abruptly took a step closer to her, her sentence dying on her lips as he towered over her, not liking the way she was commanding him. “Answer my question.”

He had talked so low, so close, that he could see her expression still and her jaw clench in frustration, disappointment apparent on her features. But he saw it quickly shift into resolution as he bore his flaming gaze into her own, awaiting her answer. Then she did something he did not expect.

Helped by his grip on her wrists, she pushed herself on her toes and kissed him, her mouth entrapping his lips as he let her go in shock and bewilderment, feeling her now free hands slide behind his neck to force him down to her. His own mind was blank for a moment, her lips moving against his unmoving ones as he tried to find his senses again, taken aback by the woman who had promised him so much, saw so much, for him. But he took too long, and while he felt her fingers tangle in his hair, desperate for more, he sensed her teeth trapping his bottom lip, and bite. Hard. Like out for blood.

He grunted and instantly recoiled, bringing his fingers to his lips at the stinging pain, wincing as he made sure that he was not bleeding. Alys was not letting him go, eager to reiterate the experience, her breath hot on his skin, and he inhaled sharply, grinding his teeth. One of his hands had levelled with her neck, fingers wrapped around her throat, squeezing, but still gentle.

For now.

You don’t deserve her.

She didn’t gasp as she felt his hold on her, but her gaze was still on his now swollen lips, disappointed to not find them reddened with blood.

“Enjoying yourself, perhaps?" he said, furious. "My patience is running thin Alys, and I don’t like people taking liberties with me,” he seethed, tone cold as ice as he kept his face at a safe distance from hers. “Now tell me what you saw.”

Her eyes closed momentarily, bracing herself, and he was tempted to let her go, but she had crossed a limit with him, and he could feel his blood running wild in his veins, as finally awake. The heat from Vhagar’s form comforting him in his anger, his certainty.

You should be able to see the plague that is inflicted upon her.

“I saw you on the Iron Throne…” she whispered raggedly, and Aemond guessed that his fingers would mark the skin of her throat. “I saw your sword red with the blood of your enemies, I saw your dragon flying over the land like a sigil in the sky."

“I know all that already,” he snarled, taking a step forth. “But at what cost? What are you not telling me, Alys?”

She wetted her lips, and Aemond knew she thought about kissing him again, the glare in her eyes unmistakable. He squeezed harder, drawing her eyes on his once more. Vhagar menacingly stomped a claw of her wings closer to them, and Alys visibly swallowed.

“I am devoted to you Aemond, and I would do anything for you. And I have,” she breathed, hands wrapping around his wrist at her throat, the other travelling to take his free one. “Your path has been cleared, and the ones who love you have made their choices. It is too late now. I am yours, always.”

Aemond felt his grip falter as he processed the words, your illness appearing less and less natural with each of her claims.

Deep into the lion’s den.

“What did you do…” he said in disbelief, his eye widening as she looked at him with renewed confidence, bringing his hand to her chest.

“You know of my powers, my Prince. I removed all of the obstacles on your path to glory. Why do you think Daemon Targaryen wanted you dead at all cost? Because he knew what you were, what you were meant to be, and was afraid. So I ensured his death, and that no harm would come to you, by any means necessary.” She was slowly unclasping his fingers from her throat as she sweetly talked to him. “And I am not afraid to do it again, all for you.”

He could sense Vhagar restlessness beside him, but he only stared at Alys with dread, feeling her heart beating beneath his palm she had placed on her chest. His blood was running wild again.

You truly are blind.

Then he watched as she slowly drew a knife from her skirts, and brought it to his other hand, inches from his skin.

“If you let me, I can do so much for you. Let me perform my craft, and you will have all of your enemies suffer and fall. Do not let your wife’s sacrifice be in vain,” she coaxed, the blade of the knife coming closer to his skin. “Give in to me and be the most powerful man in all Westeros. Create a dynasty that competes with Aegon the Conqueror.”

Aemond snapped out of his trance as quickly as he was to draw his own dagger, making Alys’ knife fly away from her hand before it could be tainted with any of his blood.

“Heal my wife, and I will forgive what you call ‘necessary’,” he snarled, his blade pressing to her throat. It was an admission, that it was her doing, and it made him burn inside.

Still, her chin was high, unimpressed. “I told you, it is too late. The board is set.”

“I don’t believe you.”

They watched each other for a moment, all of the events of the past few days passing between them, how Aemond had put his trust into her hypnotising green eyes, letting them make their way into his soul. How her visions had made him realise his worth, so evident to him at the time, her words music to his ears. But mostly, how he had forgotten his duty, his family, his wife and daughter.

No more.

“If you choose her, you won’t sit on the Iron Throne. If you choose her, you’ll dishonour your brother, your sister, your ancestors. You have put your trust in me this far, and I did not fail you. I won’t stop what I have begun, and you have no desire to do so either, I know,” a smile crept on her lips. “What will happen to your family if you let those Lords decide of your fate in the name of peace? If you don’t fight? You are Aemond Targaryen.”

“I’ll protect them, as I always did,” Aemond responded in coldness, breathing on her temple. “Protected them from those who wish to harm my blood, and from those who intend to wield it as their own. And especially,” he paused, taking a step closer to her, the steel of the blade painfully immobilising her. “From those who underestimate it, and by extension, me.” Aemond saw her swallow, making him smile. “Do you really think I need you?”

“You do,” she answered, her eyes cold, bored even. “You need my visions, my Prince. You are linked to me.”

Aemond’s smile widened, bringing the point of his dagger closer to her carotid. She didn’t know him, she never had, her confidence was nothing but delusion, that would soon crumble under his foot. Now, in the enormous shade of his most trusted ally, he understood, and saw clearly.

“Unlink us then,” he simply said. “Or would you rather have Vhagar do it?”

The woman’s face finally displayed fear, her eyes widening slightly as she glanced at the dragon behind her, fangs out as if waiting for the signal.

“Make me yours,” she said defiantly after pondering her next lies, pushing the blade against her throat and reaching for his forearms. “Make me yours and you will never need anyone else again."

The quickening of her pulse and faint pleading in her voice made Aemond cruel and satisfied smile reappear, acknowledging her fear and most of all, her deception. “So if you die, so does your magic,” Aemond concluded wickedly, and he saw how hard she tried to hide her surprise at the discovery of her secret, mouth opening as she finally drew her last cards.

“I will give you sons. Targaryens that will rule and keep your power strong.”

Aemond inhaled sharply, tired at her incessant game. “I have no need for a breeding mare, my children will be legitimate and from the woman I have chosen. Now, heal that woman, and I’ll spare you, for your visions might still be useful for me.”

“She won’t give you children, she is useless to you,” she stated, her lie making him furrow his brow and flare his nostrils. “Make me yours, and she won’t suffer. Make me yours, and I’ll serve you, Aemond.”

Aemond thought about snapping her neck right here and there, her calculating gaze when talking about you making every muscle of his body tense with violent intent. But as he observed her, something in his blood called him to calmness, to trust his newly retrieved instincts and he found himself relaxing, exhaling as he stepped away from the witch. She seemed surprised at the sudden coldness his departure caused to her body, her neck free of his blade which had almost drawn blood, and she slightly frowned, watching him step away further.

Maybe he had felt tenderness for her, once. Likeness, or something more primal, but as he recalled the last few days he had spent with her, all he could feel now was disgust, guilt, betrayal. What had he done?

“Give me one good reason not to kill you, Alys." His voice was strained, almost sad, his anger gone with what he was about to do. He would grant her one last chance, for everything she had done for him. How she had forced her way in his soul for the briefest of moments.

The woman before him lost her puzzled expression instantly, realising that she was standing between Aemond Targaryen, on whom she had no hold on to any more, his blood away from reach as her blade laid in the grass, and the mouth of the most ferocious beast alive, ready to breathe fire at his command.

“Aemond, if you lose me, you lose everything," she panted, fingers curling as she tried to move toward him. "You will always feel that emptiness, that missed opportunity. You need me, and no one else. Make me yours and I’ll ensure your wife won't die."

Aemond stared at her from a distance, the grip on his dagger becoming stronger as his mind, now his own again, ran wild. All he wanted now was to retrace his steps, to find you, to smack the boy that had made him realise his mistakes in the face, even. But not King’s Landing, not Alys. Never.

His next words came as a hoarse whisper.

"I don’t believe you.”

Vhagar snarled behind her, and without any command from him necessary, Aemond turned away and let the other part of his soul do what he could not, muting the screams from his mind.

When he reached the tent, minutes later, he felt whole again.

-0- Part 33

Thank you so much @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan for beta reading

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