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happysnowseal · 4 months ago

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Deals and Desires (final)

Sylus x OC | Midnight Stealth!AU

genre: smut, lil’ comedy, enemies to enemies who fuck

rating: explicit

description: You fail to find the brooch within 24 hours, so the twins suggest you offer Sylus something else in return for getting into the auction—your body. Turns out, your desires are aligned, no matter how twisted they seem.

word count: 8.8k

warnings: IMPROPER use of Evol, tentacle smut, “rope” bondage, lore from Midnight Stealth and the two chapters we meet Sylus (duh), Luke and Kieran being instigators, mentions of hentai, OC’s turned on by Sylus and his Evol and is conflicted, rough sex, breast play, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), double penetration, unprotected sex (this is fiction), standing 69, mirror sex, sneaky sex, electrostimulation, cum eating, multiple rounds.

a/n: IT IS DONE. IT IS HERE! I made a post saying imagine Sylus manipulating his Evol into tentacles to fuck OC with… and voila! This was born. I incorporated a lot of the game dialogue/events but also put my own spin on it. Asks, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! 💌

You must be sick in the head.

Ever since you witnessed those black-red tendrils dissipate the man in black who abducted you into nothing but mere crimson specks, something strange awoke in you. Witnessing such a cruel death shouldn’t pique your curiosity, but beneath your horrified expression was a deep fascination for the leader of Onychinus’ powers. Not that you’d ever tell him.

A simple flick of the wrist or snap of the fingers is all it takes to summon those menacing black-red tendrils. The powerful mist would coil your vulnerable body, manipulate it, bind it—all for his intentions of resonating with you.

However, as the shopkeeper had stated, you can’t resonate with him. On a subconscious level, you’re rejecting him, scared of him, or disgusted by him. So you wonder: is it possible to fear him yet desire him also?

When Sylus proposed a deal that would aid you in your quest for the Aether Core, you couldn’t resist. You had twenty-four hours to find a brooch he had hidden somewhere in Onychinus’ base. Yet despite searching every nook and cranny, you came up short of nothing.

The first time Sylus caught you, he was reading a book on the couch. His calm demeanor didn’t match his appearance, which screamed sin. The gold-rimmed glasses on his face matched a gentlemanly scholar's, but his body was adorned in a lavish red robe, with a V-line low enough to expose his toned pecs. Seriously, who was he showing off for?

“Get out.”

Once you were caught snooping, the same black-red mist formed make-shift handcuffs that bound your wrists. You groaned, dwelling on your loss.

The second time he caught you was when he was dusting his shelves, his back toward you. He was no longer in his robe, having changed into a black dress shirt and matching slacks. Without sparing you a glance, one word left his lips.

“Leave.”

The black-red tendrils were back around your wrists and you whined. “Ugh… I was caught again…”

Third time’s the charm, right? You had your gun loaded and after cocking it, you said to yourself, “This time for sure, I’ll…”

A pair of black slippers showed up in your peripheral and you slowly looked up to see the same, steeled expression in those crimson eyes and that cursed red robe again. It was like a second skin on him at this point. He let out a weighted sigh, which diminished your confidence.

“... I know. I’ll go now,” you said, defeated. He didn’t use his Evol this time, and you’re at war with yourself as to why you even noticed. Or why it mattered so much.

The last time Sylus caught you was the worst. He was in the shower, so you seized the chance to search his bedroom. Desperate, you even sunk to the low level of animal abuse when you shook Mephisto, his crow with mechanical wings, like a piggy bank for answers.

That’s when Sylus turned off the water and panic struck you, so you hid. There was a small window of opportunity to escape, but a phone call came in, deterring your plans. He answered, you eavesdropped, and when things were getting juicy, he noticed your presence and chuckled.

“Mr. Sylus?” the man on the call said.

“It’s nothing. Just a stray cat who happened to barge in.”

This time Sylus not only apprehended you by the wrists, he lifted you in the air as black-red mist swirled around his left hand. The call ends as he sets you down on the bed, and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Not because you failed, but because you didn’t want to face the humiliation of how his Evol brought back a certain spark you thought fizzled out.

Sylus’ back was turned, selecting a record before placing it on his record player.

“Have I underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?” he asked. You stared at your bound wrists, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine.

“You’re the one who suggested a deal. But here you are making things difficult—” you said, fiddling with your thumbs. He approached you, a stern look flashing across his sharp features.

“You’ll have to work harder.”

He grabbed one of your wrists, and red sirens went off in your head. Your mind raced a mile a minute, wondering what his intentions were as he dragged you off the bed. You commanded him to let go, and he obliged, but only after he shoved you out of his room.

“Leave,” he said, his head gesturing to your right, “I’m going to bed.”

At least he kicked Mephisto out too, so you didn’t have to face the loss alone.

Which brings you to the present. You’re scribbling doodles of the bastard as an outlet for your anger, making the stylish choice of adding devil horns on top of his head.

It’s bad enough you’ve been trapped in Onychinus’s base for who knows how long. The man who’s held you captive should be your worst enemy, yet every encounter ignites an inferno in the pit of your stomach. Try as you may, but the dark thoughts you shove in the back of your mind are bubbling to the surface. If anything could anchor you back to reality, it’d be this—remember the mission.

You were to get into the auction to find the Aether core, which you can’t do without his help. But you couldn’t find that stupid brooch, so you’re back to square one. You scrawl over the sketch of Sylus, the pressure harsh enough that the paper threatens to tear until only a tornado of black ink is left.

“You’re pulling your hair out over this, huh?” Kieran says, sitting atop a table with his back towards you. He looks over his shoulder, so his voice will reach better. “If you want to do something, maybe we can help you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, casting the notebook aside.

“If you want to conquer our boss’s heart, you’ll have to use a different approach,” Luke says, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m not trying to conquer his heart. He’s trying to conquer mine if anything,” you retort, folding your arms across your chest as you stand. Luke pulls a book from underneath the table and slides it across in your direction. You walk over, pick it up, and drop it just as quickly like it was a ticking time bomb. “What the fuck?!”

“Strike when he’s off-guard!” the twins chorus with Kieran leaning forward as Luke makes claws with his hands.

“Yeah, I suppose anyone who receives a hentai novel would be caught off-guard! What’s wrong with you two?!” You have to tear yourself away from looking at the erotic cover, depicting an anime girl being fucked by black tentacles belonging to what seems to be a demonic being. He had it all: horns atop his head, ebony eyes, endless tendrils, and a smokin’ hot bod like Sy—wait. No. Don’t look at it anymore. Even sparing it another glance feels like corruption and sin.

Luke chuckles, taking the explicit material back and flipping it open to a specific page. “For some people, they get bored once they have everything. So only those who dare to challenge their authority can catch their interest,” he reads.

Kieran’s sharp memory allows him to quote the story without having it in his hands. "When you're dealing with such a person, you bow down and submit or take them out in one go."

“What are you on about?” you ask, exasperated they’re quoting the pornography like it’s a holy scripture. Luke shuts the book and slides it towards you again, but you grimace like it’ll taint your soul.

“If you don’t want to conquer his heart, perhaps it’d be smarter if you conquer his… desires.”

“If you bow down and submit, maybe our Boss will have a change of heart and help you get into the auction. I mean, no one’s ever offered him their body,” Kieran adds. Your hands fall to your side, balling into fists until your knuckles turn white.

“I’d rather take him out in one go,” you say through gritted teeth. It’s not like you haven’t tried. However, the crazy bastard used you to shoot himself in the chest and you haven’t been the same since. Man thinks he has regenerative healing properties and he’s all that. Pfft. “You two are insane if you think being promiscuous is the solution.”

“In the end, Boss wants to resonate with you. You don’t have to like him, but your body can. Think about it,” Kieran insists, tilting his chin down slightly. The mask he wore shields his face, but you can imagine the impish grin from his inflection. “There’s nothing more intimate than spending a night together.”

“Read the comic,” Luke says, and you can tell from his tone he’s smirking despite the matching mask on his face. “Maybe you’ll find it enjoyable.”

“N-No. This is insanity. You’re telling me your Boss wants to fuck someone with his Evol as… tentacles?”

“Now you see why no one’s ever offered their body,” Kieran says matter-of-factly.

“This is stupid,” you mutter, clasping a hand to your forehead. “I’d rather die than fuck Sylus.”

“She might die even if she does fuck Sylus.” Kieran’s quick to elbow his brother in the side, and your heart is lodged in your throat, beating so loudly like it’s about to burst. He’s right. You could. You’ve seen what his Evol could do to a person.

But you’ve also thought about what it could do for a person. For you.

“Just… think about it,” Kieran says, his voice gentle like he’s coaxing a kitten out of its hiding spot. “If you give our Boss his ultimate desire, I’m sure he’ll do the same for you. You’ve never once thought about him in such a way? You’re not a tad bit curious?”

Luke and Kieran were treading dangerous waters. These two instigators somehow burrowed into your subconscious, forcing you to come face-to-face with your depravity.

You roll your eyes to maintain aloofness, but the book ends up in your possession seconds later. “I’m taking this for research. You’re sure this belongs to him?”

“Absolutely!” they chorus and you’re not sure hearing double aids their credibility.

“Boss is least guarded when he’s sleeping,” Kieran informs. Aren’t we all?

“You only have one shot,” Luke says, emphasizing his point by sticking up his forefinger. “Don’t waste this chance. Just do it!” He gives you a supportive fist pump and you peer down at the lewd book cover again.

What choice did you have? The twins presented a rather salacious solution, but Sylus was your only means of getting into the auction. As Luke said, if you can’t conquer his heart, perhaps you can conquer his desires.

No matter how twisted.

Three hours later…

Time slips away from you as you’re engrossed in your “research.” Not only was it full of filth, but the plot (if you can even call it that), was eerily similar to your situation. The girl on the cover was a demon hunter who fucks a demon to get him to do what she needs. Every drawing is breathtaking, detailed, and graphic. The way his tentacles bent her body to his will, the various positions, how it slithered around her body—it awoke the same feelings you had the night you met Sylus.

The dialogue instilled shame, lust, and more than enough sexual tension to charge a lightning storm. You had to pause every few pages, fanning your face until your cheeks cooled enough to continue. An earthquake couldn’t pry this masterpiece from your grasp and you were determined to finish it.

Once you’re done, you slam the book shut. You take a deep breath, regaining a sense of clarity when a realization dawns on you.

This was why Sylus’s Evol fascinated you. How every time he manipulated your body, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your body until your heart nearly gave out. You indeed feared him; everyone did. But fear was a mask you’ve clung onto so desperately to disguise the dark truth.

Sylus could’ve killed you at any time, but he chose not to. Sure, he has ulterior motives, but the control he has over his power is undeniably sexy, and knowing he can’t kill you meant you had control over him too.

You’ve hidden your desires under revulsion and endless banter when maybe he was right. You’re two kindred spirits, who are more alike than you want to admit. Someone created this book to satisfy the same urges you’ve been depriving yourself of and if Sylus indulged in these fantasies, then you’re not insane for wanting the same thing.

You’ve made up your mind.

If you offer your body to Sylus, it’s a win-win. You’ll get into the auction and you no longer have to feel ashamed about wanting him.

For the mission of course.

You head to Sylus’s bedroom, standing outside the wooden double doors. A pair of Evol-sealing handcuffs are in your possession, courtesy of the twins. You place them in your back pocket and rest your hands on the gold handles, giving yourself a mental pep-talk.

All or nothing!

You turn the handles and march in, seeing Sylus sleeping in his canopy bed with his back against the plush headboard instead of the mattress.

Is he a vampire? Eh. Red eyes, white hair, gorgeous—might as well be.

Climbing onto the bed gently, you watch his chest heave, his breathing evident but it’s so light that you’re tempted to press your ear against his chest to ensure he’s alive.

“Sylus… Sylus?” you say, confirming his dormant status. A soft chuckle escapes you as you whip out the handcuffs, lifting his wrist and attaching it to the golden vintage bed frame. “This is what you get.”

Now that he’s immobile, you can’t help your feasting eyes from ogling his exposed skin. That red robe was both a curse and a blessing, a warning of caution, yet you choose to ignore it. You hover your finger above his abdomen, contemplating whether to make contact when a hand snatches your wrist, lifting it to eye level.

“Showing up uninvited at this hour… Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he says before tossing your wrist aside. You place both hands on either side of his head and his eyes slightly widen, but he remains composed. This would be a lot easier if you straddled him, but patience was a virtue.

“These handcuffs nullify a person’s Evol for an hour,” you declare. He stares at the restraints, his face devoid of emotion before settling his attention back on you. “No matter how powerful you are, you’re helpless as of now.”

“Really?” he asks, the corner of his lips hinting at a small smile. It’s subtle and leaves as soon as it comes. “What do you plan to do then since I’ve become your prey?”

You remove your hands and lean back to sit on your knees. “You’re going to listen to my counteroffer.”

To your surprise, he nods like he has nothing better to do. Maybe the cuffs weren’t necessary. “I’m intrigued. Continue.”

Clasping your hands together, you clear your throat like you had prepared a speech when in reality, your brain is scrambled. What are you supposed to say?

Hey Sylus, do you want to fuck and use your Evol on me like tentacles? It’ll help us resonate!

You might as well put a big fat sticker on your head that says “FREE $.99! FUCK NOW!” and get it over with.

“I’m getting bored,” he states, stirring you from disorganized thoughts. You press your lips into a thin line, mustering whatever courage you have left.

“Look… from the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said ‘we’re the same’...” You wet your lips out of habit to calm your nerves, and he doesn’t miss it. “I couldn’t find the brooch in time and need your help to get into the auction. And you want to be able to resonate with me. So…”

“Get to the point.”

“I’m offering you my body for the night,” you blurt out. He raises an eyebrow and his usually calm demeanor breaks for the first time as a flicker of confusion dances across his face. You would take pride in that, but his face quickly morphs, so you jump out of bed with your hands up, worried he’d deny you. “Hold on. Let me explain.”

Not like he had a choice. The fact he was handcuffed eludes you for a moment, but once you remember, it eases the tension in your shoulders. He waits for you to continue, the smug look on his face not helping to ease your nerves.

“I don’t like you and you don’t like me. But you want to resonate with me, so if we sleep together, maybe… I’ll hate you less. Besides, we have similar desires. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

His eyes glint a haunting crimson from the golden glow of his night lamp. “Do tell. How do I look at you?”

Your knees almost buckle from his deep, smooth voice. “Like… Like… you hate me.”

“Astonishing misunderstanding. Yet somehow you’ve concluded this means we should sleep together?”

You might as well die of embarrassment. “If it’s for the mission, I can detach my personal feelings. We do this and there’s a chance I’ll be able to resonate with you better. After all, what’s more intimate than spending the night together? It’ll work unless… you’re inadequate in bed.”

It’s brief, but you’re sure Sylus clenches his jaw as his lips press into a slight frown, his eyes narrowed on you with laser-like focus. You turn away from him, smacking your cheek like a spanking for being stupid enough to question Onychinus’ leader’s skills in bed.

“Are you done?”

You whip your head around. “Um… yes.”

An exasperated sigh escapes him. “You say you failed to locate the brooch, but your twenty-four hours aren’t up yet. There’s still time.”

You place one hand on your hip while the other waves him off, dismissing his words. “I’ve searched everywhere already!”

“Everywhere. But not everyone.”

The light bulb in your head goes off and you’re back by Sylus’ side on the bed, holding your palm out like an entitled brat.

“Where’s the brooch?”

His smile reaches his eyes and he gestures his free hand across the expanse of his body top to bottom. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

You run your fingers along the black lapels on his robe, checking the inside layer first. The fabric is silky smooth to the touch, but you’re distracted by how hot his skin is on the back of your fingers. No brooch though.

Next, you check the outside of the lapels and sure enough, you feel a hard, circular object. Pulling it out, you see the crow brooch with a lustrous ruby in the center. You giggle with glee.

“Do you really think I hate you?” he questions.

“Now it doesn’t matter at all. I won!”

“Deals have conditions and my condition wasn’t met. The offer has expired already.”

“But you said…”

Shit. The handcuffs on Sylus start to glow red, similar to how blacksmiths heat materials in a furnace. The metal soon melts, allowing your once prey to become the predator.

Your attempts to escape are futile, given Sylus’ quick speed, and you’re thrown onto the bed. He hovers over you and your fight-or-flight instincts kick in as you throw a punch, but he catches your wrist and pins it down without batting an eye.

“You’re pretty good at running away.”

“Let me go. I already have the brooch.” He pins your other hand down, enveloping his large hand over your clenched fist.

“I told you. My offer has expired already, so the real question is… when does yours?”

Sylus is staring down at you with crazed, crimson eyes as the sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears. His hands are warm, too warm. Like they’ll burn you alive or maybe that’s your body heat rising exponentially from how close he was. His scent wafts over you, filling your nose with pleasant notes of cardamom and something herbal, which soothes your nerves and helps you rediscover your voice.

“I… I…”

“Use your words.”

“I only made you that counteroffer because I thought I failed. The brooch has been found. Who cares about the rules? You’re the leader of the N109 Zone. You break them all the time.”

“Careful, sweetheart. My patience is running thin. I’m only keeping you around because you’re still useful. And…” He squeezes your fist like he wants to pry it open. A warning. “I truly enjoy seeing my little prey struggle.” He brings your enclosed fist in front of his chest. “Especially when it thinks it can get away from me. Now tell me… what similar desires do we share?”

Okay. Maybe if you scream loud enough, Mephisto will fly in and—

“Answer me.”

Who were you kidding, Mephisto would sell you out in a heartbeat. That damn crow better not have seen you reading pornography. And those twins… they better start counting their days.

You pull your lower lip under your front teeth, hoping to seal your answer shut for good. But Sylus’ right eye glows red, and you writhe underneath him, turning your head to the side. His Aether Core will reveal your deepest desires if you make eye contact.

Sylus grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, probing into your subconscious and witnessing all your shameful thoughts. Eerie voices fill your mind, their murmurs are difficult to understand, but the pain they bring is borderline unbearable—an unfortunate side effect of Sylus’ intrusion. Once the glow in his eye fades, you feel like yourself again. But the twisted smile on his face let you know things were far from over.

“So that’s what you mean by shared desires… You want me to use my Evol on you. No… you want me to fuck you with it.”

“That’s not true! Luke and Kieran—”

He runs his thumb across your lips, an effective solution for your yapping mouth. “Such improper use of an Evol could have devastating consequences. You are too gullible, kitten.”

Damn it. Those two…!

“Don’t call me that,” you bite back.

“Oh? You have quite the mouth on you today. First, you make a big show of offering your body to me and now you don’t have the guts to tell me exactly how you want me to take you?” He leans closer, his lips ghosting above your own with the slightest touch. “Confess your true desires, [Y/N].”

“N-No. The twins set me up.”

“That book may not belong to me, but I assure you… my desires are all my own. And they align with yours. All you have to do is confess.”

He doesn’t move and prolongs eye contact to where you feel stifled, trapped, and heated in places you shouldn’t. The leader of the N109 Zone doesn’t play around and knows what he wants and the means to get it. But you like challenging him. You like being challenged by him too.

You stay quiet because giving in too easily is what he wants.

“That look in your eyes… Are you trying to seduce me?” You form what you believe is a scowl, but it results in another teasing smirk. “As long as you have desires, there will always be deals to make. So what will it be?”

“I want to get into the auction,” you say, uttering the same script to maintain a semblance of professionalism. “That’s all.”

He sees the brooch jutting out from the space between your forefinger and thumb, easily able to lift it from you. “Don’t move.”

To your surprise, he pins it on your shirt and sits on the edge of the bed. You sit up and lean on your elbows, tilting your head at his sudden behavior change.

“Technically, you did find the brooch. I won’t go back on what I promised you.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“You sound rather disappointed.” He gets up, and you follow suit off the bed like a lost kitten. “If getting into the auction is all you desire, consider it done. You can leave now.”

His back is facing you, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s disappointed too. You fidget with the brooch, running your thumb across the smooth jewel. Without thinking, your hand latches onto his like a magnetic force. Sylus spins around, glowering as you intertwine your fingers through his.

“Let me resonate with you.”

“So brash… you’re getting more and more interesting.”

He entertains you and utilizes his Evol, the black-red mist wrapping around his forearm like sprouting vines as he brings your entwined hands up to eye level. He closes his eyes as more mist envelops where you two are connected, and you watch with bated breath as scarlet specks float inward.

Devour him… he’s yours. He’s right there before your very eyes.

Those eerie voices are back, and you’re strangely compelled to heed their words. An ivory glow shines where your palms meet before an explosive burst of energy emerges, a spiral of lethal scarlet and radiant white from your combined powers. Sylus opens his eyes and lets go of your hand, allowing ivory flakes to cascade down like confetti.

“It’s a shame. But not a surprise.”

“We can try again. Let’s—”

“I admire your tenacity, kitten. But I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Your insides feel like an unattended kettle, whistling from immense frustration and on the verge of exploding. You can’t leave now. Not after he gave you what you wanted. There is a thing called give-and-take, and you’re not one to only take. The guilt would eat you alive.

“I don’t want to owe you. Here,” you grab both his hands, “one more time.”

Sylus lifts his arms and pins you against the nearest wall with hands above your head. Your breath is knocked out of you when your back collides with it, the impact causing the lamp to nearly topple over. His glare is murderous and your sick mind dared to find it incredibly attractive.

“Your stubbornness is what’s going to get you killed someday,” he warns. You see him lean back and remove his hold over you, but when you try to move, you feel restrained. His powers; they’re bounding you. “Is this what you want? For me to use my Evol on you?”

“Isn’t that what you want? I don’t want to owe you,” you repeat. “So I’m ready for whatever’s going on here. You can… use me for the night.” The last part was barely above a whisper, but Sylus’ hum as he folds his arms across his chest lets you know he heard you.

“Do you know what you’re requesting, little one? My Evol is dangerous,” You feel the restraints tighten and they only stop when you yelp in pain. “Yet it’s almost like you welcome it. Even if it hurts. Do you like it when it hurts?”

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, so you kick in his direction with all your might. Hunter instincts, if you will. But the black-red tendrils around your ankle make you sweat as he lowers your leg without breaking eye contact, pinning both ankles to the wall.

“Feisty kitten thinks she’s a tiger now, huh?”

“Why don’t you get on with it already?” you snap, impatient. Sylus grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker like a fish.

“What makes you think I won’t kill you?” Like his razor-sharp words, you feel something akin to a collar around your neck. It prickles your skin while restricting the flow of oxygen to your lungs and you gasp like you’re trying desperately not to drown. You feel light-headed, but his Evol takes mercy on you and grants you enough air to breathe, though you know it comes with the price of answering his question.

“Because you would’ve done so already,” you answer, though your voice is shaky. Sylus nods, as if satisfied with your reply.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Clever girl.” The praise sounds delicious rolling off his tongue. “One final question.” He releases your face and bends down to meet your eye level. “Do you desire me?”

Having been inside your head, the answer was obvious. He’s looking for confirmation, a verbal confession to make whatever feelings you have for him tangible. The man is a walking red flag, and you’re about to wave a white one in surrender.

“If I don’t?” you question, challenging his authority one last time.

“Then I’ll release you.”

“And if I do?”

“Then… I hope you’ll allow me to have you. All of you. Deal?”

A beat passes and you gulp, your head saying no, but your body and heart screaming, “Yes.”

His hand comes up to caress your face, almost lovingly. “Yes, what?”

“I desire you.”

Sylus gives you a full smile, the corners of his eyes creasing. “You’re aware of the risks, right? With the snap of my fingers, I can tear things to shreds,” He carries out the action and as promised, his robe is shredded to bits of black and red confetti. Your eyes trail down his well-developed abdominal muscles and pronounced V-line until they settle on… “Enjoying the view?”

His teasing lilt reminds you to close your gaping jaw. Hell yeah, you’re enjoying the view. Not only was this man well over six feet, his body rivaled that of a Greek God, and he was blessed with a massive cock too? Of course. Things had to be proportionate.

“I… you… that robe was expensive, wasn’t it?” That was quite possibly the lamest response you could’ve come up with.

“It seems like the little kitten is distracted. Probably needs a toy to keep her occupied.” Sylus flicks his fingers, commanding the whirl of black-red mist to rip your clothes and you shriek in surprise. The brooch falls to the floor with a soft clink, and he picks it up, gently putting it on his nightstand. His attention returns to you and your exposed body, and you take pride in how his cock throbs at the sight. “So she likes lace. Pretty.”

You bite back a scream when a black tendril with cracks of glowing red light slithers up your body in between the valley of your breasts, tearing your bra right off. Another one coils around your thigh before it rips your panties off too. The appendages seem to multiply, wrapping your body in an intricate pattern similar to shibari. There’s no pain and they feel smooth, cooling your heated skin.

“I can manipulate things at will with the flick of a wrist. My powers are pure energy meant for destruction, and you’re here wanting to use them for pleasure.”

He leans close to your ear and nibbles the shell of it. The sensation tickles, but you’re too tense to move a muscle. His voice is husky as he whispers, “I could kill you right now. It’d be so easy…”

You hold your breath when he leans back enough to scan your face, relishing the turmoil in your eyes. “I-I trust that you won’t.”

“You know…” His index finger travels alongside your neck, then to your breast, tracing your areola in circular motions. “As soon as my Evol makes contact with anyone, people would die almost instantly and experience the most excruciating pain.”

He’s now rolling your nipple in between his forefinger and thumb, pinching it enough to hurt and elicit a whine from you. “S-Sylus…”

“But that’s not the case with you. Do you know the violence it took to become this gentle?”

You don’t know why your heart swells, but his words were sweeter than any confession. “Thank you…”

His eyes widen slightly and he stops his actions, tilting your chin up instead. “Say that again.”

“Th-Thank you… for being gentle with me.”

He closes his eyes and shudders like your gracious manners sent waves of pleasure throughout his body. A sharp inhale comes, and then he’s staring deep into your eyes like he could see your soul.

“What a good girl you are thanking me… but I must warn you. I meant what I said about having all of you. You’re not the only one with fantasies, [Y/N]. And mine are anything but gentle.”

“I can take it.”

He gives you a half-smile. “Is that so?”

“You doubt me?”

“No. But I think you might underestimate me. After all… I’m possibly ‘inadequate’ in bed.”

Shit. Maybe you shouldn’t have challenged him. But your bratty nature couldn’t leave you well enough alone. “Prove me wrong.”

Sylus’ resolve crumbles and he holds the side of your face as his lips meet yours for the first time. His pressure is gentle like he doesn’t want to scare you off, and once you two find rhythm, he deepens the kiss and you moan as the taste of cinnamon overcomes you. Spicy, very much like him.

His tongue prods its way through once your body relaxes, sliding across your own, the action far more lewd than romantic. He groans and carefully takes your bottom lip in between his teeth, pulling back in the most sexy manner. You moan and he swallows it, kissing you again with more fervor as his hands explore your body.

First, he traces your curves and trails down until his hands cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. Then he brings them back up, kneading your breasts and you mewl at how rough he handled them. Eventually, the kiss breaks, leaving a thin trail of saliva that connects your lips until it eventually severs.

“Beautiful…”

One word and you’re all heart-eyes for the man as heat rushes to your cheeks. If he wanted to tease you for it, he restrains himself and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly before releasing it with an audible pop. His tongue pokes out, swirling around the bud while his hand tends to the other. Your back arches involuntarily, but you’re quickly reminded of your immobility, which causes more arousal to drip down your thighs.

Sylus stops messing with your pert nipples to suck harshly between the valley of your breasts, inevitably leaving a nasty hickey. He pushes them together and then lets go, loving how they jiggle.

“I wonder…” he muses, taking two fingers to tease your folds. “Oh… you’re so wet and I haven’t even put them in yet.”

You squeeze your eyes when he inserts them in slowly, your slick making the transition smooth as he stretches you out. “Fuck… Sylus, please.”

“What? Are my fingers not enough?” He stills and the lack of movement frustrates you to no end. You want to thrash around, but you’re still glued to the wall.

“N-No. Please… please move them.”

“You beg so prettily,” He pulls them out and begins fingering you at a snail’s pace. “But it’s not enough. You can do better.”

“Please!” you exclaim. “I need more…”

“God, you’re dripping on my hand and I haven’t done much.” He moves faster, his fingers knuckle deep and curling in spots that have you clenching hard. It’s like he’s coaxing out more of your essence with each stroke and then challenges you with a third finger. “Does it feel good?”

You can hardly respond with how stuffed you feel, your lust insatiable as he speeds up.

“Yes? No? Maybe so?” he asks, amused by your struggle.

“Y-Yes… good… so good…”

Your pussy is making obscene noises and you’re feeling a warmth building in your abdomen, especially when Sylus kisses your neck. His lips are scorching hot, almost searing as if you were being branded. You submit and let him mark you, focusing on the pressure within as your high is approaching. He uses his free hand to hold yours, interlocking your fingers together.

“Fuck!” you shout, feeling like you couldn’t breathe fast enough to keep up with his bruising pace. “I’m going to come, I—”

He seals your words with another kiss, and your scream is muffled when your orgasm hits you like a gunshot. It’s brutal and intense, causing you to see stars for what feels like the longest minute of your life.

At the same time, your interlocked palms glow bright red and ivory. Unlike before, this explosion caused a surge of power to pass through his bedroom like shockwaves, destroying most things that came into contact. The roar is deafening, but all you can focus on is Sylus and how good he made you feel.

“Come back to me.”

You don’t realize when he stopped kissing you. Or when he removed his fingers. Or when you stopped being pinned to the wall. Sylus is holding you up and when you see how his eyes softened for the concern for your well-being, you’re smitten.

“I’m okay…”

His demeanor shifts, the change so sudden that it is like a phone going from light mode to dark mode. The man manipulates your body with his Evol and throws you onto the bed without a second thought. Black-red mist envelops your body again, this time cuffing your wrists in front. Tendrils wrap around each breast, your torso, and your neck, constricting tightly until you resemble a beautifully decorated present.

Sylus joins you on the bed, settling in between your thighs as he lies on his stomach as if he were a sniper. He has his Evol pry them wider, so your pussy is exposed for his feasting eyes. His arms are secured under your thighs, an extra precaution to hold you in place.

That’s when an untimely knock comes.

“Boss? Is everything alright?”

“We heard a loud crash!”

Damn it. Luke and Kieran have impeccable timing. And the way the corners of Sylus’ lips tug into a smirk instills panic in you.

“Answer them. Make it convincing,” Sylus whispers. You watch as he dips down until his white hair is all you can see. His lips latch onto your lower ones and you’re choked up, trying not to moan too loudly as he tastes you.

“We’re… We’re fine!” you exclaim, though your breathy tone is far from convincing. Sylus grunts in disapproval at your poor performance, and the vibrations are a suitable punishment. “Sylus and I have are having a disagree—ah!—ment.”

Fuck, why does he have to lick your clit right at that moment?!

“Oh no, you two are fighting?” Kieran asks, his voice cracking slightly from his concern.

“Give up, [Y/N]! Our boss is relentless!” Luke adds with a faint snicker. Tell me about it.

Sylus continues to give you kitten licks before licking a long stripe across your labia folds. You’re bucking your hips because you want more, but you’re also trying to close your thighs to escape the pleasure. It’s no use when you’re restrained and have no choice but to let him eat you out to his heart’s content. It’s when he inserts a finger to join in his salacious tongue that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe. “Sylus, if you keep going… they’ll hear me.”

“Then I suggest you stay quiet. What would your colleagues say if they knew the best hunter in Linkon is lusting over the leader of Onychinus?”

“I’m-I’m not!”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie,” He gives you a short break to clean your juices off his fingers, sucking them like they were a popsicle. “And oh how sweet you are, indeed.”

“Don’t kill each other!” the twins chorus. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.

“Leave us,” he demands. “We have ways of… negotiating. Even if it takes all night…”

There’s some shuffling before you hear their footsteps recede down the hallway until silence remains.

“That was mean,” you whine. He tilts his head, swiping his upper lip with his tongue ever so slowly.

“You think that was mean? Oh… you underestimate me.”

He rises from your thighs and kneels on the bed, but his large frame still towers over you. “Wait, I—”

A snap of his fingers seals your mouth shut. You see the crimson specks floating around your mouth and protest, but they’re reduced to muffled squeals.

“Like I said before… you have quite the mouth on you today.”

Your eyes enlarge when you see a black-red tentacle rise from between your thighs. It sparks at the tip, which transforms into a cock-head to simulate a human penis. It’s not too thick, but it still makes your heart beat erratically.

Sylus takes both your hands and squeezes the right one first. “If you want me to keep going, squeeze your right hand,” He squeezes the left one next. “If it’s too much and you want me to stop, squeeze your left.”

His thoughtfulness brings those butterflies back. You squeeze your right hand and he nods, commanding the tentacle to run its tip up and down your folds. It brushes your clit every so often, which makes you sigh in pleasure. Then it enters you slowly, your arousal making things run smoothly.

It penetrates you about six inches deep before pulling out halfway, only to slam back into you with greater force. Your cries are muffled, but Sylus can tell you’re enjoying yourself by how your eyes roll back. The appendage thrusts into you at a maddening pace, your body rocking back and forth from the notion, and Sylus enjoys seeing the erotic sight of your tits bouncing. The tendrils around your breasts constrict while smaller ones branch off, wrapping around your nipples and teasing them too.

The make-shift gag around your mouth converts into another cock-head tentacle, forcing its way in so you’re sucking it off. Sylus groans at the beautiful sight of you submitting to it so willingly.

“You’re so pretty when you submit… I can’t imagine how sexy you’ll look when I take you,” he praises.

So many parts of you are being stimulated and you’re sure you’ll come again soon with how each thrust, both in your pussy and mouth, speeds up. It’s almost like they were losing control, taking you with them. It’s not until you feel a small spark from below that you yelp.

The sensation was like static electricity that you get if you rub your feet on a carpet. Not life-threatening, but a nuisance that stings for a brief second.

“My Evol is energy manipulation… that energy is hard to control sometimes…” Sylus says in a low voice. “It might even shock you.”

You can’t hear much over the squelching noises from your pussy and mouth as the tentacles work into you, hungrily, greedily, until the build-up from below is enough to cause your whole body to shake involuntarily. Your orgasm approaches and then is heightened when a small jolt of electricity shocks your clit.

The tentacle in your mouth removes itself, so you can scream until your voice gives out. The other one leaves your pussy once you stop shaking, and you are still on the bed, catching your breath. However, you feel something warm and wet on your stomach, so you lift your head enough to see spurts of cum leaking from Sylus’ cock.

His hands are still holding your own. Did he come from simply watching you?

“I’m not going to apologize,” he says without a hint of remorse. “You excite me.”

You’re flattered, truly. Especially when his cock is still erect, almost angry with need by how much it throbs. You wonder if it’s painful.

The mist around your wrists vanishes, but your body is dragged off the bed to the opposite side of the room, where Sylus’ grand wall mirror reaches the ceiling. You’re suspended in front of it and he wraps his arm around your waist from behind, twirling your hair with his other hand.

“Do you know how irresistible you are? Such temptation… that’s why I’m taking my time,” He takes his finger, swipes across your stomach, and gathers enough cum to coat his digit before lifting it to your mouth. “Open.”

You obey and he lets you taste himself, the action so wicked. So dominating. So sexy. His cum is salty and slightly bitter, but addictive.

“Good girl. Are you ready for what’s next?”

“Yes.”

His Evol controls your limbs and suddenly, you’re flipped upside-down with Sylus’ cock in front of your lips while your pussy is facing his. Your legs are wrapped around his neck and you’re taken aback at the extreme position.

“I’ve always thought Standing 69’s would be… enthralling. Always wanted to try it.”

The blood rushing to your head blurs your focus and your adrenaline spikes at the thought of possibly falling. But Sylus’ powers are strong and you’ve yet to see them falter. As if he can read your thoughts, he says, “Don’t worry, kitten. Rest assured I won’t drop you on your pretty little head.”

“It’s still scary…”

“I know. But isn’t that what makes it thrilling?” He pulls you closer by placing his hands on your ass, placing a chaste kiss on your cunt. “The sooner you finish, the sooner I’ll have you right-side up.”

Another challenge you can’t back down from. You take Sylus’ cock in your mouth and it reaches the back of your throat quickly from its impressive length. It’s also thicker in girth than the tentacle you sucked off earlier, which makes you gag.

Sylus throws his head back, panting from how soft and warm your mouth feels. He snaps his fingers to release your wrists, allowing your hands to find purchase on the back of his thighs.

“If it becomes too much, squeeze twice.”

You respond by bobbing your head up and down, which earns a sharp inhale from him. He isn’t one to fall behind, so he indulges in your sopping cunt like a glutton, moaning and grunting into it like an animal. Meanwhile, you relax your jaw so it becomes easier to adjust to his size, swirling your tongue as you maneuver up and down.

Your eyes shift to the mirror, seeing your compromised position and lewd actions. You barely recognize yourself or Sylus for that matter. He’s so engrossed in eating you out that his eyes are closed like he’s enjoying heaven on Earth. It pushes you to work harder, keeping up with his pace.

Right before Sylus is about to reach his peak, you hear another snap. He stops eating you out and you feel something bumpy rub itself against your pussy. Then Sylus’ fingers spread your ass cheeks and you feel it probing around your other hole.

Your mouth stills and your eyes widen at the sight of a black-red tendril that’s now ribbed at the tip. It slowly enters, stretching you to take each ribbed section, simulating the action of being fucked repeatedly. Sylus is back at work, inserting his tongue into your vagina in hopes it’ll distract you from the burn, but it only makes you clench harder.

“Relax…” he reminds you before diving back in again. He’s bucking his hips to remind you to continue, and you do your best as saliva pools so much that it drips down near your eyes. Everything feels too much, too tight, especially when the tentacle starts fucking your asshole. The ribbed texture only adds to the intensity and hits spots that border pain and pleasure.

Sylus’ hips begin to stutter and you’re seconds away from passing out from the light-headedness. Fortunately, he finishes in your mouth, the thick viscosity of his cum coating your throat while you orgasm for the third time tonight.

The noises he lets out are feral and if you had the chance, you’d record them so you could get off to them another night. You feel the pressure in your ass disappear and as promised, you’re right-side up again, but your limbs feel like jelly. Sylus wraps his arm around your waist, his hold secure as he flashes you a satisfied grin.

“Open.” You’re still in a daze, but the command gets through to you and you show him your mouth. When he sees you have swallowed, he hums in approval. “You really do hold up your end of the bargain. I suppose I’ll finally give you what you want.”

He grabs your hand and places it on his dick, which is slippery from your saliva. He’s still semi-erect but a few strokes is all it takes to get him up and running again. The man’s a beast and refuses to be in a cage.

Guiding you to the bed, he lays down first on the mattress, his hands clasped behind his head as he rests on a pillow. In the blink of an eye, you’re suspended over him, the black-red mist parting your thighs and slowly lowering you until your pussy barely grazes his tip. Your wrists are bound behind your back now and you’re like a puppet, bent to his will.

“What do you desire, Kitten?”

“You,” you beg. “Please.”

“You wish for me to take you raw?”

You’re nodding like your life depended on it. “Yes.”

“You wish for me to use you?”

“To your heart’s content.”

He says nothing else and sinks you onto his fat cock, and despite the many sessions he’s used to prep you, there’s still a slight burn from how much he stretches you. It feels incredible as he bottoms out, knocking the breath out of both of you.

“Oh god…” you say, trembling from how full you feel. “You’re so big…”

“And you’re so tight. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let go of me. So greedy.”

The mist controls your pliant body, helping you bounce up and down without pausing for a break. Sylus does a jazz hands motion with the widest grin on his face.

“Look, kitten. No hands.”

You almost growl at his cheap jokes, but his throbbing cock deters you from your thoughts, almost impaling you from its brute force. Sylus reaches out and pulls you so your chest meets his, his arm hooked around your back to hold you in place, giving you a short moment of reprieve.

“Raise your head,” he commands. You feel so drained, but you force yourself to do it and he gives you a quick smooch. “I need you to relax.”

The ribbed tentacle is back and you feel it gliding in between your ass cheeks, prodding your rim every so often like it’s mischievous.

“S-Sylus, it’ll be too much,” you say.

“You can handle it. But let me know now if you want to stop.”

You bite your lower lip, considering his words. “No. Don’t stop.”

“That’s my girl…” The tendril pushes into your asshole, taking its time as each ribbed section feels like a repeated attack, pushing the limits of your body. You’re utterly stuffed once it’s in as far as Sylus allows and you feel his cock throb in your sore pussy.

Sylus jerks his hips first and then the tentacle joins as they pump in and out of you, alternating and becoming more violent. You’re biting down in the juncture between his neck and shoulder to steady yourself, and he lets out a strained fuck, yes, thrusting up into you so hard that you sob, tears pricking your eye.

Just when you think there aren’t any surprises left, a second tentacle sneaks around to your lips, seizing its opportunity to enter when you gasp. It gags you and now all three of your holes are being used and abused, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The stimulation is overwhelming, the pressure bottling, your pussy squeezing Sylus’ like a vice—you’re both not going to last much longer.

“That’s it, that’s it—fuck, I adore you,” he pants, closing his eyes and focusing his energy to give you his all. The tendril occupying your mouth releases you, allowing the mantra of Sylus’ name to fall from your lips as euphoria greets you.

You’ve come many times tonight, but this one saturates you in overwhelming pain and pleasure. Everything is sore and you can’t stop seeing four of everything until Sylus lifts you by the hips, coming on his stomach and not inside you. You collapse onto his chest when the mist dissipates, the two of you catching your breath.

There isn’t enough money in the world to convince you to move, not after what you’ve experienced. Yet something lifts you off Sylus and you’re about to cry again.

“No, no more…”

“Hush now,” The mist positions you in Sylus’ arms bridal-styled as he gets off the bed, his strong arms securing you. “We’re going to the bathroom to clean ourselves up. You’re staying with me for the night.”

You nuzzle into his embrace like a kitten, and a fond smile rests on his face.

“Okay.”

A/N: You made it to the end! Yipee! Thank you for giving my writing a chance. PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed. 🌹

#sylus smut #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #lads sylus #sylus x you #sylus qin #my writing #lads smut #lnds sylus

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cursedcola · 1 year ago

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Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde(here!), Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): The relationship is kinda toxic because it's Idia and I have to be realistic - but it gets better as you read. Just know that there are themes of miscommunication, self-sabotage, self-neglect, and insecurity in both Idia and the MC. I gave him some character growth at least and some maturation to the character. Note: All Ignihyde has is Idia so I gave his piece some extra love(super long. Like, this isn't even considered a headcannon set anymore. I really went overboard, I'm so sorry). Not proofread for grammar since I'm a bit lazy right now. Also, I haven't finished his chapter in game because I'm too weak (seriously wtf is up with these fights). I know the plot mostly but forgive me if there's an inaccuracy in a reference

Idia had it made during his youth - and deep down he knows it despite all his complaining. He knows that he won the introvert lottery. For three years he was able to live in a reclusive dorm room with no expectations beyond showing up to class (via a tablet of all things) and doing his work. Sure, he had to return home at some point and deal with that hot mess...but it was a displaced problem. One to be dealt with whenever. As a full-time 'student' he had junk food readily available, his brother down the hall, all the games and tech he needed, and somehow managed to land himself a loving partner despite his quirks.

The Ramshackle prefect - someone he initially wanted nothing to do with. Chaos seemed to follow their every move and Idia wanted no part of it. He never expected to come within a twenty-foot radius of them without force.

For the record, force indeed was used. Unfortunately they had a nasty habit of being nosy. Very 'main character complex' of them, if you ask him.

Yet it worked in his favor. Their stubbornness and intrusive ways wormed a place in his stone-cold heart. It fueled his ego much to everyone's chagrin. Out of everyone - princes, busy bodies, future doctors and the literal fish mafia - you picked him. The noob cursed to lose all his 50/50s and rot in bluelight. Idia seriously questions your tastes, but hey! He beat the normies and that's all he cares about.

Well, at least that's how he phrases it. Underneath that god-tier ego is an inferiority complex that he tries to keep down for your benefit. Something about your mood dipping by 20% when he talks trash? He'd need Ortho to run another test on that. Just to be safe.

Unfortunately, he still can't reign it in all the way. Victories can be temporary and who's he to say that your relationship isn't a one-shot story? Nothing worthwhile is ever that simple. Good games always get sequels...so the question lingers, will he still be a main character in yours?

When Idia graduates, he fully expects for you to walk out of his life. He returns to S.T.Y.X and leaves NRC to fulfill his role back home. You have no reason to care about him when he's no longer nearby. Life isn't like an isekai manga. You won't wait for him - no, you'll get a taste for how life is without him and indulge. Slowly you'll stop texting him, calling him, playing games with him - well, he'll do it first! He refuses to be the second male lead that gets dumped when you finally find your prince. That's for chumps.

He'd rather you just up and leave this world! At least then he wouldn't be in this pitiful situation...but he's seen that crow's shitty work ethic. You're stuck.

Idia's scared to say the least. One could say that his self sabotage was in action before your relationship even began. Old habits die hard, and no one could stop his spiral. Not even Ortho. Idia left his little brother behind as well. The boy sent him off with a smile, promising to take good care of you in his big brother's stead. After all, you both were in the same year.

It's not surprising that he reverts to his old ways. A hard battle is even more difficult to win when you don't have the motivation to fight it in the first place. Idia loses his drive...and in turn his already negative outlook grows worse.

Needless to say, Idia ... neglects you.

Your relationship has always been more of an 80:20 than a 50:50 - with him taking more than he ever gave. You always set aside time and made sure he was comfortable. You respected his anxieties and dealt with his temper on more than one occasion. His jealousy. You indulged his hobbies, always tried to include him in on activities with your friends (even though he rarely ever accepted), wore your heart on your sleeve and always took the lead. You were always too good to be true.

Two years. Two years with him at S.T.Y.X and you at NRC. Not a day passed where you did not text him or call. Not a week passed where you did not video-chat or play a game with him. You made time. You checked in. Told him stories about your life an friends. Ortho often would send him recordings and clips as well. During vacations you'd make plans to see him and always invited him to come to campus for events. Even though he never accepted, you still always offered. Throughout it all he kept you at a distance, yet unable to fully let you go at the same time. He needed you to do it. He needed his inner thoughts to shut up and to have someone else to blame.

You. You. You. When would you stop? Why weren't you tired of him yet? On a good day he can be frustrating, so how were you not mad when he was physically trying to make you hate him? Were you waiting until graduation to drop the bomb on him that you'd leave for good? On another's arm or back to your world?

Imagine his surprise when neither happened. On the dawn after Ortho's graduation ceremony, Idia came out of his cave to greet him at the S.T.Y.X entrance. He would no longer be as lonely, and perhaps without Ortho around, you'd finally put distance between yourself and the Shroud family. All would be as it should.

He did not expect to see you at the gate as well. Ortho flew up to him with a bright grin and twirl in the air - babbling on and on about how he arranged for you to come work as a research assistant in the lab. After all, you had an extensive knowledge of blot as well as field experience. It was a win-win situation for the company and your relationship! You could now be a happy family! Isn't that just amazing?

"It was extremally difficult to keep this a surprise!...Brother?" Ortho halts mid-rant, his receptors going haywire, "Brother, your heartrate has increased and your temperature is dropping below stable levels. You must regulate your breathing pattern!"

White noise rang like television static in Idia's eardrum. He watched you thank one of the guards while handing off your suitcase. His pulse increased and mind went under water. How long had it been since you were together longterm? You looked different. More mature. Meanwhile he was still the same - physically and emotionally. Still the pasty shut-in with dark eyebags and energy drinks running through his veins instead of blood. He wasn't used to seeing you in person. How should he react? Should he hug you? Do you want him to? That's weird. He hasn't held you in a while - yeah, it would be creepy. Does he even deserve to? What made you want to work here anyways?! You could have gone anywhere. ANYWHERE. - Shit. You're looking this way. What should he do?! aHH! You're walking over!

He does what he knows best. Shuts down. You receive a disgraceful greeting. No affection. Not even a smile.

Idia's brow furrows at your approach and he buries his hands deep into the pockets of his lab-coat. When you lean in to kiss his cheek, he catches you by the forearms and holds you in place. "Since when were you going to work here? You do remember what S.T.Y.X is in charge of, right? Once you're in, there's no going back. Are you a masochist or something?" Ah. There goes the heartfelt reunion. Being home did bring out a more harsh and cut-throat side of him after all.

Despite his poor treatment, you don't react upset. Now the relationship has now become something of a 90 : 10. He knows you have no reason to come here other than for Ortho and himself. You really are an Otome protagonist, jeez. Willing to do all that for him? Giving up your future and friends just to be at his side...dammit. Don't give him hopes! Don't undo all the work he's put in to survive without you! Stop welcoming misfortune for his sake! You're stupid. Stupidstupidstupid .... man he loves that stupidity. Gods he missed it.

Shit. Not even an hour in and he's reverting.

You don't realize it but you're heading straight for a bad ending. He does though. He's read the guides and played more visual novels than he can count. As a pro, he needs to steer you off this villainy ending and towards the true route.

After all ... what was that one saying? Heroes will sacrifice you for the world, while Villans will sacrifice the world for you? He heard it from some normie bookworm...but it seems fitting right now.

Idia's no hero. He'll destroy his world if it means you get to be happy. Not that he had much of one to begin with. You...gave him a life beyond fiction while all he's offered is a curse. Literally and figuratively. Its time he returned what he so greedily stole. He'll make you move on through force.

The months are slow and difficult. Despite being nearby, Idia only ever seeks you out for work-related reasons. Even then he is very cold and dismissive . He also does not turn you away when you take the initiative. Just like old times, you linger around his room and prod him for attention. He wants you to leave, but also doesn't want to be cruel. So, he maintains this impassive position and lets you do whatever you please. Yet the situation is scarily similar to how you both were at NRC. Except instead of using his past as an excuse, he now uses your work dynamic to enable his noncommittal ways.

There really is only so much one person can take. After Idia left NRC, you pinned his switch in behavior on the lifestyle change and distance separating you both. You knew Idia would be someone you had to work hard for when you started to date, and so the situation was one you viewed as an obstacle to overcome. The solution was simple - you would go to S.T.Y.X and prove to him that you were willing to make it work. Without the physical distance, you hoped that he would let you in again. That you wouldn't have to hear reassurances from his brother anymore, and instead hear his feelings from his own mouth instead. Then you both could work out the details together in time. Seeing him reject you at first was discouraging, but you did not let it rest there. Perhaps he needed time and to get used to your presence in his home. After all, these were new waters. You would be patient. You would prove yourself capable.

Life becomes a time capsule. As the days went by, a bitter feeling grew in your stomach. Why wouldn't he laugh? Why wouldn't he look in your eyes anymore? Why is he retreating even further? What were you doing wrong? How could you fix it? Is it you? Your performance in the lab is outstanding according to your supervisors, and your work friends seem to find you agreeable enough. Can't he see that you've adjusted well and are happy here? There's nothing to worry about. How else can you prove yourself?

These thoughts plague your mind to an extend that Ortho felt the need to preform psychiatric evaluation. You dismissed his concerns with a long list of things about your new home that make you happy - including him. It pacifies his panic and somehow mitigates your own as well.

Until one fateful day, when you decided to take your lunch early and overheard a conversation between two senior S.T.Y.X employees

"Isn't the boss' partner kind of pitiful?" One technician spoke in a hush whisper, taking a bite from her salad, "He doesn't give them the time of day. I can't believe they've stuck around this long. Screw the job, I would have been out after the first week," "Shhh! Quit gossiping, it's bad. Especially about the one who pays our bills," The other scolds. "I know....but isn't it just sad. They're clearly being taken advantage of. I can't help but feel sorry" "It's not just you...to tell the truth, I had no clue Director Idia had a partner up until recently. If anything, I thought he disliked Assistant MC and kept them around for Director Ortho's sake. Imagine my shock..." They both snicker at the notion. "Yeah. I give them a few more months...maybe a year. Despite being smart in the lab, they clearly can't read the room:

It was the last straw. Like ice water being dunked over your head after a hot shower. The lunch pale in your grasp suddenly felt like it weighed ten times heavier, and a cold sweat dripped down your back. They were right. He didn't want you here. It was time to move on or else you'll just be living out an endless loop. Nothing has changed since your youth aside from the location. No matter how long you wait, no matter how much effort and time you offer ... the relationship is doomed to fail. You gave him everything...and it was time to stop waiting. To stop expecting and hoping. Time to accept reality.

Your lunch goes discarded in a nearby bin and your shift abandoned. You would not work another second for S.T.Y.X despite the facility not being the source of your anguish. Your shoes clack loudly against the tile flooring as you speed-walk to Idia's office, where he was lazily reviewing data on a recent experiment. His phone set off to the side with some automated gatcha daily playing.

You use your 'special' pass (curtesy of ortho) to get in. The metal door swings out as you march inside and turn off his screen without asking.

"H-h'-hey! What are you-" He shrieks and turns in his chair. "We need to talk" "Can't it wait until later? I'm busy working, if you can't tell" "No" Your tone is demanding. Definite. You all but yank the badge from around your neck and drop it in his lap. In that motion, he knew. Your eyes scrunch tight and teeth grind together. He was prepared for this. For you to lash out and yell at him for your suffering. Make him the bad guy in your story and finally beat the game for good. Not for you to deflate. Not for the glassy, disappointed stain on your eyes. Or the shallow breaths as you calm yourself - not letting your emotions frighten him like a spooked cat. "I'm quitting," "S.T.Y.X? You know you can't just quit. There's a process," He refutes, lazily pushing his chair back with an anxious fidget. "Not just S.T.Y.X...I'm quitting us. I can't do this anymore," "Oh. Alright. Let me get the paperwork," "Alright?" You whisper, gaping at him "...just alright? That's all you have to say to me? Not even 'why' ?" He pauses typing on a holographic keyboard, cocking an eyebrow at the question. "What? You want me to beg you to stay or something like that? We're not in an anime," His words die out at the end, and had it not been for your disbelief you would have caught the note of sadness in them, "you want to go? Then go. I warned you about this place" "No...you warned me about the facility. It's not the facility I have a problem with. I actually like it here" "So it's me then, huh? I warned you about that too," He grumbles and continues to type, "I'm not whatever it is that you saw in me. It's your fault for sticking it out this long. I knew this was how it would end from the start" A silence follows aside from the occasional noise from his computer. That's it. The nail in the coffin. You finally realized the truth. He was no good for you. He couldn't be 'fixed'. With an approving chime, he finally has all the departure paperwork pulled up for you to sign. "Alright. Sign these and I'll get you an escort," He holds out a tablet in pen without looking from his computer. You don't take it. "Hello? I said - " he turns to face you, irritated "....here" Silent tears stream down your cheeks and pool at the tip of your chin, dripping to the tile below. Wide eyes lock in his general direction. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, as if your mind was thousands of miles away. His heart breaks. "You never even gave us a chance, did you?" He says nothing. "It wasn't about 'making it work' for you. It was always a matter of 'how long'. You've been waiting for me to leave you, all this time?" It wasn't a question. "All this time, I've been trying to prove myself. I've been thinking that I did something wrong...that I needed to be better" the word stings your tongue and seems to strike him, " but I was never even close to enough" we were never enough

With languid movements, you take the pen from him and sign the papers. You would not hide your sadness. Your grief. Your pain for a relationship that was never actually one. For a battle that only had one party fighting.

He lets you go, the metal door swinging shut and rattling him to his core. Idia's hands shake as he tries to return to his work. They tremble over the holographic keyboard, making his blue nails look like moving neon streaks in the air.

He had always thought you ere just being kind. That your self-sacrificing nature was natural, and that someone else was more deserving of it. He failed to consider the possibility that all the things you did...you did for him alone. You did out of the same anxieties and fears he felt.

In a way, you both were at fault. He led himself down a self-fulfilling prophecy - letting his anxieties and what-ifs become reality. And you? You thought everything could be fixed with time. With sacrifice. That eventually he would grow. You both were plants, one overwatered and the other left parched in the sun.

He did get one thing right. This was defiantly a bad end. Just not in the way he originally believed...

Somehow, life becomes worse than before you arrived at S.T.Y.X. At least when you were around, people did see him more out of his office or room. Seeing him revert to his previous ways without so much as an inkling of sadness for losing you....yeah, it did not look good. Worse than people not even knowing you were his partner at first. After your departure, rumors began to spread that you had finally snapped. The pity felt for you morphed into judgement towards his character. Others saw him as a heartless recluse, and the pity was extended to Ortho of all things. If Idia could toss out a loyal partner of years, what about the little robot? Perhaps despite all the gossip, the others at S.T.Y.X did not fully believe that he would let you leave so easily. That he wasn't as detached as the Shroud name dictates.

Little do they know that he's become a shadow of his former self. He can't even act self-depreciative. Pleasantries don't hit like they used to. Having you at a distance...well, was still considered as being with you. Now that you're never coming back, it's harder. Everything reminds him of you. Your favorite snacks are still stocked in the cafeteria, and there are blankets in his room that still have your scent. Occasionally a file will pop up with your work in it while he's doing reviews...and then there's Ortho. When you left, he was crushed. He pestered Idia for days - the security cameras giving him full knowledge of what happened. Yet no matter what the robot said about the situation, Idia didn't want to hear it. Eventually he took away Ortho's access data to his personal spaces.

That didn't stop the bot from talking through the door and spamming his brother's inboxes. Despite cutting off contact with his big brother, you still spoke to Ortho regularly. He refused to let his big brother lose all connection to you, and updated him on your well-being. Regardless of what Idia said, hearing about you made a difference. At first it increases his anxiety and drops his mood...but every time, like a scheduled delay, his serotonin levels will spike. Be it from a clip of your voice, a picture, or even just the mention of your name.

"Brother! I just finished a call with MC. Today they decided to adopt a cat! Would you like to see a picture?" His computer beeps with an incoming missive. Idia clicks it, and the screen displays a photo of you with a small white kitten in your arms. "They've decided to name it Grimm Jr. From what I heard, the predecessor was not pleased to be 'replaced,' as he calls it" Ortho laughs from the other side of the door, but Idia is too focused on the image on his screen. The curve in your smile and the way you gently cradle the kitten. You seem...happy. Much better than how he is doing. He fails to hear the door beep, granting access, neither the bot fly up next to him to look at the picture. "Big brother, why don't you apologize to MC? They would listen," Idia startles, clutching his chest as his hair flairs cherry red for a brief moment. He swivels in his chair and closes the image quickly. "I'm not apologizing for nothing. It's not like I miss them or anything. My life's great without having a normie relationship to manage" "Your body language suggests that you are lying" Ortho states, his eyes squinting cheekily. Idia hunches over, glaring at his keyboard and fiddling with his sleeves, "It's not like they'd want to see me anyways. I blew it. Only an idiot would forgive what I did," "That's not true! MC loves you!" Idia glares at him from the corner of his eye, "Yeah? They look pretty happy without me. They were miserable here" "Because you purposefully made them miserable! You are very smart brother, but even I understand emotions better than you and I am an artificial lifeform!" "Then what should I do, Ortho? Go beg them to take me back like some cringe sitcom?!" "Yes!" Idia blanches at the thought, but doesn't entirely dismiss it. Ortho glares holes into his head, causing Idia to shrink into his chair. "You are always afraid, brother. You lost them to your fears once...do you want to regret that? Are you really satisfied with pictures and stories? Why deny yourself wonderful things! We are not trapped anymore!"

Ortho leaves him with one piece of information - an apartment address. He sends it to all of Idia's emails and even somehow makes it the background of his tablet. He can't change it or take it off.

He stares at it long and hard. Searches the place up and even uses virtual reality to scope out the building. While perhaps a bit creepy...he hacks the security cameras and watches feed of you coming and going over the past moths. Some days you look perfectly well, and others you look worse for wear. If he went...would you even want to see him? Would you let him in? Kick him out? Is he willing to even try? What if you already moved on...no, Ortho wouldn't set him up for that if he knew you were happy with someone else.

Idia leaves S.T.Y.X for the first time in months. His request for leave shocks other employees. Yet he's gone the moment it's approved, afraid that he'll lose his edge if he thinks too long on it.

He finds himself at the door of a middle-class apartment in the Kingdom of Roses. Second floor, third door to the left, just like he memorized. He knows its yours from the ribbons tied on the doorknob, themed after one of your favorite animes. One he introduced to you...

In his hands is a small box of candies - a peace offering, just in case you want to kill him on sight.

His boney knuckles wrap around the doorknocker and thwack it three times. Sweat pools in his palms and he jolts away. The seconds like hours as his painted nails dig crescents into his palms. The door opens. "Hi, how can I -" You pause mid-sentence, your mouth going dry. Grimm Jr. snuggled in one of your arms while the other holds the door open, "I-idia?" "T-that's my name," He grimaces, looking anywhere but at you. "What are you doing here?" His tongue feels heavy and the tips of his hair fade to a pale orange. He studders and fumbles with the box of candies, holding them out to you with a grimace. "I wanted to see you...urk. I hope that's not weird! Can ... I come in?" You eye the box in thought, before reaching out to take it and opening the door further. It was a start.

You hear him out - through the stuttering and the self-depreciative comments that he hastily retracts. This isn't just about him. It's about you and everything else in-between. Shockingly enough, you agree to give him a second chance. It wasn't entirely his fault after all ... and you did still love him. Although now there are ground rules. You would not be returning to S.T.Y.X. You've finally created a stable home for yourself and have a life in this new city. You have a career, friends, and a life that doesn't include him. You need the individuality. You would no longer try to morph yourself for him or be placid. If he wanted to spend time with you, he would have to leave S.T.Y.X and come stay at your apartment. You would no longer be the one always reaching out, he would have to start showing initiative and making time for you. You would see how things progress from that point. He was not a child, and you would not beg for basic needs to be met anymore. Words would not be enough, you need actions. It was time for 50 : 50.

Weirdly enough, he agrees to all your rules without a single complaint. Not a normie comment or slang filled statement leaves his lips. He's still that nerdy dork you fell in love with at heart, but these 'normie' things? Well, Idia's accepted that he wants those things. As much as it is difficult for him to admit, they only grossed him out so much before because he always believed they were unattainable

He's true to his word. He calls you every day, first thing when he wakes up (in the late afternoon. He still is a hermit at heart). At first it made him anxious, and he'd hover over the contact for fifteen minutes before dialing. Yet it soon became easy, with his heart only beating fast from happiness. He takes the weekends off and comes to spend them at your apartments. Sometimes he brings Ortho and it becomes a sleepover with games - and at some point you start inviting your other heartslabyul friends from back in the day too. Eventually you do come around the compound again. It's awkward to say the least, considering how you left. Yet at the same time, it's a breath of fresh air. The others are shocked to see him out of his office, and he eats IN THE CAFETERIA. Woah. He calls you by your name and not 'assistant' when in public. Homie scares some people. That's what he does. He gives you a special watch for your anniversary. It's paired with on he has and solar powered, so you can contact him at any time. As a natural born worry-wart, he can't help but worry for your safety. Since watching the appartment CCTV is 'creepy,' he just asks that you wear the watch if you're going out anywhere. It won't die and with the click of a button he'll be alerted. In exchange, you can use it to contact him whenever you want. He'll always get back instantly since it might be an emergency. The watch is also directly linked to Ortho's system, so you can contact him as well. Who needs Cortana when you have Ortho?

For the first time, Idia feels secure in a relationship. He can't count Ortho since the boy is technically his creation. Ortho would always be there...and now? Idia's confident you will too.

Does that mean you should get married? Isn't that the next step in all this?

Well....shit (pleasant connotation)

He never would have tinkered with this idea before considering his 'family'. Who the hell in their right mind would marry a Shroud? A fool. Are you a fool? Maybe.

It's late evening on a Sunday night when you're both walking home together after hitting up a local diner for hearty eats. Wow. Look at him. On a date. So weird...pshh.

Idia walks at your side, forcing his pace to match yours. Not everyone is graced with his long stickman legs. His hands are buried deep in his hoodie and his posture is slightly slouched. Classic scary dog privilege for a nighttime walk - well, if his hair didn't scream valentine's day pink to the world. Although no one else has flaming hair other than the Shroud family, so he doubts anyone would interrupt.

You decide to take the long path home and through a nearby park. The night was still young for nightowls such as yourselves, and fresh air was always crisp at this hour.

Along that path you decide to stop at a cement bench by some vending machines and chill out for a bit. Despite having just ate, Idia gets you each a can of coffee.

He'd be leaving to go back to S.T.Y.X tomorrow. Like he does every Sunday. His gaze drifts to the watch on your wrist and thinks about adding some new features - maybe video chat? So he can see you throughout the day. He wonders what you'll be up to while he's stuck in the lab. Maybe you'll go shopping, or play a new game. Maybe you'll try out a new recipe or take Grimm Jr. out to play. He wishes he could see you during the week.

Ah. You're talking. He should probably tune in or you'll get mad at him. Why's it so hard to focus? He hasn't felt this uneasy in a while...

Why is he having these kinds of thoughts? It's weird.

"You okay? You seem a little spaced," You pull him from his thoughts, a concerned crease wrinkling your temple. "Eh. It's nothing. Just not looking forward to the week," he chuckles weakly. "I know that feeling. It's always a bummer when you dip. Not to sound clingy or anything" His golden hues spark for a moment, a pale pink dusting his cheeks as he whips his head to look at you.

"W-wait - really? I was just thinking the same thing...." "You were?" "Yeah. It's...kind of weird without you. Everything's emptier. Wow. That was pretty cringe. Sorry." He grimaces, internally screaming and knowing that this was going to replay when he tried to sleep later. You tilt your head at him, a slight frown on the cusp of your lip. Something tickles at his fingers and he looks down to see you lace your hand with his. "I miss you too," your words are soft. Genuine. He feels his neck grow hot, the pink glow radiating off him betraying him. Idia looks between your interlaced fingers and the drink in his hand. There...wouldn't ever be a 'right' time for this. Would there? You've waited long enough. He pulls his hand away and pops the soda tab off with deft hands.

"Hey..." he twiddles with the soda tab in his hands, "on a scale of 1-10, how are my odds of getting a yes?" "A 'yes' to what?" "To this, " he sighs through his nose, holding the tab out towards you with a shaking hand, "will you marry me?"

{A soda tab from canned coffee. Not the most charming offering, and it barely fits around your pinky finger. Yet, Idia's always been impulsive at his core. Had he not acted in the moment, he likely would have ran countless possibilities over and over in his mind. While not your forever ring, the tab will remain a sentimental piece}

{Idia is not a man with a keen eye fore jewelry - but he knows quality. Combine his eye for perfection with his craftsmanship and behold - a ring made from purified blot. The center gem is a piece of magestone in it's most refined state. The band is titanium and there are small sapphires along the molding. Since he would be wearing a matching band, Idia decided to keep the design simple. He prefers functionality over all. Yet he does want you to feel proud of his handiwork, so he includes vintage molding on your band only. He wears a smooth black band on his ring finger, and never removes it}

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #twst idia #IM DEAD #THIS TOOK FOUR HOURS #I LEGIT WAS NOT PLANNING TO WRITE ALL THIS #MY HANDS

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florencemtrash · 10 months ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eleven

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Gwyn and Y/n bond over books. Azriel and Y/n get even closer — this had me kicking my feet and screaming internally and externally

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Rhysand’s training sessions always started with him sliding over ten objects: a book, a piece of jewelry, an article of clothing — anything he could find with meaning for you to discern.

“This one is Mor’s.” You held the red satin box in your hands. Two months ago you would have only been able to tell him who it belonged to. Maybe nothing at all. The meaning held by the object was weak. The jewelry too new. Unworn. But now you could harness your power with more precision, like you’d finally been handed an image of the puzzle you were trying to complete so you knew what to look for. “You bought it two months ago at Cizero’s as a Winter Solstice gift.”

“And what is it exactly?”

The box was still closed.

You pushed your power forward, imagining light slipping in through the seam of the box. An image flashed in your mind. It was blurry, but held onto its form long enough for you to make it out.

“Drop earrings. Rubies,” you said with a straight back before dropping the box into Rhysand’s open palm.

He smirked and clicked it open. Gold banded rubies hung from the backing like bloody tears, each drop separated by a diamond that flashed brighter than the stars in the ever darkening sky.

You dared to smile, staring at the jewelry with a level of satisfaction you hadn’t felt since being handed top marks as an apprentice.

“Very nicely done.”

The box disappeared back into his desk beside a glimmering gemstone the size of your fist wrapped in tissue paper.

It’s probably for Amren. You thought to yourself. Azriel told you she loved shiny things and hoarded her treasures like a crow. Hence why she’d yet to return from Summer with Varian.

You moved on to the next portion of your exercises. With a feather light touch, Rhysand laid his hands on your palms, your wrists, your forearm, your shoulders. He moved up and down your body, waiting a minute for you to control yourself before touching the next flash of exposed skin. It was still difficult to completely contain your power, but you were getting better at moving it around your body. When he reached for your hands, you slid the magic up to your chest. When he reached for your knees, it moved down to your ankles. It was a delicate dance, like the curling of ocean water away from the shore or the splitting of a river around a stone.

You did what you could to experience the touches with a clinical detachment and Rhysand did as well. He was careful. He stopped the moment you let out a gasp of surprise at the feeling of warm skin pressed against your own and there wasn’t an ounce of judgement written in his beautiful features when you trembled beneath his touch.

“Take your time,” he said encouragingly.

For him, touch was a necessary part of life. He always had an arm slung over Cassian’s shoulders or wrapped around Feyre’s waist. He fell asleep with his mate pressed against him and he walked around the River House with Nyx on his shoulders and Velaria curled up in his arms. But there were also mornings when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, the feeling of Amarantha’s red-tipped nails dragging down his chest like she wanted to take more from him than just his body. Those were the days Feyre knew to give him his space.

“Take all the time that you need.”

Rhys stepped away. You steadied your breath and took time to record your progress in the journal you kept close by. Although there was no true way to quantify your learning, your Day Court training never left you and you wrote down what little could be put into words — for posterity’s sake. Then maybe the next Clairvoyant the Mother willed into existence would have an easier time navigating this than you.

Gwyn found you squirreled away in your usual reading room, back bowed over a flurry of books and note pages like a reed in the wind. You reached for the mug on the desk only to find it disappointingly empty. Unlike the River House, the Library did not fuel your caffeine addiction with reckless abandon.

She floated over, abandoning the cart of books she’d been tasked with returning that night. Her legs were throbbing from the split squats Cassian had coached her through that evening, and she was desperate for a break.

“Some light reading, I see?” she teased, sinking into the seat across from you.

You looked up, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. It took a few moments for Gwyn’s shape to come into focus.

“What?” The word slurred coming out of your mouth.

She tapped the ever growing pile of papers beside you. Your manuscript: 120 hand-written pages and counting. When the book became too frustrating to handle, you abandoned it in exchange for another productive task. Even if the 120 pages you’d reproduced were utter garbage.

You groaned, forehead slamming against the wood with a clatter. Thoughts of white blood cells, lymphatic vessels, and innate and acquired immunity knotted in your brain like the world’s worst game of cat’s cradle.

Gwyn would have found it amusing if she didn’t know just how much time you spent within the mountain. You’d effectively been adopted by the priestesses. Lurking here and there like a cat coming in from the cold. And you were just as disapproving as a stray. Gwyn would often catch you among the stacks, mumbling about the disorganization and how you couldn’t work in such paltry conditions.

“Cauldron boil me, I’m sorry for asking.” Gwyn raised her hands in surrender.

You let out a great, heaving sigh. “It’s not you.”

“Oh I know it’s not me. You look like you’ve been dragged through a gutter.”

You blinked wearily at the lovely priestess.

“A very clean, well-managed gutter.” She grinned. Her skin shone, reflecting the pale, fuzzy moonlight that filtered through the window above and doused the library in a silver sheen.

“Thank you, Gwyn.”

“Anytime.” She drummed her nails against the table, the beat of it almost sending you to sleep. “How long have you been here today?” she asked with concern.

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“After midnight.”

“Oh.”

“How long?” Gwyn repeated and you dragged a hand down your face.

“Seven hours? Give or take?” Your stomach growled.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Gwyn grabbed you by the end of your robes, tugging you up several floors and down an unfamiliar hallway until you stopped in front of a teal-blue tapestry. Selkies, sirens, and water nymphs dove in and out of rippling waters highlighted by iridescent beads. She flung it to the side and pressed her hand against the bare stone. The slab sank into the wall and then slid open to reveal a cream-colored room adorned with bundles of babies' breath.

“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the neatly made bed. You swayed dangerously on your feet.

“I’m really fine. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Sit. Down.” She cut you with a lethal gaze Nesta would be proud of.

You snapped your mouth shut, shuffled across the carpeted floor, and sank into the queen-sized bed. You played with the ties of your robe wrapping them around your finger, then unwrapping them, then wrapping them again.

King Tiberion, third of the Nachmanian line, born Aschieron Cambria Nostrus Tiberion Dalgna to Effel Taul and foreign-born…

Found dead at a young three-hundred-and-ninety-two years of age at the hands of her brother. Spell cleaver or not, Ingrid…

Something like a lock and a key. Magic that’s perfectly complementary might be afforded the unique ability to seal… and break… gods I’m tired…

There have only been seven recorded Shadowsingers in history: Lovania Vallant born 895 in the age of Alders (see ref. 18992HBG Carstairs), Gherald Dashiv born 1459 in the age of —

Gwyn snapped her fingers in front of you, pulling your mind out of the hurricane of thoughts. You were a strange creature. You spoke little, moved about the Library as quiet as a mouse, and you had an interesting habit of running your fingers along every book on the shelf. Back and forth, back and forth you’d run along before jerking to a stop like one of the books had caught you at the end of a fishing lure.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Some would say that’s a good thing. It would make me incredibly trustworthy, at least when it comes to responding to things. I’d be terrible at keeping secrets, unless I was very careful about how I went about things. You know how it is. With the things.”

Gwyn huffed with silent laughter and opened one of the cabinets in her small, makeshift kitchen. “Eat.” She commanded again and you were too slow to catch the sleeve of biscuits she tossed in your direction. It bounced off your forehead and landed in your lap. “I’ll be right back with something more substantial.”

The door shut with a puff of air and you were left to chew on the chocolate and orange biscuits in silence.

Gwyn’s room faced the city and you saw the lamplights burning through the windows that had been cut into the mountain rock, mimicking the stars that twinkled overhead like salt poured onto black glass.

Cream satin sheets caught the moonlight until it glowed and you had the sudden urge to tip back and fall into oblivion. You could work for a long while, so long as you didn’t sit still long enough for the exhaustion to catch up to you — which you were doing now.

You shoved another biscuit in your mouth, now almost halfway through the sleeve. It helped settle the hollowness in your stomach so you could pick yourself up and move over to the bookshelf.

Bodice ripper, bodice ripper, murder mystery, bodice ripper, romantic comedy, found family adventure, spy thriller, bod—

Your face went red. Damn.

The priestess chose that moment to return to her room carrying a tray laden with bread, orange slices, and a thick mushroom stew leftover from dinner. She froze, pale cheeks turning a dusty rose as you silently pushed the book back onto the shelf.

“Dragon-born? Really?” You shoved a burning spoonful of stew in your mouth and drowned the stale crust of bread, waiting for it to get sufficiently soggy enough you could chew it.

Gwyn groaned and buried her face in her pillows. “It was a phase.”

“Must have been a very long phase. You have the whole series and I know it took her thirty years to write them all.”

Her head shot up. “How do you know?”

“I read the first book.”

You sat up straighter, back pressed up against the closet that housed her daily robes, ceremonial garb, training gear, and Valkyrie armour.

“So how can you judge me?!”

“It makes no anatomical sense, Gwyn!” You threw your hands up in the air. “She’s four feet shorter than him. He’d sooner tear her in half before giving her any pleasure, and I’m not talking about his claws.”

The priestess scoffed. “Have some imagination, Y/n.”

You huffed and pulled out a notebook from your ample pockets. You both spent the next thirty minutes going through hastily drawn sketches that would have disappointed Feyre to no end testing out your imaginative capabilities. Gwyn couldn’t stop smiling at you as you moved your hands through the air with animated fervor. Half of what you said didn’t make sense, but she would blame it on your sleep deprivation.

You had Gwyn in stitches. The female hung off the bed, red-brown hair brushing the ground as she gasped for breath. You looked like you were sitting on the ceiling, black robes pooled around your knees like shadows.

That sobered Gwyn up a bit. It was a real shame she liked you as much as she did. It made it harder for her to stay mad at Azriel.

And as if you read her mind, you asked, “Why don’t you come around to the River House?”

“What?” She wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Why don’t you come to the River House?” You asked again. “You’re close friends with Nesta. You’re part of the Inner Circle. You have a guest room there, but I haven’t seen you at the house.”

“Do you even spend enough time at the River House to know?”

“Yes.”

Gwyn sighed and straightened up, folding her legs neatly beneath her on the bed. “Some… Some things happened a couple years ago. I won’t bore you with the details and I don’t know if I even have the right to tell you everything, but it’s colored the way the Inner Circle works now.”

“The details are the most important part,” you murmured, “I wish I had more details. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger in that house.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Gwyn reassured you. “Is that why you spend so much time here?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes and no. It feels closer to home here. Even if your lack of organization has made my job ten times more difficult. I don’t see why you haven’t adopted any kind of classification system. It’s a small library. It would be very easy to implement.” You sighed and rubbed your eyes. Gods, you were tired. The feeling came and went in waves. “I shouldn’t complain though, everyone has been incredibly kind and welcoming. Especially Azriel.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, fingers fluttering against your shoulders. You tucked your chin into your elbows and tried not to think about that glorious night of sleep with only Azriel and his shadows. Waking up with his chest rising and falling on the floor beside you.

You were falling for him and you knew it. Gods did you know it. Or maybe you could convince yourself you weren’t falling yet, but it was a steady march to the cliff’s edge and you weren’t stopping anytime soon.

Gwyn felt her heart stutter. “Oh? He’s usually so… quiet and… reserved.”

You thought about it for a long while.

“I don’t think he’s nearly as quiet as everyone believes him to be,” you said thoughtfully, “I think he just speaks in his own way.”

You were right about Godswood and The Gallows.

The letter arrived on your desk early in the morning.

The Bookkeeper, Taunum Hyst, was found trying to burn books in the western greenwoods along with some texts from Argot’s. He fought back against the guards sent to retrieve him, but he didn’t know what he was doing. Even now he’s confused and adamant that the last three weeks have been a blur. There’s a daemati at work here. Someone other than Henna. Rhysand knows, if he hasn’t already told you.

I’ve sent a translated folktale in old Bauldish and Common, and another in Demnyon along with the others you asked for. They might be worth looking into to help with the book. I hope you’re enjoying your stay at the Night Court. Happy hunting and stay safe.

~ Helion

You were right.

You dropped the letter, hands coming up to your mouth as you took in a deep, shaky breath. You knew Taunum Hyst. You could picture his salt-grey braids and coal-black skin. He’d helped perform the funeral rites for your mother. Hell he’d managed to make you laugh that terrible day.

Your stomach turned. If there truly was another daemati left in the Day Court that could help explain the killings. Either the Librarians could have died trying to keep the knowledge in their minds safe, or the daemati had made them kill themselves before moving onto their next victim. You didn’t know which was more tragic.

The clock rang eleven bells and you hastily folded up the paper, dropping it into the box along with the rest of your father’s letters.

“I think this might be the first time you’ve ever been late,” Rhysand said with an amused smirk. He leaned against the doorway to his office, ankles crossed over one another. Did that male ever stand normally?

“It is the first time.”

“Of course you would know that.”

You smirked, pushing open the door to find—

“Azriel?”

The Shadowsinger stood with his hands neatly folded behind his back. “Y/n?”

“Cassian!” The Lord of Bloodshed leapt in front of his brother, arms spread wide. “I’m also here. Nesta couldn’t make it with Valkyrie training.”

Feyre rolled her eyes with affection. She reached for Rhysand’s hand without thinking and he accepted with barely a glance. They were two magnets, always pulled towards one another in space.

“What’s going on?” You glanced back and forth between them all. It had always been just you and Rhysand during these lessons.

“I thought it would be good to start practicing with other people when it comes to physical touch,” Rhysand explained. Azriel’s nostrils flared. “You’re getting comfortable with me, which I’m happy about. But I want you to get comfortable with everyone else too.”

You told me you wanted another debrief about the Mortal Lands. Azriel was loath to admit that just the thought of touching your hand was making his heart race like a schoolboy.

And I do. Rhysand said rather smugly, as if he already knew Azriel was freaking out inside. But I also know you wouldn’t have agreed to this if I asked you ahead of time. It’s amusing to see you like this, brother. Have you forgotten how to touch a female? His violet eyes glittered with mischief.

Azriel swallowed, eyes trained on you as you mulled over Rhysand’s comment and nodded. You wanted to be comfortable too. Comfortable in your body. Comfortable with other people touching you.

You thought of what it might feel like to have Azriel’s hand tucked beneath your chin, not just his shadows, and shivered.

Azriel nearly choked when you started undoing the ties of your robes. The gold embroidered fabric slipped off your shoulders in a soft hush that had Azriel going rigid. You wore traditional Night Court fashion beneath your Librarian robes — a tight black shirt revealed the gentle curves of your arms, the cut of your collarbones against your chest, the thin band of flesh around your stomach; a breezy skirt with slits cut into the sides that revealed flashes of your thighs with every movement you made.

Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian all shared looks, nearly bursting out laughing at the way Azriel’s shadows were in flight around him. A swarm of bees buzzing and murmuring about how beautiful you looked.

Azriel had seen many fae in his time in various states of undress. He’d seen males and females in the Court of Nightmares parade about in scraps of silk and lace. He’d taken countless lovers to bed. Bodies were something he knew well. Something he knew intimately. But he had never felt so flustered as he did looking at you like this. He thought his heart might just burst in his chest.

Cassian elbowed Azriel in the ribs when you weren’t looking and one of Azriel’s shadows looped around his ponytail and pulled.

“Ow.” Cassian rubbed the back of his head with a grin. “Rude.”

You felt rather ridiculous standing in the center of the room with your arms and legs stretched out to the side.

“Right arm,” Rhysand called out.

Cassian bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, fists held loose by his sides with the lightness of a male a quarter of his size.

You squinted. Is he… is he about to punch me?

Cassian read the alarm on your face and grinned, hitting you with a tap gentler than rainfall.

You snorted, but felt nothing. Perfect.

You had to be grateful for Cassian’s light-heartedness. He had the worry melting off your shoulders. With every limb that Rhys called out, Cassian would do a little dance before punching you or kicking you. At one point he even faked a blow to your face, spinning up to you before leaping into the air and shooting out his right leg. You didn’t flinch as his boot swung an inch away from your face. You could smell the rubber soles of his boots.

“You missed,” you teased.

Cassian pouted, turning around to walk back to the wall now that he was finished with his piece. Azriel looked ready to tear his head off his body.

You’re lucky you missed. Azriel’s eyes screamed across the room. You’d be a dead man if you hurt her.

Cassian winked and blew him a kiss.

Feyre was next. You practiced brushing against her like you would do in a crowded street complete with the obligatory fumbling of apologies.

“Oh good heavens.” Feyre fanned her face like the old, upper-class women in her village used to do and laid on that sickly sweet accent they all had. “I’m so dreadfully sorry.” — They never were.

She shook your hand and touched your shoulders and looped her arm around your waist. That was the part that had you worried. You slid your power away from every inch of your skin, wrapped it up like a secret, and held it deepin your chest.

“Good.” Rhysand smiled and Cassian punched the air.

You breathed deeply and gave a small bow like you’d just finished a performance. But there was still one person you were meant to touch today, and they made you the most nervous of all.

Azriel stepped forward, a picture of calm. Inside, he was raging like a storm. He kept his hands firmly grasped behind his back, wings pressed so tightly he felt his shoulders start to ache.

You took a step forward as well, tilting your head back to look at him. You felt the grip on your power falter when he held out his hand palm up like he was asking you for a dance. Months ago at the Summer Solstice ball you’d been approached by a number of males hoping for a song with their hands at your waist and at your shoulder. The prospect of that kind of touch had terrified you then, and it still terrified you now but for different reasons. Because this time, you wanted it.

You wanted him.

You gently slid your hand into his, feeling the scars roll beneath your soft skin like the mountains that surrounded Velaris. Your breath caught in your throat, but before Azriel could rip his hand away you held on and squeezed reassuringly.

You’d read hundreds, if not thousands, of romance novels in your time. You’d consumed them with a ravenous hunger, surviving on them when real touch felt like a hopeless dream and the loneliness became too much to bear. And in nearly every single one of them, the first touch between lovers was described as an explosion of color. A dangerous shaking of the world down to its foundations. A cataclysmic event.

But you were surprised to find that they were wrong. They were all wrong. Azriel wasn’t destroying anything. He was mending.

It felt like a re-centering. The shifting of a leaning tower so it stood upright again.

A blissful silence.

Azriel cradled your hand in his, thumbs smoothing over your knuckles. He couldn’t help what he did next, couldn’t have stopped himself even if Helion stood at his back with murder in his eyes.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your hand with such reverence, such tenderness, that you swore your heart was glowing in your chest.

“Why don’t you try a hug, Y/n?” Rhysand suggested when Azriel had straightened. “If you want.”

You looked down at your feet where shadows swarmed, and then up at Azriel.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Azriel murmured softly. His words were for you and you only. “Where would you have me touch you?” His hazel eyes caught the light before scattering into a thousand brilliant colors.

Wordlessly you ran your fingers down his arms, tracing the shape of the muscle beneath the leather. You held his hands and gently led them up to your waist, gasping when he made contact. His warm fingers brushed the exposed skin of your waist before sliding around to your back.

You balanced on the tips of your toes, looping your arms around his neck before resting your face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. He smelled like leather and the mountains. Wind and rain and nightfall coalescing into something so uniquely him you could pick him out in a room of thousands with your eyes closed.

It started out as a loose, misshapen thing, your hands and his arms searching for the right grip to hold your bodies together. But once you found it, you were lost.

Azriel wrapped his arms around your back and waist, hands splayed out like he was absorbing you into him. And you were no better. You buried your face in his neck, lips pressed up against the curve of his throat so you could feel the rhythmic rush of blood through his veins.

He refused to be the first to let go. The roof could cave in. The floor could drop out from beneath your feet. He would not let you go.

Your tears started out slow, coupled by ragged, shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you, Y/n,” Azriel whispered. “I’ve got you.”

How long had it been since you’d been held like this? A hundred years? Two hundred? You thought you’d learned to live without it, but now that it was yours you didn’t think you’d ever, ever be able to give it up. You were at the cliff’s edge now and without an ounce of hesitation you flung yourself over and into the abyss.

With Azriel, controlling your powers didn’t seem like such a difficult thing. Later that evening when you lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, you realized you hadn’t been thinking of control at all.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Y'all... THEY FINALLY TOUCHED EACH OTHER! And not only that, BUT HE KISSED HER HAND!!! And! They fucking HUGGED!!!!

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slow burn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #the shadowsinger and the inkbird

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yanderecrazysie · 10 months ago

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Twisted Zoo (Prologue)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you.

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

WARNINGS: none for now

Note: This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui except I decided to take it a step further and include all the dorms. I know that a lot of these animals don’t fit them perfectly, but I did the best I could. I left out Ortho because he has no age and he looks really young so… no.

All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

Chapter One here

—----------------------

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Crowley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. (Y/n)!”

You smiled up at your new boss, taking in his eccentric appearance- everything from his crow feather-lined cape, to his sparkling suit, to his top hat, and to the black bird mask that covered half his face.

That name suits him.

“Now, you’re mainly a researcher, but you will also be assisting with some of the general chores, such as feeding the animals,” Mr. Crowley explained what you already knew.

“That’s alright,” you said, smiling brightly, “That will allow me to observe even more of their behaviors.”

You were fresh out of college and ready to face The Halfling Zoo. There was plenty of debate whether it was okay to treat half-humans as animals and keep them in a zoo, but it was convenient for you. You didn’t have to travel the world to attempt to study animals from afar through a camera lens.

“You will be supervising the lion and hyena exhibit, the wolf exhibit, the panther and tiger exhibit, the bird exhibits, the reptile house, and the aquarium,” Mr. Crowley explained.

“Wait, did you mean to say the lions and hyenas are together? And the panthers and tigers? Or did I misunderstand?” you asked, confused.

“They are bonded groups, so it would be wrong to separate them,” Crowley explained, “Halflings don’t always act like their animal counterparts.”

You nodded, cursing yourself internally. You had learned that on your first day at college! How could I be so stupid to forget about the bonds different Halfling species make?

“Follow me,” Mr. Crowley’s voice broke through your thoughts, “I’ll show you around.”

The two of you left the cramped office in the main staff building and headed out onto the guests’ paths. You could see a few families walking by- less than usual, since it was nearing closing time. It felt as though the sky was growing darker by the minute as the sun made its way down the horizon, beautiful orange and pink clouds lighting its path.

You almost immediately arrived at the lion and hyena exhibit. It was a huge enclosure, the terrain so detailed that you felt as though you had stepped straight into an African savannah. In fact, you could even feel the heat emanating from the ground itself.

“We keep it as hot as their home naturally is,” Mr. Crowley explained, reading your thoughts, “They’re happy here- it’s home with no need to hunt to survive.”

You nodded, but inside you wondered if that was really true or not. Were they really happier in a giant cage on display for humans than they were in Africa? You couldn’t imagine feeling that way.

Mr. Crowley pointed out a big rock where a pride of lions had gathered, “On top of that rock is the top dog- er, cat, I mean. The king of the jungle.”

Upon closer inspection, and a lot more eye strain, you could make out a figure lying on the top of the large rock. It was a Lion Halfling, with tan skin and thick, dark mane of brown hair that fell to his shoulders, except for the braids in front of his face, which were even longer. You could just make out the lion’s ears on top of his head and the lion’s tail draped over the rock’s side.

“And those are the hyenas,” Mr. Crowley supplied, pointing to the edge of the enclosure, “They’re used to aggressive females, so the males might be a little jumpy around you.”

You remembered reading about that in school, but it was amazing to see all the Halflings in person. You couldn’t help but feel excited to study them up close. Imagine if you made a big discovery that no one else had ever discovered about Halflings! After all, there were a lot of unknowns about them.

“Onto the wolf exhibit!” Mr. Crowley said in a sing-song voice.

The enclosure was right across the way from the lions and hyenas, but it had a completely different feel. The air was cooler when you walked up to the giant forest. Through the trees, it was difficult to actually see any wolf halflings. You thought you saw a flash of white, but it was too quick to tell.

“Yes, well, this exhibit is pretty quiet during the day,” the zoo director said awkwardly, “They’ll be out tonight, howling at the moon and whatnot.”

“Wolves don’t actually howl at the moon,” you helpfully supplied, “They howl to communicate with other wolves.”

Mr. Crowley stared at you for a moment and you wondered if you had annoyed him, until he grinned widely, “Such a knowledgeable new researcher!”

You smiled at the compliment, a little embarrassed as the two of you headed for the panther and tiger exhibit. You were surprised to see it alive with Halflings, all of them staring back at the two of you with narrowed eyes.

“There’s two black panthers,” Mr. Crowley pointed them out, “and two albino tigers. The four of them are as thick as thieves.”

You cautiously waved at them, but they merely turned away and disappeared into the jungle enclosure. You wondered if they were somehow curious to see you, or if they always did this to guests.

“Next, the bird exhibits!” Mr. Crowley led the way to the aviary. He pointed out Halflings left and right in the closely-packed enclosures, “A parrot, three albino peacocks, two flamingos, an owl, and a raven. You’ll get to know them well, since they’re mostly all very friendly. Except the peacocks are a little cocky.”

You giggled a little and waved to all the birds. It was a futile effort, because, save for the owl halfling, they were all fast asleep. The owl halfling stayed on his perch, wings tucked around his body, his bespectacled face scrutinizing you. Not in a rude way, just sort of deciding what you were.

You followed Mr. Crowley into a heated building with a glass wall on one side. You peered through the glass wall and immediately spotted the Boa Constrictor Halfling lying against the wall. Human until the torso, which then winded into a snake tail.

“Don’t be fooled!” Mr. Crowley said, “There is more than one snake in that exhibit. See if you can spot it.”

You looked at every angle, struggling to spot anything different. Then, a part of the sand moved and two gray eyes glared back at you.

“A Viper Halfling, right?” you said in awe, “Aren’t those venomous?”

“Ah, yes, well,” Mr. Crowley stuttered a little, “Don’t get bitten.”

You stared at him for a moment before it sunk in. All of these animals, except the birds, were extremely dangerous! And you were going to go into their enclosures to study and feed them? Were you insane?

You pushed down the panic and took a deep breath. This is what you signed up for. You probably already waived all your rights away anyway. You hadn’t looked at the fine print of your contracts, of course.

You noticed another tank on the other side of the room and walked up to it. You couldn’t see anything inside this one, but Mr. Crowley was quick to explain, “There’s a salamander in this one. A beautiful electric blue, but extremely shy.”

You peered inside, trying to catch a glance of blue, but you couldn’t see a thing.

“Lastly, the aquarium,” Mr. Crowley clapped his hands together, as though to bring you back to reality.

The aquarium was a huge glass tank where visitors could go down the stairs and see inside. The two of you walked by it, and saw very little signs of life.

“You’ll probably see the eel twins a bit. They’re a little shy at first, but Floyd is pretty playful. The octopus, on the other hand, rarely leaves his cave. He’ll venture out to eat, but that’s about it. We should have made that damn thing see-through, but it’s too late now.”

You were glad it was a normal cave, and not transparent like the glass. The Octopus Halfling probably felt safe inside it. It wouldn’t be fair to rob him of that simple pleasure.

“That’s the end of your tour, young lady,” Mr. Crowley said cheerfully, “You start bright and early tomorrow, have a long lunch break, then leave late at night. Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

He looked down at you with a hint of nervousness, as though he expected you to say “no”. But you were determined and excited to explore what your classes had trained you for. Real life application.

“I’m ready!”

Note: So, some of the animals are obvious, but I’m wondering what you all think the others are?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year ago

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devils antics - joel miller x female reader

Summary: joel explores unspoken territory.

Word Count: 1.8k

Content Warnings: established relationship, age gap, daddy kink, use of pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart, honey), (reader mid 20’s Joel is in his 50’s.) somnophilia, dubcon, p in v, creampie, thigh riding, reader is asleep for most of it. Joel Miller wearing reading glasses 🥵

Note: game/og Joel is the love of my life if you don’t like him, go kick rocks.

It had been a day, Joel could concede the fact as soon as you had walked in the door. Usual infectious smile was nowhere to be seen, he felt unnerved by the way your lips were pulled into a tight line, noting how your bottom lip twitched in its struggle not to slip into a pout.

You were trying to stay strong, level-headed. Joel knew you were tough, you could handle things well, and when you couldn’t you’d always communicate the problem and together; create a solution to free you of your metaphorical chain and shackle.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Is what he’d gotten from you, avoidant eyes and a wave of your hand, monotonous voice set him on edge. The stress radiated from your body like heat waves.

His hand slipped onto your shoulders, only adding to the extra pressure that they struggled underneath. “Let me at least run you a bath sweetheart, it’ll help you relax.”

Another disinterested reply, a shortened mumble of, “I’m fine. Just want to sleep it off.”

He felt stumped; you could be so stubborn. He was here offering solutions, ways in which he knew he could help and be of use and you outright refused. There was no negotiation, straight dismissal. He found it hard to admit that it hurt, god it hurt him. He felt rejected.

A voice of reason in his mind, told himself that he’d never seen her like this, that something so profoundly stressful must have happened for her to be like this.

As you’d said to him, once tomorrow would come and you were rested, they’d talk.

He spends a while in the living room; reading a few chapters of his book before he marks the page by folding the top corner over. A ghost of a smile grew on his lips as he heard your scornful voice in his head.

“You’re going to ruin the books Joel, use a bookmark for goodness sake!” He folded the paper anyway, maybe if you’d noticed it would give you another reason to talk to him.

His pointer and thumb reach up to take his glasses off, pinching them in the worn spot where the temple of his glasses meets the small silver hinge. He sets the book down, then places the glasses on top of them, he’s careful to make sure they’re leaning on the temples, not the lenses.

He feels a heavy feeling forming in his chest, like he’s worried you won’t want him there. Would you; want him there? The thought makes his hand hover above the door handle before he turns it, cursing the sound of the squeaky door hinges that could use some lubricating.

He was sure Tommy mentioned finding an old can of WD-40 on his last patrol.

You’re fast asleep, miraculously through the squeaky door and Joel’s heavy footsteps on the wooden floor throughout the house.

His heart swells when he looks at you; your lips are parted and there’s a frown strewn on your face, skin wrinkling around your eyes. God, you’d probably have crows feet before you turn 30.

“Oh baby, look at you.” He mutters to himself, shaking his head. You went to bed wearing one of his shirts and no pants.

He doesn’t bother to undress, not thinking he’ll get much sleep anyway. He lies there, turning his head to the right so he can watch you sleep, it disturbs him; how even in sleep whatever has you worried plagues you in your sleep.

Watching your chest rise and fall, his own breathing becomes synchronised with your own, heart beating at the same pace as he starts to grumble, his tired eyed begging to be closed for some rest. It takes mere minutes before he finds himself unable to keep his eyelids open.

He stirs, hearing soft whimpers coming from your lips, when he opens his eyes he sees that your lips are still parted, a small puddle of drool has accumulated on your yellow pillowcase.

He can’t help but chuckle at the sight. Until you whimper again, and he takes you in, he realises he’s in a predicament.

Your two thighs are wrapped around his own, locking him in place as your hips rut against his leg, the cause of those sweet sounds coming from your lips. He freezes for a moment; wondering what he should do.

He considers waking you up, shoving you off or even trying to pull his leg away to free himself of your devious grip on him. But he doesn’t. He feels a wave of sympathy.

Here was his poor baby, face strewn in a stressed-out frown and out of desperation, rutting and grinding her panty clothed cunt onto his rough, jean-clad thighs, like her life depended on it.

How could he deny you? He couldn’t.

He felt a tingle shoot down his spine, his cock hardened, stiff and uncomfortable in his jeans, as he watched you using his body in your sleep to get yourself off.

His poor angel is reduced to this, so stressed and exhausted from whatever you’re juggling has you so needy, so desperate and too anxious to ask him to actually fuck you to feel that release.

It was a no brainer to him-to help you. You were his angel, his baby. He wouldn’t let you suffer, you were too restless and you deserved to sleep without interruption. The peace of sleeping without stress on the back burner of your subconscious.

Desire washes over him, his large hands grip your hips, guiding you slowly to grind into his large thigh, still facing each other. His eyes flicker over your body, realising already, how you look less pent up than earlier. Calloused fingertips are soft on your skin as he grips your torso softly, pulling you closer into his chest.

His lips start kissing your neck, softly and gently, careful not to wake you. Small groans get stuck in the back of his throat as you continue to whine desperately for more friction.

He closes his eyes, voice husky with desire as he speaks. “It’ll be okay now honey, I’ll give you everything you need.”

Arousal fuels his actions, lips attacking your soft neck down to your collarbone, his hand sneaks under the material of his shirt on your delicate skin. He groans as he feels your nipples are hard against his thick fingers.

Your hips against Joel’s had slowed down, the rhythm becoming less synced, more sloppy, his heart pounded as he realised how close you were.

“You’re almost there princess, just let daddy take care of you. You know he looks after you.” He wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore, hell if he woke you up, he wouldn’t mind at all.

Moments later a string of quiet and frantic whines left your lips, body slumped and stilled as you cum from riding his thigh. The wet spot on his jeans is what drives him wild, a primal growl leaves his lips, and he can’t control the desire he has to take you here, as you slept.

“You wouldn’t mind”, he reasoned aloud. “You’d wanna help your daddy wouldn’t you angel?” He muttered as he pulled his jeans down to his knees, pulling his aching cock out of it’s containment.

His fingers peel your soaked panties to the side, cursing when he feels with his fingers that your cunt is dripping with slick. He couldn’t fight the devil’s temptation, the sin of lust had already possessed him and your sweet, sweet juices coated his fingertips.

He dragged his sticky fingers down his cock, pumping it a few times before lining himself up to your hole. He exhaled a few times as he pushes himself in, animalistic grunts leaving his lips at the feeling.

You stir for a moment, Joel stills and makes sure you’re asleep before he continues. He pumps himself into you, hips meeting yours in a slow motion, teasing himself, watching you be so vulnerable under him sent an arousal though his entire body.

He felt his orgasm coming on fast than it had ever before.

“That’s it angel..” He grunts, unable to stop the words from slipping past his lips. “I’m almost done princess, just let daddy use you.”

His body shakes heavily as he ruts into you, going deeper. His arms have moved so they’re now wrapped around you, and his voice is a little breathless and even more husky as he lets out small groans and moans.

But he's still holding himself together fairly well considering how close he is to falling apart. His body still tenses up, though, as he continues to fuck her while she sleeps.

Joel doesn’t feel bad, like he can’t comprehend why this would be such a terrible thing if you did wake up—he’s past the point of feeling guilty, he knows you’d want to be his good girl and help him finish.

“You're such a good girl.” He murmurs softly, his voice is slightly breathless and husky as he stares at her and kisses her softly on the lips.

He grunts softly and shifts his body even closer to her, so he’s flush against your chest. His legs are still shaking a little, and he feels a rush as he gets close to cumming and almost reaches it.

“Almost…” He trails off, his voice a mere whisper.

“Just... give me a minute... and I'm all done…” He adds softly, his voice cracking as he starts to come undone.

His grip on your hips tighten, cock now slamming into your hole harshly, crushing your body under his as he rams into you, Joel’s starting to lose his composure, not worried about waking you anymore.

He lets out an animalistic growl as he cums, long ropes of cum filling your spend cunt, trickling down your thighs and onto the bedsheets as his cock continues to pulsate into you.

“Fucking—Jesus baby you’re squeezing me.” He growls, feeling your cunt squeeze around him, you moan loudly and he realises that you’ve just had an orgasm.

Your eyes shoot open and it doesn’t take long to put the pieces together. Reality hits him as he realises what he’s done. Joel’s face suddenly turns to one of guilt, panic. He pulls out of you and starts breathing heavily.

“Baby—I can.. I’m sorry I wasn’t—I didn’t think.. I don’t know what came over me.” He stuttered, voice thick with emotion, his hazel eyes were soft and it was clear as day he couldn’t resist it.

You feel your face and neck warm as you take his hand in your own. “It’s okay, I like it—seriously. It’s sexy, the idea of you taking what you need and looking after me is perfectly okay with me baby.”

He starts to calm down, long arms extending to pull your body into his own, you’re both sweating and covered in cum.

“You’re so good to me angel. I dunno what I’d do without you.” He mutters tiredly, nuzzling his crooked nose into her hair.

This would need to be an in depth discussion. That could be done in the morning; for now, you were happy, Joel was happy. That’s means enough to fall asleep in each other's arms happily for a few hours.

#Joel miller #game joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut

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sehaedazokla · 1 month ago

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he that dares

part eight

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems.

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

chapter warnings: adult content

word count: 12.0k

a/n: the pinterest board and playlist for this series have been added to the series masterlist! i am a little nervous to post this chapter because i've never written anything like this but here it is –

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The day prior to the trials held at King’s Landing, the young prince Aegon makes his first public appearance before the nobles at court. Scarcely has the sun peaked its way above the edges of the world when the lords and ladies are summoned to gather in the throne room, half-covered yawns and bleary eyes waiting impatiently for the presentation of their future king. Hazy morning light wanders in pale rays through the arching windows, illuminating flecks of iron upon the weapons composing the throne. Lady Tyrell has not even the energy to glare ferociously at it, barely having slept the night before. Her satins and feather pillows do little to assuage her troubled mind, roiling with concern over the arrival of her lady mother – perhaps on the morrow, more likely that very morning. She pictured all sorts of disastrous matches, weighing the probability of each one in her mind and finding that if she thought long enough, it is almost as if she can read her mother’s mind. This only served to agitate her further, for if she is indeed correct then her fate is rather sealed after all, as well as that of her sister.

Her hands skim down the front of her dress in a nervous habit, aching to appear as presentable as humanly possible. The fabric is a dark blue, inky and soft beneath her fingers, decorated with the golden embroidery of flowers that grow within the gardens of the castle she was raised in. A gift from her mother, sent for her most recent birthday with an assortment of teardrop pearls and letters adorned with curved words imploring her to hold out against the tumultuous wartime tide and wait for an advantageous time to act. The roses blooming upon her body, spun in shining silk, bind her and remind her poignantly of her where her loyalties ought to lie. During the war, her attention had been given solely to surviving and attending to Helaena and the children – there was little time to devote to any sort of scheming, save for what her mother deemed absolutely necessary to protect their House.

As of late, her heart has been swayed to those of House Stark and House Targaryen. Her eyes close as she imagines what her mother might say, finding the daughter she raised to be ambitious and cutthroat behind deceptively fluttery lashes instead harboring love and affection for those of other houses. Fingers dig tightly into the soft fabric of her heavy skirts, a sudden wave of suffocation washing across her body as the weighty dress seems to grow heavier. With a soft breath, she returns her attention to the head of the throne room. Many Northern guards are present, alongside what remains of the Kingsguard. Despite the exhaustion and ruffled expressions throughout the room at the early hour of the gathering, there is a hum of expectation about the hall. The coveted and damned chair of swords shall not be claimed by Rhaenyra nor Aegon II. A child shall sit it instead, only ten years of age.

Lady Tyrell does not much care who is cursed by the crown of the Realm any longer. She has seen firsthand what unimaginable horrors and suffering it brings about. Let the nobles squabble for it like crows over a poisoned carcass.

Yet as she looks upon the child at last, all eyes within the room locking upon the boy hungrily or with poorly concealed interest, a sense of resigned sorrow fills her chest. Doomed is he, through the blood of both mother and father and chained to a skeletal and haunted existence within these walls. It is already apparent in his face, the hollowness of his eyes as they rest sunken into his youthful countenance. With all of the division sowed during the war, she has almost forgotten that this child is not a stranger of some unknown lineage, but Helaena’s own nephew, Jaehaera’s cousin. The resemblance nearly frightens her, when her eyes meet Aegon’s across the room. Has Helaena not looked upon her with those same violet eyes, that same sense of dread, of finality?

Her gaze is violently torn away, a sharp breath clawing its way past her tongue and teeth and lips. She shall never know peace so long as she remains here within this castle. Ghosts haunt her every breath, and while one of them is always welcomed with open arms and a gentle falling to her knees, others she does not wish to see. The amount of Targaryen spirits lingering about, wide eyes still cast to the throne and the child sacrificed to it, is far too many for the Lady Tyrell. All she can hope to do is take Jaehaera away from here and ask the dead for forgiveness or at least to be ignored. But the soon-to-be boy king breathes still. Is it haunting if the figure’s blood thrums beneath taut skin, veins as purple as the eyes that unknowingly condemn? Is it haunting if the guilt from turning away rips her internal organs out with bone hands, wrapping her intestines around her neck and forcing her to look at the child whose fate she is feigning ignorance to?

By the prince’s side stand his two elder half-sisters, whom Lady Tyrell quietly hopes are supporting the child during this impossible time. As with Jaehaera, the prince has primarily been confined to his chambers whilst the North has held power at Court. She has never had the chance to converse at length with either Baela or Rhaena, given that she had been betrothed to Daeron and decidedly upon the other side of the war despite her own House’s neutrality. Cregan remains a few feet away, but his presence is far more commanding than anyone else’s upon the stairs. Remembering what he had told her of his own past, she watches quietly as Aegon begins to speak.

“The trials for those who betrayed the crown and forsook their honor will be held on the morrow,” The prince’s voice rings out clear and solemn, echoing the dullness of his amethyst eyes. It is clear that someone his elder has written the words for him to speak, and Lady Tyrell wonders if the presence of the princesses at Aegon’s side indicates that Cregan has made some sort of agreement with them. If they truly care for Aegon, the lady does not imagine it will be hard for the three to come to an arrangement that suits all of their desires for the betterment of the Realm and for the future of boy. “Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, shall preside over the trials as Hand of the King.”

If Lady Tyrell is shocked by this announcement, she is joined by nearly every noble within the throne room. The young prince is quick to depart following the brief words, the guards following him closely as he exits through one of the arched hallways at the sides of the staircase by the head of the hall. Rhaena and Baela linger within the hall of a moment to speak to Lady Blackwood, as the rest of the lords and ladies turn to each other to whisper their opinions upon this appointing quite fiercely, everyone seemingly eager to get their thoughts out at once. Many of them still regard Cregan with obvious distrust, seeing him as a foreign presence unfamiliar to their Southern customs and traditions. She need not cast him long looks, wondering upon whether he might plunge the capital into chaos or refuse to leave. The skirts of her gown brush delicately against the grey stone flooring as she nears the steps, caring little for the eyes that are drawn to her boldness.

It matters not when he is already searching the room for her, storm cloud eyes sparking as he catches sight of her approaching. The slight softening of his gaze does not go unnoticed by her, although it shall not be dwelled upon when she is sure her own eyes melt slightly as he crosses the space between them to meet her. Hushed voices murmur around them, the raising of brows at the pair of them. What might have been excused as courtesy before is now blatantly seen as it is – favoring. For formality’s sake, despite what little good it will truly do given how her public closeness with the Lord of Winterfell shall surely spread in wild rumor throughout the castle halls that night, she scoops fabric of her gown into her hands and gives Cregan a low curtsy.

“I wish to offer you my congratulations, Lord Stark,” Her chin remains tucked towards her chest, her eyes modestly lowered as she slowly rises up, shoulders pulling back gently. There is a light flutter to her lashes as she blinks up at Cregan, gazing into his eyes for a moment before a soft amusement tugs at the corners of her lips with the knowledge that many of the nobles present shall fret over how long the Warden of the North will remain and power and what anarchy he might cause. The volume of her speech decreases with a twinkle in her eyes, her head tilting slightly as she holds his gaze. “It is only a temporary position, I am sure, but I offer you felicitations nonetheless.”

Only the glimmer in her stare, scarcely more visible than a lighthouse in a midnight tempest, gives any hint at the teasing quality to her words. Cregan seems to find amusement in them, reflected in shrouded subtlety within his own eyes as he looks down at her. “So eager to be rid of me, my lady?”

The tilt of her head deepens at this, a soft breath through her nose escaping as her eyes briefly cast their gaze sideways in an attempt to conceal the delight dancing across her countenance at his low and rolling timbre and the peaking of his Northern humor. While the other nobles at court might view her as bashful and shy in the presence of the imposing lord, Cregan alone catches the humor within their exchange, the affection in her expression that softens her lips and her stance. It is exhilarating, reading her as one might a tome in the restricted section of a vast library. Giving another quiet breath, her voice adopts a sweeter quality reminiscent of their earliest conversations. “Oh, but how dreadfully boring it should be without you here, my lord.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow in almost playful scorn at this, only a fraction of an inch but enough that she can sense a teasing retort sharp on his tongue. Yet no time is spared for further conversation, as one of the Northern lords is standing so close to the Lord of Winterfell that he is practically breathing down Cregan’s neck and clearly has a pressing matter to discuss. Lady Tyrell dips her head in a demure excusing of herself, her attention drawn to the twin princesses once more as Cregan’s deep voice is heard softly behind her. Perhaps it is far past time she makes an attempt to speak to them, regardless of her hatred of their father. It is hardly their fault, nor should she allow personal feelings to interfere with a potential alliance. Her mother might have her head if she did so.

The conversation goes as well as she might hope, given the initial uncomfortable tension that stems from lingering feelings from the war. Both Baela and Rhaena seem weary from their efforts to reason with Cregan over the imprisonment of their grandfather Corlys. It appears that the Sea Snake has indeed been in contact with the lady’s mother, for the princesses mention that their families now share similar goals of bringing peace to the Seven Kingdoms. Yet at the remarking upon the favor she has gained with the Lord of Winterfell, all Lady Tyrell can do is merely nod and brush the inquisitive questions aside, not wishing to speak upon the matter at length when Lady Blackwood is rather close. She still cannot pinpoint the nature of Alysanne Blackwood’s relationship with Cregan, but her spies brought rather comforting rumors of a romance with Lady Sabitha Frey, who additionally fought in the battles during the war. If she truly wishes to be amiable, she might invite the ladies all to tea in the gardens prior to their imminent departure, but she cannot surmise if Lady Blackwood would find it worth her time and does not wish to offend.

A page hovering rather obviously to her right catches her attention, the young boy’s eyes widening in order to alert her of a message over which he fidgets with an anxious need to deliver. A caving pit begins to form in her stomach, sinking as if grains of sand in an hourglass that has run out of minutes, has her quite certain she is already aware of what it is he has come to tell her. Offering the princesses a soft smile and an apologetic excuse for taking her leave of the conversation, she straightens her posture and attempts to forge a steady peace within her mind before addressing the boy. Giving her a deep yet clumsy bow, the messenger looks up at her with brown eyes, straw-colored hair turning golden in the morning light streaming in from the windows.

“The Tyrell traveling party has entered the city, my lady.” The page’s voice is rather high-pitched, echoing the sharp twinge of her heart that rings in her ears like the plucking of a poorly tuned lute. Rather than allow this to show upon her face, she pinches her lips together in a tight smile, eyes lackluster as she nods in measured acknowledgement.

“I see. Thank you for informing me.” It is all she can force herself to say, her mind racing too hurriedly through the realization that her family has finally returned to King’s Landing after three long years. The boy is already scrambling to convey the news to others it is pertinent to, leaving her to clench her fists tightly as she begins to make her way towards the doors. The lords and ladies still lingering within the throne room are occupied with conversation over the trials, and the sudden appointment of a new Hand of the King, but she has banished every thought from her mind rather than how she might handle the impending betrothals her mother is certain to bring upon her today. For her sake, for her sister’s sake – she must have her wits all about her. Everything else in the throne room becomes a muffled, distant blur and murmur.

The sharp echoes of her steps are snuffed out by the ruffle of her skirts overtop, her attention solely focused on her worry and not at all upon Cregan, who takes notice of her rapid exit and draws out of his conversation quietly. His arm reaches forth to catch her softly as she passes him, the touch startling her out of her thoughts. After a brief flash of panic, unsure of who has grabbed her, she exhales a sharp breath that has the lord furrowing his brows deeply over his concerned eyes.

There is no need for him to speak his worry aloud upon his tongue, it reads as clear as a voice within his grey eyes. The depth of his frown, a tightening jaw, the soft brush of his thumb against the fabric of her sleeve. Her own expression, guarded yet yielding only to him, only at his waiting gaze, is undoubtedly legible to him as well. Lips part with practiced ease, the habit of brushing her worry aside to prevent any from seeing and weaponizing her own fear against her a hard one to break. It bends for Lord of Winterfell. The soft dip of her brow as she allows a flicker of concern to dance across her visage indicates all she wishes to convey. And hardly is there need to explain with further words when he knows her troubles already.

“My mother is arriving.” Her chin lifts defiantly as she speaks, yet she knows well her tendency to yield to the Lady of Highgarden. Cregan does not release her arm from his hold as she might have expected, but instead tightens his fingers around her slightly. As if he does not wish to let her go. After a moment of silence, the lord nods heavily, taking a slow breath.

“Let us greet her, then.”

The Tyrell banners fluttering delicately within the salty sea breeze from the bay embeds a compelling nostalgia like a polished stone into her chest. Olive fabric decorated with roses of the purest gold, the same flags that used to fly high above the whimsical days of garden girlhood, a dreamlike haze of giggles and flowers in her hair. When she had emerged from her carriage three years ago, the very one currently wobbling up the cobblestone streets to the gates of the castle, she had still retained the wide-eyed innocence of her youth. It had ended then, so she had thought, when the soft satin slippers of a baby blue shade had touched the rocks in the gated courtyard. And her days had been filled with challenge after challenge, shaping and molding her into the woman she has now become, not out of a desire to ascend the power chain of the capital but out of a primal need to survive. But it was not strife that had turned her into a woman; it was death. The loss of Helaena was the end of innocence and childhood and dreams.

Survival is intertwined in all of House Tyrell, binding ancestral words that are less about power and more about permanence. Incessant and persistent, tangled in the history of the soil as much as the roots of ancient trees. The growth is everlasting, ever-changing, weathering the various seasons as the woods do. While many Houses suffered great losses during the war, House Tyrell remained as they were before, watching and waiting until the ideal time to involve themselves would be. As the carriage draws near, the white horses tossing their golden manes in the brilliant sunlight beaming down upon the courtyard, the Lady Tyrell straightens her shoulders with poise and intention, a slow breath inhaled like syrup into her lungs. So tightly clasped together are her hands atop her gown, she wonders if she might break a nail off accidentally.

At her side stands the Lord of Winterfell, ever the sturdy presence she might rely upon. He had offered his arm for her to steady herself upon, but she cannot accept for fear that her mother might see the genuineness with which the lady attends to Cregan. It would be a poor start to what shall likely be a stressful few days even with the absence of any additional issues. The lord does not press the matter further, eyes lingering heavily upon her visage. Even in the earliest days of their knowing each other, when he had only seen the glass figurine of a lady she had presented to him, never has Cregan seen her so uncertain. Every muscle of her body seems to be drawn tight and strained, her eyes as sharp and watchful as a bird of prey. All of this appears to leave her figure in a sudden melting as the carriage door opens and a young lady can be seen stepping out gently, a footman by the open door to hold the girl’s hand as she descends the stairs.

Any concept of rigidity abandons her, the shimmering skirts of her dress bunched up in her fists as she all but runs to the carriage. As the girl finally steps solidly onto the ground, Lady Tyrell’ skirts are released hurriedly to fall about her feet as she throws her arms around the young lady, who gasps in soft excitement and returns the hug just as tightly.

“Sister,” It is a bright squeal, girlish and sweet with sincere delight. Cregan could have surmised as such without the word being spoken – the younger lady looks so much like the Lady Tyrell that he finds it almost amusing. The same hair, arranged in a similar manner, the same color of her eyes. A dress in a soft shade of pastel green that the lord knows he has seen Lady Tyrell wear upon at least one occasion. The lord watches with gentle patience, eyes soft as he witnesses the loving reunion.

“Oh, Cassia,” The breath Lady Tyrell responds with is one of complete relief and gladness, her eyes closing as she holds her sister tightly in her arms. After a moment she pulls away, her gaze pleased and mirthful as she beholds her sister’s face. In the three years since they last saw each other, Cassia has indeed grown into her beauty as their mother spoke of in her letters. The little girl who would race after her, always trying her utmost to keep up in the flowering fields outside the castle walls, has become quite the comely young lady. This reminds Lady Tyrell pointedly about the unavoidable fate of an upcoming marriage for both of them, a thorny reminder that nestles itself into her troubled chest.

“I had not known if you would meet us right away,” Cassia begins, her smile brilliant and delighted as she gives her sister another tight hug. A soft laugh escapes her lips, the excitement of being reunited after such long years apart evident upon her pleased visage. Lady Tyrell gives a soft hum at this, unable to prevent the easy way that her younger sister brings out the gentler side of her which she normally hides behind parapets of threatening briars.

“How could I not be here to greet you? I have missed you so.” The reply is a breeze of spring air, as Lady Tyrell smiles in a warm manner she rarely bestows upon others. She reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her sister’s ear, her mind instantly eased by the girl’s voice and presence. No more at home could she have felt if she had returned back to Highgarden, amidst the roses and fountains and string quartets playing elegant songs about the terraces. Cassia gives a nod at this, her eyes briefly wandering to the courtyard. Cregan seems to catch her attention first, and the girl hesitates, her gaze lingering upon the Lord of Winterfell with a soft worry. But the girl shall not stare – it is unbecoming of a lady to do so – and quickly returns her attention to her elder sister.

“I know,” Cassia speaks with a sweet cadence, reminiscent of Lady Tyrell’s when she is presenting herself to others, but with a twinge of hesitation. “It is only that mother was unsure of…”

As the girl trails off softly, her eyes once again flickering to gaze at the Warden of the North in silent concern, Lady Tyrell cannot help but smile knowingly. She is certain her mother has retained her belief of the Northerners, deeming a majority of them as violent savages who have brutally seized the castle and intend to behead all of those imprisoned. Cassia has never met anyone from the North, and likely deferred to their mother’s opinions. Her heart aches at the thought of her sister worrying over her, evident by the way Cassia takes her hand and squeezes it softly, unsure if the lady is treated poorly by the Northern forces.

If only she could tell Cassia that cannot be further from the truth.

Her attention is quickly drawn to their mother, the sunlight glittering off the pearls woven into Elinor Tyrell’s hair and the golden circlet that adorns her brow as she descends the steps of the carriage. A soft undulation of edelweiss and hyacinth swirls delicately about the air, catching like dew droplets amongst the salty gusts of wind from the Blackwater. The Lady Tyrell releases her younger sister’s hand gently, instead taking her gown into her own hands and dipping her head low as her body sinks into a practiced curtsy of the utmost grace. Her eyes remain cast to the pebbles that are scattered haphazardly throughout the courtyard, her lower lashes brushing demurely against the curve of her cheeks. The slight squeaking of the carriage steps, the light creaking of wood, and the soft rustling of pebbles all inform her that her mother is standing before her.

“Rise, and allow me to see my eldest child’s face.” Her mother’s voice is a lullaby from a distant memory, the comfort of stories told when tucked into a feathered bed, the remnants of a midnight dessert sweet upon her tongue. For all her fear over the fate of her betrothal, nothing can surmount the nostalgia over days when her mother was her entire world and the lady who stood guard between her and the monsters curling in shadowy tendrils beneath her bedframe. And who is the lady besides a mirrored reflection of the light from her mother’s shining glow, bound by blood and womanhood, made evident beneath the brightness of each full moon.

Her eyes are raised slowly, alongside her body, fluttering lashes indicating a hesitation and vulnerability in Lady Tyrell’s countenance. The sight of her mother’s face invokes a soft yearning in her bruised and broken heart, the organ giving a weak fluttering at the familiarity that trickles like a cooling stream through tired veins. How exhausted the lady has become, putting up each fight so fiercely for her survival over the duration of the past three years. A desire for a simpler time, for suns under which she would run with sparkling teardrops to her mother’s skirts and have all her pains and fears soothed, nestles its way beneath her skin. Her voice lodges itself into the sides of her throat before she is able to compel it out of her mouth quietly. “I am pleased to welcome you to the Red Keep again after so long, mother.”

Elinor Tyrell beholds her daughter’s visage with eyes that betray nothing of her thoughts, a soft ambiguity resting upon her high cheekbones and daintily arched brows. The Lady of Highgarden is a vision herself in a gown of a delicate shade of gold that reflects within her eyes. There is a youthful beauty to her despite her age, perhaps from the graceful manner in which she carries herself. “You have grown even more beautiful since I last saw you.”

At the soft murmur Lady Tyrell gives another dip of her head, pleased to at least have presented herself in a manner deserving of her mother’s praise. Any further thought is skillfully hidden at the approach of the Lord of Winterfell, Elinor Tyrell’s attention turning subtlety to the man as he makes his way across the courtyard. He gives a respectful nod, standing by the lady as Cassia regards him with slight worry and her mother with quiet intrigue. Cregan’s presence at her side is that of a beacon upon a moonlit hill, ever-grounding and drawing her towards him as if they belong in each other’s orbit.

“I am honored to welcome you to the Red Keep, Lady Elinor, Lady Cassia,” His rumbling voice retains a noble quality as he extends his formal greeting, met with a gentle nod from the lady’s mother and a soft curtsy from her sister. The sun has begun to shift towards the height of the sky, illuminating rays descending from the clear blue expanse. Lady Tyrell’s attention is intentionally kept away from Cregan, not wishing her mother to catch a glimpse of the warmth he extends to her reflected in her own eyes. “I am Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. If there is anything I might do to assist during your stay, do inform me at once.”

“That is quite kind of you, Lord Stark.” A voice as fresh and lovely as field grown flowers, yet Cregan cannot say he underestimates the Lady of Highgarden to any degree. The drifting of voices from the courtyard as the remainder of the traveling party dismounts their tired horses and begins to stretch after the long journey distracts the Lady Tyrell momentarily, before she brings a soft and saccharine smile to her lips and gazes up at Cregan pointedly.

“Perhaps you might accompany my sister about the halls whilst I show my mother to her chambers?” It is a delicate question, referencing an earlier conversation they had in which the lady had asked for a quiet moment alone with her mother prior to anything else that is to occur that day. Cregan holds her gaze, seemingly searching for the truth upon her state of mind, but readily accepts her request. His arm is extended to Cassia, who blinks in soft concern and casts her eyes to her elder sister.

“Lord Stark shall be a perfect host, I assure you.” Lady Tyrell consoles the girl in a hushed tone, her hand reaching forth to take Cassia’s comfortingly. “You must be aching to stretch your legs after so long in the confines of the carriage. Go ahead.”

After a moment of gentle hesitation, Cassia agrees with a delicate nod. Her hand wavers slightly in the air but she takes Cregan’s arm as gingerly as she can and offers him a wary yet grateful smile. Both the lady and her mother watch Cregan lead Cassia towards the archways of the inner doors, his deep voice floating through the air behind them as they walk.

“There is someone I wish to introduce you to, my lady…” Attempting to not smile softly at Cregan’s leading of her sister over to the young Lord Blackwood, whose face has gone quite red at the sight of the girl approaching, the Lady Tyrell returns her attention to her mother who is staring after Cregan with a thoughtful look upon her face. With a soft breath, she looks down and does her best to conceal any traces of true affection from her mother’s watchful observation. Yet there is no need to hide physical indicators of the truth of her feelings, not when she has written the depth of her trust for Cregan all over the rocks and pillars of the courtyard in messy script by entrusting him with her sister.

The exchange of words between the two women during their walk to the guest chambers of the castle is pleasant and easy, most of it revolving around the young Lyonel Hightower who will soon be turning four years old. The lady is filled with a soft melancholy to hear of the milestones her brother has been meeting in her absence, a flickering of regret over missing nearly all of his young life burning tightly in her chest. There had been no way to escape to Highgarden during the war, not when it meant abandoning Helaena and her children, and thus she had been unable to return to her younger siblings. Only once has she seen the little boy – with a sickening sadness she realizes that the child will likely not recognize her the next time they meet.

As they enter the guest chambers, the door closing behind them with the softest clicking of the metal latch, Lady Tyrell lets out a slow breath. Her back remains pressed to the deep oak of the door as she watches her mother survey the chambers with a neutral expression, the woman’s hands folded delicately at her front in the very same manner that Lady Tyrell always does. Waiting eyes track each step her mother takes, studying the way she carries herself as if the lady has not done so more than a thousand times in her life. Her shoulders instinctively lower to mimic the Lady of Highgarden as the woman stops to select a single white rose from a porcelain vase, twisting the stem elegantly within her hands. Each thorn is skillfully avoided.

“You have tamed the Northern wolf rather well.” Any sweetness from Elinor Tyrell’s voice has faded away, slipping from her mouth like dripping honey down the bark of a tree. Instead, the lady is met with low and quiet observation, certain and deliberate. As her mother’s eyes remain cast to the rose, the lady lets out a quiet huff of breath. There is an understanding of necessary practicality between them, yet the lady cannot say she has been nearly as practical as she ought to be given the precariousness of the power balance at court.

“I would hardly say so.” She breathes back in response, her gaze dropping to stare at the wooden floorboards that had been polished that morning for the arrival of guests. They shine with such pristineness that the lady finds them almost mocking as her own distorted reflection is whispered back to her. Her plan to manipulate Cregan had all but imploded, leaving in her a vulnerable situation with the Lord of Winterfell that her mother will certainly have an opinion upon. While she trusts him, the Lady of Highgarden will want insurance regarding this trust being rightfully placed and the lady cannot offer much save for his kindness to her and her own instinct.

“Nonsense, child,” Elinor Tyrell muses coolly, setting the rose down gently among the others in the pearl vase. The woman’s gaze returns to assessing the room she shall be residing in during her stay at the castle. “I must admit I am surprised at your success in the matter. I had read your reports and yet the situation appears far better than I could have imagined.”

It is a compliment, as clear as she might hope to receive from her mother regarding the issue. Elaboration does not need to be made upon the failing of her initial plan, and so she merely taps her fingers in soft rhythm against the wood of the door she rests her back upon. While she wishes to seek after Elinor Tyrell’s opinion upon Cregan Stark, it is a matter that holds little importance when the setting sun of her maidenhood draws lower in the sky. If only her mother held more hope for Cregan, perhaps she might set her attention to a marriage pact that the lady would genuinely wish for herself. But she knows well where the Lady of Highgarden has set her sights.

Sea rather than snow.

“But that is not what you wish for me, is it mother?” A quiet phrase, spoken through heavy lips and accompanied with gloomy eyes. Her mother turns at this, a spark of amusement in her gaze at the sharpness retained in her daughter’s mind over the larger game at play. The woman observes Lady Tyrell calmly, taking careful note of the dullness of the lady’s expression regarding the line of questioning. It is no surprise to Elinor – while most young ladies would have been ecstatic to be engaged to a prince, her child had never seemed to care much for her match to Daeron Targaryen. Another Targaryen had long ensnared the innocence of her young heart, but Elinor had hoped the revelation of the boy’s true character had woken her daughter from childish notions of romance and love within a marriage.

“You wish to know of my plans for your betrothal then.” The Lady of Highgarden purses her lips softly before she lets out a long sigh, shaking her head at her daughter. It is marginally more difficult to convince a daughter who has since reached twenty years of age to marry as her parents see fit – Elinor had been considerably annoyed when Prince Daeron had died and broken off a sixteen-year-long engagement.

“It has been on my mind as of late.” The lady does not need to possess any fantastical ability to know her mother finds her having an opinion upon the matter of her own marriage rather tiresome. It is tradition, longstanding and binding, for ladies to have their husbands selected by their parents. The intense glare her mother fixes her with only serves to agitate her further, and she remains drawn against the door.

“If you must know,” Her mother begins with another shake of her head, exasperation written as if in stone upon her face. “I believe you shall marry Lord Corlys Velaryon’s heir. A bastard, in truth, but he has been legitimized and will be the next Lord of the Tides. Being the Lady of Driftmark would suit you, and Lord Alyn’s fleet would be an excellent ally to possess.”

Repressing a sardonic breath that threatens to escape her lips at the confirmation of her suspicions, the lady feels her nails digging into the wooden door. After a moment of composing herself, gaze remaining downcast to the floor, she speaks in a measured tone. “Have you arranged it already?”

“The matter has been proposed to Lord Corlys, but the betrothal will be solidified once he is freed.” It is said with such certainty that a heaviness pools about her stomach, her eyes closing briefly as she attempts to reason with herself over the marriage. It could be far worse – she had briefly wondered if her mother mind demand she marry Lord Corlys himself, despite the man being over seventy years of age. She knows little of Lord Alyn, save him not being a trueborn son of the Sea Snake nor a dragon rider. And while she is frustrated at this decision, her true worry is for another.

“And Cassia?” Her eyes finally meet her mother’s with a stubborn glint as the question leaves her lips, searching to find if yet another of her hunches shall prove true.

“Lord Lyonel Hightower is in need of a wife, so it would seem.” Upon this matter, the lady cannot prevent the disapproving click that bounces from her tongue, fixing her mother with a glare of equal ferocity. She is nothing if not Elinor’s daughter after all. As she crosses the room towards the other woman, the reasoning she has spent many long nights sorting out is finally given voice.

“The Hightowers are already your bannermen. You need not vie for more power in their House, not when you have reminded them of the true strength of Highgarden,” After the realization that Garmund Hightower’s position as a ward of the Tyrells places the Hightowers in a delicate situation, the lady doubts any rebellions shall be happening in the coming years. Not when Lord Lyonel is still quite young and wholly inexperienced in battle. Additionally occupied with seducing his stepmother, whom he is rumored to be terribly obsessed with, and being altogether horrid to his serving staff. Surely, her mother cannot be eager to send Cassia to such a horrendous fate. Not when there might be more to be gained elsewhere. “If you use this rare opportunity to secure an alliance with a Northern House, it will extend our influence.”

Elinor gives a scoff at this, her stare hardening as her daughter’s stubbornness is presented to her once again. While the lady has rarely argued upon orders given directly to her, she is so very insistent regarding her sister. As it has always been, the Lady of Highgarden is both impressed and annoyed by the fierceness with which her eldest child is devoted to her siblings. “Cassia does not possess the skill needed to manipulate influence so far from Highgarden.”

“She is young, she will learn.” The lady reasons with a soft shrugging of her shoulders, her frown deepening as she attempts to persuade her mother against such a decision. As they had taken their leave of the courtyard, the lady had noticed the gentle way Lord Blackwood had lifted her sister’s hand to his lips, and the soft delight upon Cassia’s face at the meeting. After years of searching for an acceptable match for the girl, the lady will be damned if her mother sentences her only sister to life at the mercy of an ill-tempered and spoiled lordling.

“You were fully prepared to manipulate those in court at her age.” With a look of disbelief cast coldly to her daughter, the Lady of Highgarden squares her shoulders and tilts her head in a manner the implies she does not mean to be argued with upon the topic. Given usual circumstances, Lady Tyrell would then have lowered her eyes and her voice and deferred to her mother’s wishes. But after witnessing Helaena’s marriage, and the marriages of other ladies within the castle, she knows all too well that it is not only Cassia’s heart that is in danger. The physical suffering resulting from matches made with cruel and violent men shall last the entirety of the union. Still, blatant attitude will not convince her mother of anything. The lady’s voice simmers to a softer note.

“Cassia is…she is less like you and I, mother.” There is a fondness in her voice she cannot hide, but fear decorates the edges of her words like lace stitching. The lady cannot lose another. It would surely kill her, if she is not already dying slowly from the grief that snaps heartstring after heartstring, plucking her damaged heart like a harp. Let her bear the burden of being born a daughter, so that her sister shall not.

“She is naive.” Elinor dismisses with a wave of her hand, eyes closing with weary ache as she thinks after her more tenderhearted daughter. How she birthed two girls who are so very different from herself, she could never understand.

“I will speak to her.” Lady Tyrell’s brows have drawn together, her lips pressed together tightly as her hands are folded in front of her skirts with elegant poise. Yet her gaze remains stubbornly set, insistent and certain as carved marble. “I simply believe it to be in the best interest of our House.”

“Of our House, or of your beloved sister?” The question is wielded as sharply as a dagger, burrowing up to the hilt in the lady’s mind as her mother regards her with thinly veiled disappointment. There is a heavy silence that falls within the air of the room as the women regard each other with equally intense stares. Long gone are the days when she would hide at the sight of her mother’s cold glare, her heart plummeting at the very thought of letting down the only parent who paid her any mind. For so long has she obeyed every order to the utmost, earning her place as her mother’s darling and trusted spy at court. But the war has shown the lady what is truly frightening in this world, and no amount of lingering childhood guilt can convince her to abandon her sister to the hands of a senselessly violent man.

“Both can be true, can they not?” She speaks finally, a quiet reaffirming of her stance. Elinor’s shrouded gaze remains cast to her daughter, repressing the urge to remind the lady that their House only remains standing because of the effort she has put in to keep it from falling. Instead, she shakes her head, her lip curling slightly.

“Do not forget what a crucial time this is. I would hate to see your emotions stand in the way of our ambition.” Elinor’s voice is reminiscent of the rattle of a snake slipping through tall grasses, fangs withdrawn but always present. Venom that has been used before, to keep House Tyrell alive and strong.

“…Yes, mother.”

The warning is as clear as any.

The matter of an imminent betrothal weighs as heavily upon Cregan’s mind as it does on the Lady Tyrell’s. Despite the flurry of tasks he is swept up in as the newly appointed Hand, the concern lingering in the corners of his thoughts does not cease nor waver. It is with no surprise that after he has finally concluded the last issue of the day, his steps carry him with a heavy quickness to her chamber door. So familiar has he become with the carvings of the wood upon it, with the cool touch of the metal latch. With the way his knocks resound in hollow bursts through the thickness of it, and the soft adjusting of metal as she pulls the door inwards to herself. Each time she gazes upon him with such soft surprise, even if she should not expect anyone else when the crescent moon is so high in the inky darkness of the night sky.

But as she opens the door to greet him, she is given momentary pause by the intensity of his eyes, gazing down into hers with such needing questioning that she is left silent for a second after she catches sight of his stoic visage. Unsure of what has him in such an agitated state, the lady blinks up at him with a quiet wondering. Cregan could give a breath of relief at the sight of her, not already swept up into the arms of some lord who might not take note of the way she adds three sugars to her morning tea or the glimmer in her eyes when she finds something amusing yet does not wish to show it. It burns within his chest like a raging wildfire then, the crux of weeks of learning her person and finding himself taken by each detail he has seen.

“I apologize for the lateness of the hour,” Cregan murmurs, the depth of his voice sending her stomach rolling about softly. There is a certain hum to the manner he speaks when it is only them alone that she cannot quite place, but the physical effects of it have only grown stronger in the hours spent in only each other’s company. “I had wished to come earlier but there were a number of pressing matters and time soon slipped away from me.”

Lingering in the torchlit hallway, she cannot help but allow her eyes to soften at the way the edges of his noble silhouette turn gentle and golden in the warm glow. Her lips melt into the smallest ghost of a smile, her lids lowering as she gazes up at him with knowing eyes. She too has been hoping for his company, having grown used to receiving it several times a day.

“You need not worry. Being Hand of the King is an involved position, I am sure.” Easy does the speech flow from her lips, rich and sweet as dessert wine when she presses one hand to her doorframe. Her lithe fingers curl about the wood delicately, and the crackling of the hearth can be heard from inside her ambiently lit chambers. A nightgown of ivory coloring adorns her body once again, scarcely obscuring anything from Cregan’s wandering eyes. She does little to hide herself, the hauntings of a smile widening in delighted amusement when a thick swallow is forced down his throat at the sight of her chest draped in such delicate silks. When his eyes flick up to hers again, she casts her gaze down so he might not see.

“It is,” He acquiesces, seeming rather weary from such a long day. But no amount of exhaustion or concern over the trials occurring tomorrow can keep Cregan from her doorstep, not when she might be betrothed at any moment. “And yet I still wished to see you, my lady.”

Her heart is sticky candle wax beneath a wick that has been set aflame, dripping into the cavity of her chest warmly. The Northern practicality that others might view as brashly straightforward heats her body as no other words can. There is little she can do to stop her smile from blooming fully upon her face as she steps back slowly, her eyes holding his with a quiet reflection of his own desires that she is sure he does not miss.

“You may come in, Lord Stark.” It is a hushed murmur, spoken to him before her back is turned and he is left to stare after her retreating figure once more. Taking a slow breath, Cregan finds himself closing the door as he has before. But this evening, there is a crackling of electricity in the air as there has not been during other evening meetings. An understanding seems to be on the precipice of being reached, yet Cregan cannot help but wonder if she knows the depth of his affection.

Slowly, he makes his way into her chambers. She has returned to the task she was attending to before Cregan had arrived – fixing her hair for bed in front of a full mirror the shape of an oval. With some hesitation, he follows her to the far side of the room and sinks slowly into the edge of her bed, watching the gentle movements she makes with half-lidded eyes. His gaze meet hers within the mirror, and he lowers his chin quietly as he speaks.

“Has your mother arranged a match for you yet, my lady?” It is as direct as she expects him to be, and yet an amused breath is taken through her nose as she breaks her eyes away from his. Her hands make their way through her hair as a soft, tired smile finds its way to her mouth. The firelight from across her chambers casts the room in a warm yet dim glow.

“She has her sights on Lord Alyn Velaryon,” The lady informs Cregan with a pointed resignation, attempting not to sound too annoyed or frustrated by her mother’s decision. Her fingers slow in their movements as she attempts to imagine a life at Driftmark, by the sea and sand. She has sent her spies out to learn more about Alyn, yet she does not imagine she shall receive information about his character until far later in the week. Whether for Cregan’s sake or her own, she attempts to reason out the circumstance. “It could be far worse. He – is of my age and has a good title.”

“Do you wish to marry him?” The quickness of the serious reply has her closing her eyes for a moment. She has half a mind to turn upon Cregan and ask if he imagines she wishes to marry a stranger she has never met nor has any concept of at her age, but it is not his fault nor is it fair of her to take out such frustrations upon him, he who is so very kind to her and has enchanted her so.

“Not particularly, no,” She begins truthfully, unable to stop the honest words from fleeing her chest. Cregan has a way of rendering her all but incapable of lying when he has gotten her alone, which is both refreshing and concerning. “But I have evaded my fate for far too long. I must fulfill my duty to my family.”

Cregan cannot tear his attention from her, his heart striving with sharp pull in his chest as he watches her quietly accept that which she herself has said she does not wish for. Her chin tilts down, her hands running softly through her hair to arrange it delicately atop the silk of her evening slip. Gazing at herself softly, she cannot help but smooth down a portion of the fabric, her hand running across the silks that cascade over her breasts and down to her stomach, fingers embedding a slow trail down the map of her body. His jaw tightens, his lips twitching slightly as he stares at her figure, her back turned to him as she busies herself with her hair. The fierce spirit he has seen her wield to fight for Cassia and Jaehaera – will she truly not utilize it for herself? Cregan Stark is sure in this instance he is not a fool. Surely, she must know as well.

“And your duty to your heart?” His eyes do not waver. There is not need to elaborate further, not when he is sat there upon the edge of her bed, not when he has been allowed into her chambers at this hour before. As he has been allowed past the thorny towers of her heart, as he has been allowed the soft trust she has placed in him. He shall ignore it no longer. The lady’s body goes rigid, her lips parting dryly as she stares down at the curved foot of the mirror with wide, unblinking eyes. While she too has grown keenly aware of this fire they share, she had not imagined he would speak so brazenly of it. But Cregan is of Northern blood and custom, to his last.

Cursed heart, flickering to life only to be put to the sword once again.

“It is but a dream.” The edges of her voice break upon her lips, glass and a ghostly whisper that lingers in the space in front of her as it falls from her tongue. Her heartbeat has become a steady thrumming in her ears, pulsing wildly beneath the skin of her wrists and beneath her collarbone. Her chin is softly lifted to meet Cregan’s stare through the mirror, and her breath is taken from her lungs by the intensity of his eyes. He shakes his head slowly, never breaking their shared gaze. An almost painful need to speak has lodged its way into his chest.

“If it is a dream then I do not wish to be woken from it. I cannot no longer hide what your discerning mind surely already knows when you look upon me.” The last word is spoken as a deep breath, as if he cannot fight with his own self-control for a moment longer. His brows draw lower, furrowing to show the weight of the longing and aching within his body that he cannot rid himself of. She can do little but stare at him, lips parted, a sweet wariness melting in desperate uncertainty upon her face as he continues.

“Your being consumes my every thought, my every breath. It is your eyes I search for in every room, your presence I long for at my side, you who has captured my heart and my soul wholly and without question. I came to this castle as a conqueror and instead find myself subdued completely by you, at your mercy and willingly upon my knees,” His eyes are anchored to her visage as a ship in a storm seeks a lighthouse, every word spoken with careful intent and heavy honesty. There is nowhere else he can look to, not even in a hall of thousands. It cannot be undone. “For but the chance that you consider another for your husband.”

A soft exhale of breath puffs through her parted lips, the flicker of firelight tracing the curves of her hips and thighs, nearly visible through the sheer gown. Burning fear and want has pooled in her eyes like golden starlight as a timid whisper is barely heard in the silence of the room. “Please do not jest.”

“I am not.” The words are low and instantaneous, rolling off his tongue like thunder from a long-brewing storm, clouds low and grey as the hues of his lidded eyes. Heat has spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers, settling warm and aching between his thighs as his intense gaze tracks her every movement, her every breath. Each rise of her chest is watched hungrily, earning him an expression similar to that of a wolf who can no longer hide its raw and heady desire. One of his tightly closed fists is flexed slowly, fingers extending by the digit as he attempts to maintain what little control he has left. It is not enough to prevent him from rising from her bed, the plush feathered mattress indented in his wake, his steps heavy and intentional as he crosses to stand at her back. She can see his reflection in the mirror, his chin lowered as his eyes rake across her figure with such evident need that a soft heat pools between the curves of her thighs. A large hand finds its place upon her lower back, sliding itself into the slot where her hips begin to curve as she turns to meet his gaze, eyes wide and waiting.

Cregan’s fingers curl softly into the silk, bunching up the pearl fabric within his hold as he presses his hand more firmly into her back, drawing her attention completely. Heat rises to her cheeks at the possessiveness of the action, despite the clear manner in which he is giving her room to draw away. His presence is imposing behind her, broad shoulders looming over her frame, but he does not corner her. The gesture is an asking, a sacred offering, a holy promise of the reverence he will use if he continues to hold her body beneath his hands. So hot is his touch, she expects to see a burn like a brand when he pulls his hand away next. But she does not wish him to. Caution curls in hesitant tendrils within her hollow chest, but they are waved away as mere wisps of smoke. If he gazes down at her with any more softness, his expression might melt beside the flames flickering in the fireplace. It is then that she realizes she has never been looked upon with such obvious love and devotion, by someone whose every action serves to reinforce this certainty. His voice breaks upon the whispered repetition of his own words, as if he is almost afraid of the need he betrays by speaking once more. “I am not.”

Her own palms are hesitant as they reach forth cautiously, wanting yet wary, head against heart. Curling into the softness of his clothing, she presses her hands to the swell of his chest as she turns, her back to the mirror as she faces him fully. Fear has been dissipated, scattered to the delicate night breeze slipping in through the crack in her window. Cool and fresh, laced with the salt from the sea. No sooner than when her fingers bend to take tentative hold of the fabric of his shirt, her eyes flooding with approval as she dips her head – yes, I want this, I want you – does he kiss her.

His mouth parts her wanting lips with a desperate yet constrained hunger, emboldened by the soft gasp against him and the tightening of fingers into his clothing rather than pushing him away. Her brows furrow sweetly as she allows Cregan to press his lips against her own in open-mouthed kisses, deep and messy with the overflowing from weeks of repressed desire, dispelling any sense of propriety and sensibility. As his other arm wraps tightly around her back, he solidifies his hold upon her waist by grabbing firmly at her hips, allowing her figure to melt against his as he holds her upright. As the curves of her breasts meld into his chest, a resonant hum escapes the back of his throat and lowers into a growl when he coaxes her lips further apart, sliding his tongue hotly overtop of them before it slips into the plush softness of her waiting mouth. This earns him another whine, sweet and breathless, that has Cregan hardening faster than he might care to admit. To soothe her, one of his hands pulls her in closer to him, briefly pausing the conquest upon her lips to lift her up into his arms.

It is with utter ease that he raises her from the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing as he leans in to kiss her hungrily once more. Her legs wrap naturally atop his hips as he settles her there, barely preventing them both from stumbling backwards and shattering her mirror, yet still bumping the dark wooden armoire and sending the trinkets atop it shaking. As she begins to meet his eagerness, discovering how she might endeavor to match the passion which with he moves his mouth against her own, neither one seems too occupied with the state of the furniture. His hands have settled into the plush skin of her upper thighs, grasping handfuls of fabric and flesh as he kneads deeply into her warmth. Her hands reach up to tangle in his locks of reddish hair, running through his soft strands and twisting themselves thoroughly. So long has she wished to touch, to brush, to hold. Cregan gives a small groan at the sensation of her fingers pulling his head back, momentarily ceasing his conquest once more to gaze into her eyes, lidded and with pupils blown wide from newly released lust. Her own eyes melt at the sight, at the beauty of him, at the depth of the affection and desire within her heart. One hand trails down to caress his cheek, cupping it tenderly in her hold as their eyes search each other’s for confirmation of the mutual desire for continuation. When Cregan is certain that her need matches his own, he is quick to shift her weight in his arms, crossing back to her bed in a few large strides.

As he bends his knees to kneel upon the end of her mattress, one hand reaches up to cradle her head gently as he lays her down before him, hair spread out beneath her and her cheeks rosy from the exertion of kissing him. Her chest heaves in labored breath, nightgown skewed upon her figure as she gazes up at the Lord of Winterfell with blossoming desire. Never able to deny her, she who blooms within his world as a rose amongst the snowiest peaks, Cregan lowers his body overtop of hers as his lips find her mouth once again.

The glowing fire burns low in the hearth, casting golden light upon their joining bodies in the soft satins of her poster-framed bed. The sheer silk canopy does little to hide the sounds of sweet and aching desire released from her lips as Cregan shifts his weight up onto his arms, trailing his lips and nipping teeth along the curve of her jaw and down her neck. At this, she tilts her head to further expose herself to his ardent kisses. The feeling of a mouth upon her skin is new, yet she feels far less anxiety than she might have expected. So long as it is Cregan Stark whose hands and mouth forge untaken paths onto the expanse of her body, lips pressing against sensitive pressure points as her pulse thrums beneath in hot pools, there shall be no fear in her heart.

Just as it had been before, her given name is a sacrosanct promise birthed upon his reddening lips. She breathes his in return, wholly as sacred, reverent and reminiscent of a vow.

Lady Tyrell’s hands once more find their way into his hair, raking fistfuls of soft locks into her grasp and tugging just so, earning her another delicious groan from his chest and a stuttered rocking of his hips against air. The action spurs him on further, as he pushes himself up by straightening his elbows and shifting back onto his knees. With his now free hands, he curls his fingers into the thin silk of her evening slip. The fabric gives way pliantly in his strong grasp. Another gasp falls from her open lips as the clothing tears, her breasts dipping slightly as they are exposed to the warm air of her bedchamber. Cregan does not give her a moment to consider embarrassment or worry as he immediately lowers his head, capturing one of her nipples with a deep kiss around the peaking bud. His eyes close at the taste of her upon his tongue, the other breast attended to with his hand as he kneads and pulls at the soft flesh with a feeling of near relief.

On many an occasion his eyes have been drawn to the lowness of her neckline, plunging precariously atop her breasts that bounce as she walks and turns to speak to him. Finally, he can lick his tongue across the rounded nipples as he has been desiring to, his cheeks blown as his head lowers and raises from the intensity with which he sucks at her. Her back arches at the feeling of his warm mouth over her sensitive chest, suckling from her as he pulls her body closer. The ache between her thighs is a demanding flutter that grows bolder with each movement of his tongue, echoing in yielding moans and whines.

Cregan rolls his hips against hers tentatively – needing more yet wishing to be tender with her, wishing to treat her as devotedly as he can given the heat that has pulsated into his throbbing cock – as he switches to lavishing attention to her other breast. Lady Tyrell squirms beneath his touch, yet her own waist lifts to meet his as she feels the prominent outline of him straining against the material of his pants. The silks of her nightgown have bunched up about her hips, leaving her cunt covered only by the thin fabric of her small clothes akin to a flower whose petals have curled back to allow the sun to reach its depths. As he continues to map out each plane of her figure with his mouth, descending to the soft skin of her stomach after he rips at her slip further, his fingers slowly reach through the fabric to brush against her wet core. Her head falls back against the satin sheets, a sweet sound filling the air that only serves to encourage Cregan further.

“Cregan please,” Her whine is far more desperate than she wishes it to be, but the neediness causes Cregan’s cock to twitch within the constraints of his clothes. The dampness of his fingers, feeling the physical manifestation of her desire even through cloth, has him leaning back, wrestling to free himself of his pants and breeches. The lady presses her thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the aching throbbing that has been caused by him before reaching down to wiggle her hips and slide her small clothes down the smooth expanse of her legs. But he shall not leave her wanting, not when he can alleviate the pressure with his own fingers that resume their ministrations once he gently moves her thighs apart.

“As you wish, my lady.” An instantaneous agreement in a tone that rumbles with burning desire, pulled from his chest with no resistance. If she were his enemy, she would surely render him all but helpless – a knife to his neck at her mercy, if only to keep a tear from ever falling from her eyes, save the ones she sheds from the pleasure he might bring her. Her folds are wet and pliant as he massages his fingers into them softly, spurred on by the lovely sounds dripping from her lips as an ambrosial substance. His mouth returns to eagerly press kisses to each moan, tongue diving past her lips as he rubs small circles into her clit.

With each movement, she is willing to spread her legs further apart for him, hips fluttering to meet the calloused pads of his large fingers. The scent of him is in every breath – heavy musk and sweet pine, hints of leather and the distant memory of fresh fallen snow. As he draws back for air, she lifts her head to his neck, mimicking the hungry kisses he had lavished upon her collarbone. When her teeth sink into the juncture of his throat, his hips jerk sharply and he drops his head, hair falling over his face. Soothing a sweet kiss to his skin immediately after, she presses her mouth repeatedly to the sensitive skin as Cregan slides his thick fingers across her wet pearl. Her hips roll as ocean waves against his touch, her mouth leaving reddening marks akin to bruises upon the skin of fresh fruit, laying claim to the Warden of the North as he has allowed her to. As she begins to feel flush across the entirety of her body, Cregan aligns his hips with hers to lower his cock to rub against the wetness of her cunt, sliding easily across her as she takes a sharp breath. His head hangs above hers, eyes longing to see every expression that flickers across her visage as he rubs himself against her, catching upon her clit and dipping into the pliant folds only just so.

Never has Lady Tyrell been touched in such a way, but she is not ignorant of how the act is performed. Only, she had not believed it to be so pleasant nor so hot, burning as a raging wildfire within the lower realm of her stomach as Cregan groans from the feeling of his cock sliding against her wetness with such ease, a clear indicator of the pleasure she experiences from his touch. It had seemed like a chore, a burden forced upon ladies in order to create heirs. Even if she had not been instructed on the sequence of events during the process, she knows she would instinctively crave Cregan within her at the sensation of him rubbing with such strong and deep strokes against her. But he does not press inside of her, remaining atop her folds as his breathing grows labored.

“Please, I need you,” She breathes, hating the whine that escapes upon the last word, eyes nearly teary from the pulsing ache between her thighs where her body believes his cock should be. Cregan feels his self-control slipping off a precarious cliff at her insistence, struggling to deny her anything when she asks in that lovely voice, coated in such genuine desire and passion. But he is an honorable man, who cares for her far too much to claim her maidenhead before he marries her. Inhaling a sharp breath, he continues to roll his cock against her wet cunt with long strokes. “I need more.”

Cregan might die within her bed. His voice breaks as he rasps over his words.

“I cannot,” It is meant to soothe her, spoken in a deep and gentle voice, but only elicits a soft whine of displeasure from her as she begins to move her hips to match his. Each time he rubs against her clit, or her aching entrance, her mind grows hazy and soft. “I wish to, truly, but I cannot.”

For all his flourishing desire, primal and raw as it may be, the love he has come to harbor for her within his heart and his adamant desire to protect her outweighs his natural instinct to take her, to lay claim to her, to have children by her as he so desires. He cannot besiege her cunt as if some cruel conqueror, not when he has made no promises to earn him that right. Cregan Stark shall do right by her, as soon as he might be able to, as he should have done the moment he laid eyes upon the truth of her soul. One hand reaches down to rest softly over the gentle curve of her stomach, his hips jerking in a sloppier rhythm against her as the idea of her carrying his heirs fills his mind once more. To make her Lady of Winterfell, to give her the family she spoke of wanting, to protect her until the end of his days within his ancestral homeland – the desires he has been harboring in secret can no longer be denied.

Lady Tyrell does not argue further upon the matter, wholly desiring to honor his wishes and make Cregan feel as comfortable as he has made her, but the distress must show upon her face for he leans down. Pressing a loving kiss to her temple, his lips murmur softly against her forehead to calm her tenderly. “I am sorry, my sweet rose. It is only that I wish to have you as my wife.”

Her eyes widen at his voice, at the slight pressure he applies to her stomach as he keeps his hand pressed firmly to her skin. It is not long after the words are spoken that he rocks his hips forward, angling them so that he might rub against her clit in heavier strokes. When he captures her lips once more into his, she feels him groaning into her mouth as liquid heat pools between her thighs with a sudden stutter of his hips, coating her folds in his seed. Her own release is hot as it washes over her, her entrance contracting in rapid flutters as a warm burst of pleasure flutters through her nerves.

As her pleasure simmers beneath her exhausted muscles, she fears briefly that he may simply leave her there alone, as she has heard tale of men doing after seeking pleasure. But the Northern lord slowly rolls off of her body, eyes closing briefly as he presses a soft kiss to her lips and pulls her gently into his arms. His hand brushes hair out of her face, her cheeks shining with sweat from their passion, as he murmurs sweet praises into her hair until she feels sleep claim her.

a/n: i am going on vacation for the next 2.5 weeks so this series is going on a mini-break! perhaps i'll write oneshots while i am in the airport or something similar but i am not sure yet. anyways comments and asks and reblogs are always appreciated and thank you to everyone who has read everything so far!

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alicesivory · 4 months ago

Text

Old Habits Die Hard [2/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3115

Summary: The Night’s Watch was a nightmare to the one eyed prince. Longing for his freedom once more, the gods decided to toss a coin and play with him. Meeting a peculiar wildling that could be his answer. And the Targaryen prince could be the answer to her people.

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.”

Aemond knelt before the weirwood tree as he spoke the watch’s oath. Although he was devoted to the seven, a hint of guilt lies deep in his heart. He recalls how his mother devoted her life to the seven and prays daily to the sept. Praying for him, Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, her own mother, it felt wrong kneeling in front of the old gods. What would his mother say of him?

Does she know that he’s alive?

Did Lord Stark told her of his fate?

He could only get lost in his thoughts as he stood up to face his commander. The summer snow falls heavy upon his now black garb, traditionally worn by the order. He should’ve had drowned in that lake alongside with Vhagar and his uncle. Why did the gods saved him just to give him a fate worse than death?

May the gods be with me.

“Just so you know, new recruits are sorted into three orders. Rangers, warriors of the watch to patrol beyond the wall and fend off any wildling. Then we have Builders, tasked to maintain The Wall itself such as castles, arms, and all that shit. And uh last we have Stewards, cooking and tending horses,” His commander said.

“As much I would love to put you as a Steward, princey…we all know you are needed as a Ranger. You are a skilled warrior aren’t you not?”

Aemond could only stare at the commander, letting out a quiet hum. “You don’t talk much do ya?” Stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “It’s better that way,” Aemond replied coldly.

The northerner scoffed, spitting onto the ground.

“Cocky little shit.”

Walking away from Aemond alongside with the other crows. Turning his back on them, Aemond stared down at the weirwood tree. It was laughing at him. At his demise, his fate. The old gods were not with him. He cursed them under his breath, stomping away from the scene as his cloak dragged across the snow.

Training with the northerners wasn’t any different than he had with ser Criston back then in the keep. It’s even easier for his liking. Aemond being a skilled swordsman he is, didn’t hesitate to show off his skills as he competed with new recruits of the watch. Even the ones that were longer in the brother hood had to put up a good fight to keep up with his skills. Yet Aemond was persistent on winning every single time.

“Get up,” Aemond said coldly to a young boy aching in the ground after getting hit by Aemond. “We are not done yet. I said get up,” he repeated himself. Is this the kind of men that they’re sending to the wall? Meek and puny men who are supposed to defend the realm from savages and creatures?

Pathetic.

“Stand up straight, boy,” Aemond told his competitor, tapping his leg. “Keep your legs strong if you want to live,” he said before striking again, thankfully the boy paid attention and kept his form strong. It went on for awhile after Aemond defeated them again and again.

“Enough!” His commander’s voice boomed. “You, Targaryen.” Pointing at the one eyed prince. Approaching Aemond, he questioned, “What d’you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“That’s enough.”

“These men aren’t ready—,”

“—oh now you’re lecturing me? A fucking know it all?”

“Yes I know it all. You’re sending these men into a death sentence,” Aemond pointed his sword towards the new recruits. “Is that what this brotherhood is meant for? Sending men into their deaths because they chose not to die sooner in the hands of you northerners? This is not honour, this is a—.”

Before Aemond could even finish his sentence, his commander punched him in the face, hard. A punch he haven’t felt in years throughout his youth. Tumbling to the ground, Aemond felt his cheek was sore and aching. Wincing in pain, he felt his nose bleed.

Stupid northerner.

Licking the blood flowing through his nostril, he scoffed. “That’s what you northerners always do, hm? Finishing the matter with violence.” Prancing up, Aemond wanted to behead his commander right there on spot. But he was held back by the other watch members. Grunting, ordering them to let him go, their grip only tightened.

“If it weren’t for Lord Stark, I would’ve stabbed you here for tainting the watch’s name.” Tapping Aemond’s chin with his own sword. “You’re lucky you’re protected under the starks, boy. Or else your corpse would be lying in the forest as those savages feast on ya.” Tapping Aemond’s cheek with a mocking laugh before his men threw Aemond to the ground, leaving him alone.

His clothes, once neat and tidy, were now tattered and stained, clinging to his battered frame. Aemond lets his legs give up as he was left alone in the field. Even if his face was in pain, he was relieved that he is finally alone in this dreadful place. Even if it was for awhile, he savoured the moment and laid back on the cold harsh ground of the north.

Looking up, he saw the sky being dark and grey. Snow has stopped falling from the sky, that’s also relief. He wondered what his mother is doing right now. Is she praying for him? For his brother? What about Helaena? Has she forgiven him after what he had done and asked her for? She was kind. Helaena didn’t deserve the war or any of them. Not even himself.

What of Alys? His newborn? What does he look like? Will she successfully give him an heir? But what is the use of an heir if he is not present to see its birth? If he has lost the war. If the blacks had claimed the throne and cast his family aside? Was the war actually worth the fight? He should’ve perished at that lake to end his misery. At Least he didn’t have to endure the aftermath of the war. But now he’s nothing but a crippled Targaryen, surrounded by a useless brotherhood that we would die to escape from.

A crow flew above him, landing on one of the trees surrounding the base.

He used to see dragons flying above him.

Now he is only left with dreadful black crows.

Yet they are free. Unlike his fate. Trapped in a cage he wished to be free from.

May the gods be with him.

He wasn’t surprised when they put him on duty that very night to the Nightfort. Of course they put him in the Nightfort. They said that the fort was haunted since it’s twice as old as Castle Black. Aemond sighed, lighting up his torch looking around the barely standing fort. They would have abandon this fort in a few years. Aemond didn’t mind the dark or the haunting noise of the creaking floors of the fort. For Harrenhal was far more haunting than this old fort.

Even Alys’ visions were far much terrifying.

He saw a few men on the ground as he stood by the bridge of the old fort. Scared shitless when they felt a small blow from the wind. “Cowards,” he muttered under his breath. The cold wind swept his hair as he stomped through the old fort. Yet when he slowed down, he heard a double foot step. He kept walking.

Tap…tap..Tap..Tap..tap..Tap..tap.

A quite tap was heard from a distance trying to sync with his steps.

Someone was following him.

For the love of the gods, Aemond whined in his head. He drew out his sword and faced his stalker, finding the boy he duelled earlier raising his arms with a shocked expression. “I-I’m sorry!” The boy stuttered in fear as Aemond’s sword touched his chin.

“Why do you lurk in the shadows, boy? Did they send you to assassinate me?” He accused the boy.

“N-no, ser—,”

“—Prince. Prince Aemond.”

The boy swallowed a lump in his throat.

“My pr-prince..I…I am not here to kill you.”

“Then why did you stalk me in the dark?”

“I…I did not want to disrupt your peace. I swear it!”

Aemond stared at the boy for a moment, trying to find guilt in his expression. Yet he found none, so he lowered his sword. “Speak,” he commanded. “I…I..I am..scared…of the nightfort.” The boy’s confession made Aemond scoff, ��Those stories they tell you were only lies.” Walking ahead, not bothering to stop and have a proper conversation with the young recruit. “Oh but it’s true!” The boy jogged, catching up to the Targaryen prince. “My brother saw a ghost in the halls. It was the perished wildling who died in this fort!”

Rolling his eye, Aemond said, “Lies.”

The boy curiously looked at Aemond as they walked side by side. “What happened to your other eye?” A question that Aemond’s sick of hearing and answering. “My nephew took my eye when we were children,” he coldly said. “Why a sapphire?”

No one ever asked him that before.

Only his mother asked him why he chose a sapphire. He remembered her smiling when he requested a sapphire to replace his eye. He remembered how she told him it suited him. How it made him handsome.

He smiled thinly at the memory.

“Symeon star eyes,” Aemond proudly said.

“The blind knight? Ah yes that makes sense. I read about him once. He’s an amazing hero, isn’t he?” The young boy asked, intriguing Aemond. “He is..and he is a brave knight. Taught me that being blind does not mean you must limit yourself from greatness.” Touching his sapphire eye, he recalled how uncomfortable it was when they placed the stone into his socket when he turned 13. But now he is used to it. As time went by, it slowly moulded into his skin. It was his identity now.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Jack.”

“And how old are you now?”

“I just turned Ten-and-three now.”

He was just a boy.

Aemond stopped in his tracks, “You are merely a boy. Why are you here at the watch?” Aemond asked curiously.

“I wanted to.”

Aemond scoffed.

“It’s true! I want to be a crow! My brother was one and I have become one!”

“Where is your brother now?”

Jack went quiet, looking down to his feet. “He died. A wildling shot an arrow through his heart,” he answered. Aemond sighed, in normal circumstances he would not say anything and leave the matter behind. But Jack’s loss reminded him of his own. Aegon. “I lost my brother too,” Aemond said reassuringly. Jack looked up, wiping a snot away from his nose. “You did? What happened to him?”

“He was poisoned. By his own council, I heard,” Aemond vaguely said. “Oh, you were a prince, weren’t you?”

“I still am.”

“What is it like…riding a dragon?”

Trying to recall what it was like to mount on dragonback, feeling the wind blowing through him as Vhagar took him up to the skies, he answered,

“I was free.”

He missed Vhagar. His only companion. The only thing that made himself worthy. Without Vhagar, what is he? Without his claim as prince, what is he? Just a skilled swordsman who coincidentally has silver hair. What has he put himself into?

Crack. Thump.

Aemond turned his head towards the haunted forest. “What was that?” Jack asked. “D’you think it’s a squirrel? Or a bird?”

Thump. Thump.

“That is no bird, boy,” Aemond warned, shielding Jack from their surroundings.

Swish- crack!

An arrow shot beside his head.

“Wildling,” Jack says in horror

Aemond pulled the arrow out from the wooden walls of the fort. Examining its sharp carved edge of the arrow. It was clearly handmade with lack of detail, yet it is efficient to kill. “Warn the others,” Aemond said under his breath. “What?” Aemond rushed and hurriedly push the boy out from his place. “Warn the others. We’re under attack.” Aemond’s words drove Jack into panic before he runs away from the bridge. Leaving Aemond alone with the wildling arrow.

Pulling his sword out once again, Aemond aimed the sword around him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“I know you’re there. Show yourself!” Aemond commanded, “Do not hide yourself from me, you savage!”

Thud.

He felt the floor shake as he heard something- or..someone jumping inside the bridge he stood on. Before he could fully turn around, the wildling pounced onto him. He landed on the floor with a thud. Aemond hastily aimed the sword to the intruder but when he looked up, he saw a she-wildling curiously looking down at him.

Her messy wavy hair was braided disorderly as it hangs above his face. He felt how thick her fur clothes were as a few leftover snow stuck onto her fur slightly falling when she pounced on him. Aemond was ready to strike if the wildling made sudden movements or even dared to harm him. He glared at the she-wildling, gripping his sword.

“Do as you please, wildling. And I shall stab your hea-.”

She curiously lifts a strand of his hair. Feeling the texture of his hair.

What?

She looked at his hair with a smile, “It’s actually silver,” her sweet voice said with a chuckle.

“So you speak?”

She looked down at him, “Of course I do,” she answered with her thick rough accent. “Good. Then keep your hands off me!” Shoving her away, Aemond quickly stood on his feet. Pointing his sword at her.

“Where are the others?”

“What others?” She smirked.

“Do not think this is a joke, wildling. We know your attacks—,”

“—Attacks? No! No! Gosh.”

What is this wildling trying to do? Play with him?

“You’re different.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re not from the north,” she repeated, stepping closer towards him in which Aemond does not want her to do, still keeping his sword pointed at her. “And you’re not here by choice,” she continued, stopping right in front of his sword. One step closer, Aemond could stab her through her chest with his sword. “Is it true?” She asked.

“What?”

“That you are those people who owned a dragon?”

“What does a wildling know about dragons?”

“Surprisingly we know some things,” she lightly said. “And my grandfather has seen two dragons flying above the wall. But they refused to go beyond the wall.”

King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.

His ancestors.

“What do you want, wildling?”

“I have a name, y’know.”

She spoke of her name that sounded foreign to his ears.

“I do not care of your name, tell me why are you here before I drag you to the watch—,”

“—oh, now you’re loyal to the crows? The last time I saw you, you threw a punch at the Lord Commander.”

What? How did she know of it?

“Were you spying on us?” Aiming his sword closer to her throat. “Oh really? You’re asking me that? We’re wildlings, of course we spy on crows like you. Or are you really one?” Her question made him grunt in frustration. “Tell me why are you spying on me?”

“Because you’re different. You didn’t ask to be a crow!”

“You do not know that!”

“Oh but I do. I do,” she challenged him.

“And not to mention, your purple eye and sapphire eye caught our attentio-.” Aemond frustratingly tackled her down. “You’re wasting my time,” he hissed at her. Their faces are inches away from each other. She scoffed, “Am I? Or am I making your job far much more entertaining? You seem bored being stationed in this old fort,” she chuckles.

This woman is insane.

“This is going nowhere. For the last time, tell me why are you here,” he warned her. “Before I cut your throat, you savage.”

“Do you want to be trapped among these crows, snow haired?” She asked.

Did he want to be trapped amongst these crows?

The watch?

No.

But he could not admit that.

Not to a fucking wildling.

“You know nothing, wildling.”

“Oh but I know some things. I know you wished to be freed from this prison.”

He did.

He did want to be free.

“You are such a know it all, wildling.”

“Aye, I am a savage. But I am also a free woman. Do you want to be free like me?”

Her eyes bore into his healthy eye. “If you were to kill me, you could’ve done that minutes ago. You would’ve cut my throat right here, right now. But you didn’t. For you knew my offer is too interesting to igno-,”

“Do not test me, you savage.”

She scoffed at him.

“Then do it. Cut my throat. Drag me to those men you call brothers,” she challenged him.

Aemond aimed his sword at her.

One swift motion, her throat would be slit and she will lie there lifeless in his arms. That's easy.

But why couldn’t he move?

His sword just stayed in place.

He was a ruthless warrior who burned everything to the ground. He slew the strong family line. He killed those bastards and beheaded their men. Killing a wildling is nothing to him.

But he didn’t.

Fuck.

For she could free him from the watch.

“Come with me. And you can escape from this place. I can help you go back to your home behind the wall. If you agree to come with me.”

She can take him home?

To Kings Landing.

His mother.

The keep.

“And you can help us as well. You don’t have to stay and become a crow—,”

“Targaryen!”

He heard a watch man called him from afar with Jack pointing to Aemond’s direction with the wildling. “Ah so that’s your name. Targaryen,” she jokingly said with a light laugh. She shoved Aemond away making him stumble back onto the hard floorboards of the fort. “Catch her!” He heard a watchman said again as they ran towards them. Aemond picked himself up and was ready to leap and stab the wildling.

To no avail, the wildling was swift and jumped on the edge of the bridge.

“This is my cue to leave. My offer stands still, Targaryen. We shall meet again.”

Giving Aemond a wink before jumping down, nowhere to be seen. Disappearing into the cold night air.

a/n: woohooo Aemond finally gets to meet the reader! Hope he’s fond of us🫶🏻🐇 Anw thank you for reading this chapter until the end! I will upload the next chapter asap<3 Alsooo I currently don’t have any taglist so if you want me to tag you in upcoming chapters just LMK🌷

🍰current tags: @suntizme @8812-342 @ladytargg @barnes70stark @magpiewritingsforonce (bold means I can’t tag you and idk why😔🐦‍⬛)

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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 5 months ago

Text

( ✧ MY MASTERLIST! ✧ )

[ Will be updated in time, so be sure to check / refresh ] Some will not have links as they are not posted yet.

Want to know where else you can find me? Here.

Tips and tricks for baby writer's. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON.

"The only thing that could tear down the house of the dragon was itself.." [ Mix of HOTD and Modern AU ]

Aegon II Taragaryen - "The Upsurger King"

"Let the ravens fly that the realm may know the pretender is dead, and their true king is coming home to reclaim his father's throne."

The History Book on the Shelf. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5

Promise not to drop me? Only a fool would drop you. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Wanna wrap my hands around your neck. ( Complete )

Pt 1

Pt 2

Will you pray for me? ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Like real people do. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

In the dark of the night.

Run rabbit, run run run.

A glimpse of us.

Oh, who is she?

From my blood, comes your ruin.

The worst guy to share a blunt with.

Money, Money, Money, must be funny in a rich man's world.

Aemond Targaryen - "The One Eyed"

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

The Baratheon Curse. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

A game I couldn't lose.

Don't touch what is mine.

S-I-M-P

Either way what bliss.

I was gone for five fuckin' minutes.

Helaena Targaryen - "The Dragon Dreamer"

"It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away."

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

You have so much to do, and I have nothing ahead of me.

Alicent Hightower - "The Green Queen"

"The city is yours, Princess. But you will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.."

I hope the guilt kills you.

Jacaerys Velaryon - "The Lord Strong"

"For my mother, for my family, I will fight till my last breath.."

I don't want to be his Queen, I want to go home.

THE CONQUEROR REBORN. [ A HOTD FANFIC ]

"Twas' a tangled web Roselyn Hightower found herself in. Weaved so intimately with Aegon and Helaena Targaryen."

Chapter / Excerpts.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Book Info.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Edits.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

THE PINK PONY CLUB. [ A HOTD x MODERN AU FANFIC ]

"In every other universe, Roselyn Hightower would find Helaena Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen. And in every other universe, it does not end well for them."

Chapter / Excerpts.

1 2 3 4

Book Info.

1 2 3 4 5

Edits.

1 2 3

DEAD FICS / I WILL NEVER WRITE FOR THESE FANDOM, CHARACTER'S, ETC. AGAIN.

Wednesday [ TV Show ]

Watch my heart burn. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

House of the Dragon.

Burn. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

By your side. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Six of Crows. [ TV Show ]

When your older. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Haven't I given enough?

Percy Jackson.

I just died in your arms. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Old enough to understand.

Close your eyes.

The Boys.

Doin' Time.

A leap of faith.

The other woman.

The Walking Dead.

5 stages of grief.

The Hobbit.

Never trust a spell.

----

Tell me if you see any errors and I'll fix them asap!

#house of the dragon #house of dragons x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd imagines #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #the boys #the hobbit #percy jackson x reader #six of crows x reader #the walking dead x reader #wednesday x reader #masterlist #masterpost

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candyeager · 1 month ago

Text

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋

— gojo satoru x fem!oc

CHAPTER EIGHT 3.2k words

short synopsis. in which her marriage to Satoru Gojo, the world's most arrogant and untouchable sorcerer becomes both a chain and a cure. warnings. graphic violence, murder, blood mentions, disorder eating, implied sexual threats, suggestive themes. tags. gojo x fem!oc, arranged marriage, angst with happy ending, eventual fluff, heavy pining/yearning, emotional detachment. oc is an empath.

previous chapter / masterlist / next chapter

Satoru

Satoru stepped out from beneath the veil, his pace unhurried as he made his way toward the nearby shrine. The moonlight spilled over the stone steps, casting long shadows that danced with the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. He could already sense the familiar presence waiting for him—a subtle, yet unmistakable trace of cursed energy that hardly needed further scrutiny.

As he approached, his gaze fell upon Mei Mei, standing with her back to him at the base of the stairs. Her long silver braid swayed lightly as she turned, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I thought I was being discreet," Mei remarked, her voice calm, almost teasing, as if the game of hide-and-seek had been a playful challenge to her.

Satoru smirked, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. "Yeah, not quite," he replied with his usual easy confidence, his eyes gleaming behind the dark sunglasses.

"Your crows gave you away, but I figured I'd let it slide... until you started bothering my wife, Mei-san."

Mei tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening as her fingers idly played with the strands of her braid. "Oh? I didn't realize you cared that much about her."

"Don't get it twisted," Satoru replied, his smirk widening just a bit, but his voice remained casual. "I'm just not a fan of people snooping around my business. Especially when they're getting paid to do it."

Mei chuckled softly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"How much did they pay you this time to spy on her?" Satoru's question was more a statement than anything else, knowing full well the kind of person Mei was.

"Not much," she answered lightly, shrugging one shoulder. "But the clan elders are getting antsy. You've been ignoring their requests. You know how they are—they're dying to meet her, especially after... what happened."

The smile never left her face, but her words carried weight. They always did when she spoke of the Gojo clan's inner workings—something Satoru knew all too well. Mei herself was a distant relative, though her ties to the family had never been particularly strong.

Satoru's gaze didn't waver, but his thoughts momentarily drifted. He knew what Mei meant. The elders—scattered across the four factions of the Gojo clan—had been pressing for a formal introduction to Kurai. They were curious, no doubt, about the woman who had left such a trail of blood behind her.

Satoru's smile thinned, but the casual air never left him. "They're not going to meet her anytime soon. She's not ready for that."

Mei's eyes gleamed with faint amusement as she took a step closer, her voice dropping slightly. "Not ready... or not stable?"

For a brief moment, an image flickered in Satoru's mind—Kurai, her face twisted in fury as she relentlessly stabbed the training dummy. The raw violence in her actions, the barely-contained rage, had stirred something in him. It wasn't fear—he wasn't the type to feel fear—but discomfort, perhaps. Was she that unhappy? He almost pitied her, though the feeling was quickly dismissed.

In front of Mei, Satoru's smile remained, the casual air never left him. "You catch on quick, huh?"

Mei smirked. "I did find what I was looking for."

"That right?" Satoru's voice remained lazy, but his interest was piqued, though he wouldn't show it. "And?"

"She's... intriguing, Satoru."

Satoru chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "She's something, alright."

Mei's eyes glimmered, her smile turning just a touch more cryptic. "More than she lets on."

She turned on her heel, walking away with a soft chuckle, leaving Satoru standing there, watching her retreating figure with a raised eyebrow. What was she playing at this time?

He didn't press it, though. With Mei, everything was always a bit of a game, and there was no need to overthink it. Still, something in her tone nagged at him, an irritation he brushed off as quickly as it came.

"Make sure you put in a good word for her," Satoru called out after Mei, his voice light, though his meaning was clear.

Mei's response was quick and predictable, her voice carrying back to him as she disappeared into the night. "As long as the payment comes through by tonight."

Satoru grinned, shaking his head as he turned away, walking in the opposite direction. Mei Mei was always easy to persuade—as long as you knew what currency she valued. And lucky for him, money was something he had in abundance.

Satoru slid the door to his bedroom open with a smooth flick of his wrist, the soft thud of wood on wood breaking the stillness of the room. As he walked, he tugged his signature blindfold over his eyes, fingers raking through his hair to prop it up in its usual tousled fashion. He was back in his dark blue uniform—zip-up jacket with a high collar, paired with matching slim-fit pants. The casual comfort of his break had been cut short by a call from the higher-ups. A special grade curse had appeared, and of course, they needed him—the strongest sorcerer—to deal with it. Just another day, really.

His footsteps were light as he made his way down the hall, but his attention was soon caught by a familiar figure at the entrance. Kurai was standing there, holding plastic bags filled with snacks, her arms clutching them to her chest like a dragon guarding treasure.

Satoru couldn't help but smirk at the sight. She looked... cute, in an unintentionally amusing way. Her tight grip on those plastic bags, as if to shield them from him, was almost enough to make him want to tease her—maybe pinch her cheek and quip, "I'm not going to steal your snacks, doll."

But then her recent threat flashed through his mind, "Touch me again, and I'll cut your hand off, you manwhore."

Amused, his smirk deepened, but he kept his hands to himself, realizing he couldn't afford to play around—he was on his way to work, after all. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead, feigning nonchalance.

"Quite the appetite you've got there, doll," he commented, his tone light and teasing as he approached.

Kurai's eyes flicked up to him, her expression unreadable. "Is that a problem?"

Satoru shrugged, grin widening. "Not at all. I love a girl with an appetite." There was a playful glint in his voice, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered hearing from Yoshida that Kurai hadn't been finishing her meals recently. It wasn't his business, really, but seeing her stock up on junk food wasn't exactly reassuring.

Still, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he adjusted the blindfold over his eyes, sensing her attention shift toward his uniform.

"I'm off to a mission," he said, his voice still casual, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kurai's brows furrowed slightly, though her tone remained flat. "Why?"

He tilted his head, amused by her question. "What do you mean, why?"

"Aren't you supposed to be on break?" Her tone wasn't accusatory or concerned—it was just factual, like she was pointing out something obvious.

Satoru's lips quirked upward, amusement lacing his words. "What, you miss me already?" His grin stretched wider as he teased, but when Kurai didn't react, he sighed. "There are some things only I can handle, doll. It's part of the job when you're the strongest."

Kurai didn't reply immediately, her eyes studying him. The silence stretched just long enough to feel heavy, and then she spoke, her voice low.

"You say that, but your feelings suggest something else."

For a split second, Satoru's easy smile faltered. She was using her ability—sensing his emotions. Unease curled at the edges of his mind, but instead of showing it, he masked it with his usual charm. He groaned, dragging his hand down his face dramatically.

"Ugh, don't do that," he whined, his tone comical as he waved her off. "I don't appreciate people poking around in my head, thank you very much."

But Kurai didn't respond to his attempt at humor. She turned on her heel, walking away with her plastic bags in hand. As she moved, she threw a final remark over her shoulder, her voice almost a whisper.

"Isn't it lonely at the top, Gojo?"

For a brief moment, Satoru's eyes widened behind the blindfold, just enough for surprise to flicker in his chest. Lonely? Was he lonely? The thought hadn't occurred to him—not really. But as her words lingered in the air, something deep within him stirred.

He tried to brush it off, but the sensation clung to him, unsettling in its persistence. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was something lonely about being the strongest—about always being called upon, always being the one to handle what no one else could. But that feeling was buried so deep inside him that even he hadn't acknowledged it.

The fact that Kurai could sense it so easily unnerved him.

Satoru exhaled sharply, swiping a hand through his hair as he let out a long sigh. 'Damn it, this girl.'

Satoru sat on the cracked earth, the air around him still humming with residual cursed energy. His chest heaved, not from pain or injury—he was as unscathed as ever—but from the sheer effort of overusing his Six Eyes. He didn't mind it though. Reaching into his pocket, he lazily pulled out his blindfold and tied it over his eyes, letting the fabric rest loosely as his hand brushed through his sweat-dampened hair.

Three special-grade cursed spirits. Not one, like the higher-ups had said, but three.

False report? Or deliberate sabotage? He scoffed at the thought. It didn't matter. If they were hoping to trip him up, they should know better by now. He doesn't lose. Even if it meant standing against the entire world.

Yet, as he stared out over the destruction wrought by his Hollow Technique: Purple, the vast emptiness gnawed at him more than he liked to admit. It was all too quiet now—too still. And that stillness... it gnawed at him.

Suddenly, Kurai's voice echoed in his mind, her sharp words like an unwanted truth slicing through his defenses. "Isn't it lonely at the top?"

'No, it's not.' He mentally scoffed, his lips curling slightly as if the thought itself was ridiculous. But who was he kidding? The sound of Kurai's voice stirred something inside him, something he had long buried and had no intention of facing. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

For years, he had carried every burden—missions no one else could handle, enemies no one else could face—and he did it alone. He preferred it that way. No comrades to protect, no one to hold him back. He could move faster, fight harder, and think clearer when no one else was there to worry about. That's why he was the strongest, wasn't it? Because he didn't need anyone. He couldn't afford to.

But Kurai had sensed it. She had felt what even he had refused to acknowledge. And there was no denying it. She was right.

No matter how stubbornly he tried to reject the truth, the subtle hum of her energy was always a constant reminder that things had shifted. His house was no longer just his sanctuary of solitude. She was there, always there, on the other side of the house. Her cursed energy had become a strange sort of comfort. A reminder that he wasn't coming back to an empty home.

But now... standing amidst the wreckage of another mission, here he was. Alone again. Truly alone. And for the first time in a long time, the silence felt unbearable.

He groaned, leaning his head back and dragging his hands down his face as if that could somehow erase the thoughts she had planted in his mind. This was her fault. Damn her and her empathy. If it weren't for her, he would've continued lying to himself, blissfully unaware of how deeply the loneliness had rooted itself inside him. He didn't need her pointing it out.

But now that the thought was there, it wouldn't leave.

A soft rumble of an engine pulled him from his brooding. A car skidded to a stop not far in front of him, and the ever-nervous figure of Ijichi stepped out, visibly flustered as usual. His thin frame looked even more jittery under the weight of Satoru's gaze, or rather, the overwhelming presence Satoru carried with him everywhere.

Ijichi hesitated before speaking, his voice trembling slightly. "G-Gojo-sensei! You... you handled it, of course. I'm here to take you back."

Satoru didn't move at first. He just sat there, his blindfold half-draped over his eyes, looking like he might just stay in that spot forever. His mind wandered back to Kurai's words once more. "Isn't it lonely at the top?"

Was it? The thought clung to him like a curse of its own.

But Satoru wasn't ready to face that yet. He wasn't ready to acknowledge that she had managed to reach something within him that no one else had. His usual mask slipped back on effortlessly.

"Of course, I handled it," he said, his tone returning to its usual playful arrogance. He rose from the ground in one fluid motion, brushing the dust off his clothes. "But you're late, Ijichi. What if I needed a ride home sooner? Were you dozing off?" The teasing lilt in his voice was back, but his mind was still elsewhere, lingering on those words Kurai had left him with.

Ijichi flinched, as usual, fumbling over an apology. "N-No, I was just—uh—there was some traffic, and I—"

Satoru waved him off with a careless flick of his hand, walking past him toward the car, his long strides confident as ever, even if his thoughts weren't. "Yeah, yeah. Just drive. I need a nap. Or maybe a snack. Ooh, maybe both." He smiled under his blindfold.

But as Satoru leaned against the back seat of the car, Ijichi handed him an iPad. "G-Gojo-sensei, there's something you should see."

Satoru raised an eyebrow again but said nothing as he unlocked the screen. His casual amusement faded the moment his eyes landed on the image.

It was a woman—her face eerily familiar. Kurai's face, almost. But her hair was shorter, and there was a softness in her expression that Kurai never wore. 'This woman smiled.'

Satoru's usual cocky grin faltered, his fingers tightening around the device.

"That's Kurai-san's mother," Ijichi explained quietly, his voice trembling slightly as though he could feel the shift in Satoru's mood. "She... she passed away giving birth to her."

Satoru swiped to the next image—this time, it was a man. Ragged, haunted, wearing the traditional kimono of the Sanzu clan. The resemblance to Kurai was undeniable. His posture, his eyes—dark, hollow eyes—looked like they carried the weight of something unspeakable.

Ijichi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That's her father... Arata Sanzu. He became the clan leader after his father's death, but there are... sources that say his mind was unstable. He began to lose his sanity after his wife's death... when Kurai-san was born."

Satoru felt a subtle, cold prickle crawl up his spine. His eyes narrowed as he continued swiping, this time landing on a medical report. The handwriting was nearly illegible, but the word "hallucinations" stood out clearly among the scribbles.

Ijichi cleared his throat. "I-I got that copy from a defected clan member who used to serve Arata. According to Arata's doctor, he suffered from severe hallucinations. Arata believed there was a... a devil's spawn in his house."

Satoru's fingers froze over the screen. Devil's spawn?

For a split second, he remembered something he had once heard from Osamu, the elder of the Gojo clan's East Faction, some nonsense about the Sanzu clan making deals with devils. He had dismissed it as the ramblings of a paranoid old man at the time, but now it stirred something unpleasant in him. The pieces weren't quite fitting together, but something about this was unsettling. He kept swiping, eyes moving quickly as though the next page might provide an answer.

Ijichi hesitated, the tension thickening in the air. "Arata... he claimed that he had tried various methods to kill the devil's spawn for years. But, um..." He swallowed, his nervousness palpable. "According to him, she was... unkillable."

Satoru's eyes snapped up, his voice deceptively calm, but carrying an edge of danger. "What do you mean 'she'?"

Ijichi shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. "T-The 'devil's spawn'... was actually his daughter. Kurai-san. He claimed she was cursed from birth. He tried to kill her—many times—but she survived each attempt. He... he didn't even realize what he was doing."

The air in the car seemed to thicken, pressing down with a suffocating weight. Satoru's grip on the iPad tightened, the screen creaking under the pressure of his fingers. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, drowning out the usual noise of the world around him.

He tried to kill her.

His mind spun. Kurai. Every inch of his being screamed against the idea, but the cold, hard truth stared back at him from the screen. Her own father had seen her as some sort of monster—something to be erased. A child, just born, and already condemned.

Cold fury seeped into him. It started low, a steady simmer in his chest, but it was growing—building into something uncontainable. His blood ran hot and cold at the same time. No one could see it behind his blindfold, but his eyes blazed with an intensity that few had ever seen before. He was rarely angry—not like this.

But Kurai—his Kurai—had suffered through something he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around. The strongest sorcerer, and he hadn't seen this coming. He hadn't even thought to ask about her past, to understand what kind of hell she had walked through before crossing paths with him.

And suddenly, it all clicked. Her coldness, her apathy, her near-manic bloodlust when provoked. It all made sense now. She had survived, over and over, through what should've broken anyone else. She hadn't been unkillable because of some devil's deal. She had been unkillable because she refused to be destroyed.

And now, as the truth lay before him, he felt something new. Not just anger. Not just pity. Possessiveness.

It wasn't the possessiveness that came with control, no. It was something deeper. Something protective. She wasn't weak—far from it—but knowing what she had been through, he realized she didn't need to carry that alone anymore. She wasn't just some convenient tool or a strange anomaly in his life. She was something else entirely.

And, for the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo felt out of control.

His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of the storm inside him. "Take me back, Ijichi."

Ijichi blinked, confused. "G-Gojo-sensei?"

Satoru didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to. The edge in his tone was enough.

Without another word, Ijichi scrambled to start the car, and as they drove away from the scene of destruction, Satoru's mind was already miles away—back to Kurai.

She was stronger than he had given her credit for. Far stronger. And he'd be damned if he ever let anyone make her feel alone in that strength again.

< chapter eight ends >

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 3 months ago

Text

the last bit of us (chapter three)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

Word Count: 2.4k

Playlist Song: your place by ashley cooke

Trigger Warning: mention of dying character, cancer

prologue / one / two / three

The drive takes more than an hour and the bile building in my throat burns the closer I get to the hospital. I’ve gotten used to the layout of the visitor’s parking lot, the row after row of cars lining the large lot. I curse, driving too quickly past another spot.

My hands start to shake and my chest hurts a little from the constricting panic. I slam on the breaks when a car starts to back out, pulling away. I swing into the spot, breathing out in relief. The walk to the front slider doors of the hospital takes what feels like forever and the receptionist at the front desk takes too long to sign me in. I can feel a new wave of tears rolling through me as I step off the elevator. Mom is there, pacing back and forth on the phone.

“Mom?” I call out, doubling my speed until I’m running into her arms.

She tucks her phone in shorts just in time to collect me in her embrace.

“Hi sweets,” she breathes into my hair. There’s a small amount of relief, being curled up in her arms. I bury my face deeper into her neck, a few stray tears sliding down my face. I sniffle loudly, trying to collect myself.

“What happened?” I ask, looking up at her.

“You know your father,” she purses her lips, rubbing my arms as she sighs. I’m not sure if she’s trying to comfort me or comfort herself. “Doing too much in the barn, overworking himself. He stumbled into the house and passed out. Doctors said he’s been missing his medication. If the cancer doesn’t kill him, I’ll do it myself,” she huffs.

“Ma,” I scolded her, shaking my head. I turned to peer into the room, trying to catch my dad’s eye but the doctor stood in the way. He sways a little back and forth as he speaks, only allowing me to see the IV hooked up and the soft beep of the heart monitor. “Don’t say things like that. Dad is going to be fine.”

When I turn back to her, my mom’s eerily calm. She’s breathing through her nose, her eyes a little cloudy as she watches the doorway. Her thumb taps her pointer finger, then her middle. It’s a distraction, something I’d inherited from her as a way of navigating hard moments. I tilt my head, watching her more closely. “He’s going to be fine, right?”

She’s slow in looking at me, her gaze far away when our eyes connect and my breath hitches in my throat. Jo Harding had stood strong in front of the scariest of storms. She’d stared down an F5, sent it running for the hills and yet, she’d never looked more fearful as she opened her mouth. “Honey,” she starts but footsteps interrupt her sentence.

“He’s up and talking,” the doctor says, smiling a little at my mom. He shouldn’t be smiling. Why is he smiling? “I’ve sent in his new prescription to the pharmacy and once his IV is done, we’ll be able to get him back home,” he nods at me. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

I don’t wait to hear what mom has to say, rushing into the room to see him. The chemo still hasn’t taken all of his hair, though the line continues to recite backwards a little further each week that I visit. He’s wrapped in a white sheet, stark and crisp against his blue hospital gown. He looks so small in the large bed and yet, somehow so uncomfortable. The crows feet around his eyes have deepened with exhaustion but his warm, bright smile still remains.

“Daddy,” I murmur, sniffling again as I climb gently onto the side of his bed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he reaches up to touch my cheek, patting it lightly and smoothing the flush with his thumb.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Mom said you haven’t been taking your meds.”

“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to share with you,” he says, eyes flickering behind me at mom, leaning up against the doorframe.

I want to look back at her, give her the chance to tell me it’s not what I think. Anyone who knew parents would know that before me, mom was the emotional one; impulsive, reactive. But after I was born, Bill Harding went soft. His heartstrings were too malleable, easily manipulated. I was daddy’s little girl. I couldn’t look back at my mom for strength, I was too worried that he would slip from my fingertips when I turned back.

“I don’t,” I start, shaking my head. “I don’t want to know.”

“Eleanor,” he coos, as if I’m a newborn sobbing through the night. I feel like I am. “The cancer has spread too much.” I don’t hear the rest of what he says. There’s a high pitched ringing that echoes in my eardrum, mixing with “home”, “weeks” and “get comfortable”. After minutes of numbing silence, I nod and wipe my face while grabbing his hand.

We sit for a while, the three of us chatting and trying to ignore the inevitable. My mind starts to race, making a checklist of to dos in my mind. Trying to figure out how to help my mom pay the hospital bills and manage the farmhouse. Maybe she can move in with me. We’ll need to make arrangements. I need to finish fixing up the RAM before he…well, before.

As time passes, the nurse shows up to take out his IV and start his discharge paperwork. “You’ll need to pick up your prescription. It’ll help keep you comfortable for the time being,” she repeats as she places a bandaid over the spot of blood from the needle. “We’ve already sent it over.”

“I’ll pick it up,” I blurt out, rising to my feet.

“Honey, you should go get some rest,” my mom says, squeezing my hand. “You can’t tell me you got much sleep last night and it’s been a long day.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, suddenly remembering that Tyler is here. “I could use the distraction.” My mom must notice the change in mood because she frowns, deep lines settling between her brows.

“Alright, I’ll walk you out,” she nods to the hallway. I thank the nurse and say goodbye to my dad, kissing him on cheek with a promise to see him at home. I follow my mom into the hallway, bumping into her as she slows to a halt.

“Ma, c’mon,” I say, stepping to her side and looking for what distracted her. Seriously. At the other end of the hallway is Tyler, standing with a sad expression.

“What in the fuck,” mom says, jaw set tightly as she crosses her arms. She turns to look at me. “What’s he doing here?”

I close my eyes, trying to slow my breathing. “I didn’t tell him where I was going.”

“Didn’t tell hi-,” she stops herself. “When did he come back? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you two back-,”

This is the last thing I need today. “Ma, he showed up this morning. I will get rid of him, alright? I’m gunna get rid of him.” I kiss her on the cheek. “I love you, I’ll see you at the house.” I turn away so that she doesn’t have a chance to protest or ask more questions, stalking over to Tyler.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I seeth, shoving him lightly backwards toward the elevators. “How did you even know where I was?”

He lets me move him, eyes trying to catch my mom’s as we move. His bright eyes are wet with worry, laced with concern as he searches my face for answers to his own questions. “Is dad alright? What happened?”

“Not your father,” I grunt, tugging him finally around the corner. The statement hurts, I can see it all over his face. I know how close he and my dad are but he doesn’t get to show up and just pick up as the son in law he hasn’t been. I’ve had to pick myself up in these moments with no shoulder to cry on. He doesn’t get to just come back and know.

“Eleanor, I know you are angry but if he’s hurt, I want to help,” Tyler says.

“It’s not your place.” I push the button for the elevator, holding tightly to his wrist in fear that he’ll speed back down the hallway. Right into the belly of the beast that is Jo Harding. As much as I hated him for disappearing, I wasn’t that cruel. “You made it clear you didn’t want this family anymore.”

The elevator dings. I step forward into the small space, trying to drag the man with me. Tyler doesn’t move easily behind me and when I turn to look at him, there’s a sour look on his face. “C’mon, I don’t want to miss the pharmacy hours,” I say. My fingers clutch his wrist tighter, pulling with all might until I can unglue his feet from the linoleum tile.

He’s quiet in the elevator and past the receptionist desk. I peel the stupid name tag from my top when we get outside in the fresh air, heading in the direction of my truck. I don’t expect the footsteps to follow me and leave them be until I’m a car or two away. I turn on him, hands on my hips. “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No you are not.”

“Yes I am,” he responds with such a stubborn matter of fact tone that I want to slap him. He walks past me, swiping the keys from my grasp and heading for the truck. “You know I can get you to the pharmacy in under thirty minutes.” I think back to the times that we would need to make a trip over the years, the times that I would let him drive so we’d make it to the drive thru before closing for a milkshake and a burger. Racing against the clock with the windows down and the radio cranked down. I could still see the crinkles around his eyes from his smile under the overhead lighting to look for his wallet.

“What about your car?” I follow him to the truck.

“I got dropped off,” Tyler says, tugging the driver’s side open. He slides across the bench to unlock the passenger side and my stomach turns at the mundane simplicity of the action. I don’t have a choice but to comply though. I check my watch and realize the time, jumping into the passenger side.

It’s silent as Tyler wraps an arm around my headrest, backing out of the parking lot and heading down the road toward the family owned pharmacy near my parents’ house. It’s gotten dark outside and my headlights are too bright against the pavement. It hurts my head. Today hurts my head. I rub a palm over my face, trying to scrub the exhaustion and emotion away.

“You wanna talk about it?” Tyler’s voice is soft in the darkness of the cab.

My only response is another hefty sigh.

“C’mon El,” he tries again.

I stare out into the darkness, trying to see the grains of wheat along the fields instead of conversing. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Well, how about if you just talk at me? You’ve always enjoyed that,” he says, his tone too playful for my liking.

“Do you feel like that helps? Cracking a joke, making a jab at me?” I snap, turning to look at him. He glances over at me for a few moments, lips pursed.

“I’m sorry alright? I don’t really know how to behave and I’m trying to ease the tension.”

“Do you feel like the tension is at ease?” I ask, looking forward with my jaw clenched.

There’s a few more moments of silence before he says “Not at all.” His accent is thick, the twang of Arkansas slipping through. I look over at him and he licks his lips, grasp on the steering wheel flexing a little as he rolls to a stop on the empty road. I don’t know why, don't really know what it is that makes me react but I suddenly let out a giggle. It’s accompanied by a snort, a short, loud snort that catches his attention. His foot slips on the break as he turns to look at me. The motion causes us to jerk, our necks snapped forward in an instant. And the motion just makes me laugh more, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Are you alright?” He’s staring at me wide eyed, like a deer caught in headlights afraid to make a move.

“This is just so absurd, this whole day, just an absurd nightmare.” I get out through wheezes of teary laughter. I take a few gulps of air to calm myself and wipe away the stray tears. I turn to look at him, my chest feeling a little tight. “It’s leukemia, stage four. The doctors have recommended he come home so that he’s comfortable.”

Under the overhead street lamp lighting that washes on the hood of the truck, I see Tyler’s face fall. His hand pushes the shifting gear into the park position, the sound rings in my ears. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He looks forward at the road then back at me. I can see the gears turning in his head, the cogs trying to continue their processing. I’m expecting a lot of questions about what type, how long he’s been sick, how long they give him, what medication they’ve prescribed. I even anticipated I should’ve been here.

“So what’s our next step?”

I blink a few times. I must've misheard him. “Huh?”

“What’s the plan? What do we do next? I can make some calls to St. Francis and see if we can get an appointment-,” he continues on, rattling off some ideas of second opinions and alternative medicine to heal my dad.

My fingertips start to go numb and I have to squeeze them tightly to try to gain feeling back. “Tyler, Tyler,” I say a little loudly, getting his attention. “There’s nothing to be done. It’s too far gone. He’s already done rounds of chemo.”

His gaze is a mix of harsh confusion and disbelief, piercing as he looks me over. “Rounds? How long has he been sick?”

“He was diagnosed last Spring,” I say, looking down at my watch. “Can we get moving? The pharmacy closes in twenty minutes, I don’t want him going without.” I can tell he wants to argue, set us into another round of banter and harsh remarks. I’m grateful that he decides against it, instead pushing the truck back into drive and speeding a little faster into town toward the pharmacy.

Thank you for reading! Want to be added to the tagged list or share feedback? Click here :)

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politemenacephd · 11 months ago

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Arachnophilia (Part Two)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

You're a new recruit to the spider society, and you've just been sent on your first mission on one condition: Do not contact Miguel's variant in this universe. When your mission goes wrong you break that rule very quickly, desperate for help, only to find that Miguel's variant here is not what you expected. He's stoic but kind, awkward but sincere, and he's also an enormous human-spider hybrid: a drider, both human and arachnid. You decide to continue seeing Miguel in secret, with the rest of the society unaware. You really want to stay friends after all. That is, until Miguel suddenly goes into a rut. Word count: 4410

The moment you entered those woods you regretted your decision.

The trees here were ancient and old, so tall that they blocked out nearly all light from filtering through. As a result the forest floor was lifeless and cold, dark and foreboding. No grass or saplings could thrive here. It felt like you’d entered an eternal twilight.

You crept across the floor and tried your best not to make too much noise. ‘Just- follow the watch’ you whispered to yourself. ‘Follow the watch. You’re fine.’

Your watch let out a little beep as you delved deeper, indicating that you were getting closer to the variant. You could see his marker on the map was just a short walk away now.

The further in you went, the more you felt the hair on your neck stand up. Something here felt horribly wrong, but, what? It was on the tip of your tongue but just out of reach, leaving just a deep sense of foreboding. Something here was wrong. Something, something--

Then you felt it. It clicked, in your mind, and you knew instantly what was wrong.

There was no normal sounds here. No birdsong, no chirps, no scuttling squirrels or bugs flying past. This forest felt empty, almost dead, like a graveyard.

Your steps began to get shorter and shorter.

Was it just you, or did the beeping seem to be getting further and further away? You kept walking and yet it never seemed to get any closer. It didn’t help that the trees all looked the same, making it impossible to tell if you were actually making progress or just walking in the circle. You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been here for.

At a certain point you broke. You came to a stop in a small glade and sank down against one of the trees for support, struggling to calm your nerves.

‘Fuck.’ You cursed beneath your breath and watched it condense in the air. It was cold here, almost too cold. It was supposed to be summer in this universe.

You ran both hands down your face as the boiling feelings of inadequacy and anxiety in your gut began to spill over. You’d made a mistake. You were sure of it now. You’d make a mistake and you’d got yourself lost, and you’d have to portal out of here and go home in disgrace.

‘Shit… I’m sorry’ you mumbled to no one in particular. Your words echoed even when whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

Then you heard it.

Snap.

A single, heavy snap of a twig, one that echoed through the pines. You froze up like a deer in headlights.

That had to be an animal, right? Right? It was a forest after all.

But, you hadn’t heard or seen a single other animal until now, and that snap had been pretty loud. Could a deer make a snap that loud?

You spun a full circle in the glade. The ground was uneven here and seemed to rise up around you, almost like a natural bowl. You couldn’t see high enough over the ridges to see any threat beyond their line, and the trees were too thick to make out any obvious shapes that were moving.

Another crack rang out, this one closely followed by a sound that was much more unnerving. Something low, deep, groaning and old. Was that a tree creaking?

Another crack rang out. A thud, almost like a log hitting the floor, filled the air and caused a flock of crows to flee from the canopy. You jumped at their incessant cawing. Wait, had they been hiding up there? But from what?

‘Shit—shit—’

You tried to take a defensive stance but tripped, almost falling completely onto your back. Your senses were still burned out.

‘Shit! Shit, shit—’

You staggered backwards. You needed higher ground. You went to spin a web but your mechanism was still jammed from your fight with the vulture, leaving you with no way to easily scale the trees. You tried instead to crawl up them by hand but they were slippery with morning dew. You slid right back down with each frantic attempt.

‘Shit—’

Another thud rang out, and with it an enormous shadow appeared over the ridge to your left. Whatever had been making that noise was coming right for you.

‘SHIT!’

In a panic you scrabbled to hide, opting for the enormous roots of the nearest pine.

‘I need to- portal, shit—’

You scurried and fell into the roots of the tree like a mouse, scrambled to hide behind the wood. You heard the scraping above getting louder.

‘GET AWAY! I'M WARNING YOU!’

A shadow fell across the roots, blocking out the light above. All you could see was red. With a scream you covered your face with your hands.

‘NO—’

‘Hey, hey! Cálmate- ah- calm down, it’s okay. ¿Estas herido? Are you hurt?’

You froze. That voice, it sounded familiar. You shakily began to lower your hands, though you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

No blow came. You weren’t dragged out by your ankles, nor bitten by some unnatural demon. Instead, you heard that voice again.

‘Are you hurt?’

You blinked, once, then opened your eyes fully.

There he was. That gorgeous face, with that thick brown hair and brown skin and big red eyes. A face you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Miguel’ you whispered.

He was holding the roots aside with his gigantic shoulders, and his eyes were keenly fixed on you. You could only see him from the waist up but he appeared to be shirtless, showing off his rounded chest and bulging abs all coated in thick, dark hair. You noticed that the skin of his arms was decorated in red stripes.

It was Miguel all right, but not your Miguel.

‘Ay, que chula’ he murmured to himself. You didn’t catch his words but you saw well enough his eyes roaming your figure in the dimly lit hole, not to mention the subtle slip of his tongue across his fangs.

‘You… oh, you- you’re Miguel, right?’ you called up. He seemed taken aback that you knew his name.

‘Ah… yes. Who- who are you? How did you find me?’

You squinted a little as you watched him. He looked like Miguel, uncannily so, but something was different. His face wasn’t as cold and drawn. His lips were parted, his brows downturned and his eyes wide. He looked worried. He looked, shy perhaps? Or maybe curious?

You shuffled upward and held out your wrist. You saw him take a glance at your watch.

‘I was um… I’m from a different universe, I was sent by Miguel O’Hara. Another, Miguel O’Hara, that is. I-I know you are one as well. Uh- I’m from the Spider Society, if that helps?’

Luckily this Miguel seemed to recognise what you were talking about. He didn’t seem confused about the idea of multiverse travelling, in fact you saw him give a clear indication of recognition at the word ‘Miguel’. His brows knotted and his lip curled, turning his softness to overt disappointment.

‘My variant. Yes. Of course.’

With a soft grunt Miguel held out his hand. You noted the sharp claws on the tips of his fingers and froze, but just as quickly he retracted them.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.’

You allowed him to pull you out of the roots and up into the light. On impulse you let out a nervous laugh. ‘Ah- man, I’m- so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so—’ You froze midsentence as you finally looked up.

The upper torso of Miguel was staring down at you, but beneath that was something new entirely. The enormous, fluffy abdomen of a tarantula spider, it’s hide a mixture of black and red. The red tints created a pattern on his back which resembled your boss’s suit, one which matched the red stripes on his arms.

Instinctively you fell backwards again. It wasn’t his body that scared you so much as the sheer size of it.

‘W-Woah, woah—Holy shit, you’re— a-aha, you’re uh- you’re, a--’

‘Wait, don’t- don’t, panic, okay? Stay calm’ he stammered. You could sense he was getting defensive at having been seen, like he expected you to start a fight. You just gaped in surprise.

‘I’m not here to fight’ he barked. ‘I don’t, want to fight you.’ He was trying to sound intimidating but his voice had cracked, which felt strange when his body was already so intimidating on its own.

You slowly raised both hands as a show of good peace. ‘I- I, sorry, I’m not—I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.’

His eyes narrowed a little. You watched his spider legs shuffle as he paced.

‘Then- why are you here?’

You kept your hands raised as you peered up at his face. ‘You… Have, other people come here to hurt you?’ you asked gently.

His eyes widened. Was he surprised at your question, or surprised that you weren’t afraid?

‘Why are you here?’ he repeated. His tone was sharp, like he was trying to be cold, but it just didn’t work. He had none of that ingrained anger your Miguel expressed. He seemed lonely, for lack of a better word.

With hands still raised you shuffled to your feet. ‘I- I fucked up’ you blurted. ‘I’m sorry, I- I was sent here to deal with a bad guy, ah- not you! Not you, you’re not the bad guy, it’s a um- a vulture, I was sent to deal with a vulture but it’s my first job and I got my ass handed to me and… and no one was available to help, so, I thought… Miguel said you were here, and, he- sorry, he said not to trust you, but I just… I thought, I should, see for myself. I thought, maybe you could help.’

As you rambled on about your situation, that cold exterior around him seemed to shift. He seemed to believe your story.

‘I see. So you’re another one of us, I suppose? One of us… broken, half-way creatures?’

You nodded awkwardly. ‘Ah- a new one, yeah. You- know about all of us, spider people then?’

Miguel grunted. ‘I do. Yes. Some of us… certainly come out, better than others, no?’

You looked up and caught his eye. You had to lean to see him, as his shadow eclipsed your body, but strangely he didn’t make you feel small. At least, he didn’t make you feel small in a way that felt bad.

‘Well, that’s up for debate, isn’t it’ you said. ‘We’re… we’re both, strange on the inside, right?’

Miguel grunted again, though this time it sounded more like a faint chuckle.

‘Yes. I suppose you’re right, little spider.’

He took a tentative step closer and you stayed where you were, allowing him to approach. He noted your bruised arm and slightly torn suit, signs of a fight, along with the wince you kept giving as you stood.

‘You’re hurt, little spider’ he noted. You tensed a little as one of his soft forelegs crept out to touch your ribs. It was definitely fluffy up close, like a soft paw with two hooked claws on the end. You felt the black and red fluff brush your skin and shyly stroked it with your finger.

He made no move to jump or hurt you. He was unnerving, yes, but his mannerisms were soft. He gently prodded at your ribs until you winced.

‘You’re definitely hurt.’

Miguel darted his eyes across your face as he took a step back. You could see him shifting two of his spider legs together, but he wasn’t acting on anything yet. He was searching you for consent.

‘I can help’ he murmured. ‘If you- want.’

‘Help?’

‘With the pain.’ Without any further explanation Miguel bent and began to spin a small spool of silk, twisting it tight into a thin sheet. He then raised the spool to his mouth and, to your shock, began to leak a thick green venomous fluid from his fangs. He allowed it to seep in and saturate the thread.

Once the sheet was sufficiently moist, he licked the extra venom away and bluntly handed it out.

‘Here. Press this to your ribs.’

You stared at him, mouth agape. You stared at each other until it became unbearably awkward, until his eyes began to flit from side to side as if confused why you weren’t acting.

‘What… is it?’ you asked to finally break the silence.

He seemed utterly unaware of why this would be strange. ‘It- it’s my venom’ he said, matter-of-factly.

You darted your eyes to the side then back. He realized you needed a bit more information.

‘It- my venom had paralyzing qualities, but in small doses on the skin it can just numb. It’ll numb the pain so you can get home.’

He held it out again, insistently, so insistent in fact that he nudged your chest with his big spider paws. You blanched a little but did instinctively take it.

‘Okay! Ah- alright, I’ll... try it. Just, to be clear if I start feeling lightheaded I will call for back up.’

Miguel tilted his head, perfectly highlighting the muscular curve of his neck. His red eyes glowered. ‘Didn’t you say there was no one available for back up?’

For a moment you paused. Was that a threat? Or was he just so awkward he thought that was normal? You took another glance at the sheet and then at him, and decided, on a whim, to trust him.

You shyly took the sheet and pressed it over your suit, carefully smoothing it out. At first it didn’t do anything, but after a minute or so you began to feel a warmth spreading. Within two minutes you could feel the pain starting to ease. It was numb for sure, as when you touched the spot it just felt spongey with no sensation, but the pain was gone. After four minutes you were painless but still standing.

‘Is it working?’ he asked. You gave a quick nod.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, it- it’s working. Thank you.’

Miguel bobbed his head. He was so strangely polite, so stilted. ‘Good’ he mumbled. ‘Good. Good.’

‘I… shit, well, I guess I’ll have to head back. I still don’t know what to do though, my- web shooters are jammed.’ You turned and paced a little as you fiddled with your wrist contraptions, something Miguel quickly picked up on.

With your back turned he abruptly approached from behind, leaning in over your shoulder without a word. You froze up at the unexpected touch, as his size set off all of your flight or fight responses. He didn’t seem to notice though.

‘Mm.’

Without asking Miguel raised your wrist to his face. He was scanning the mechanism, his claws prepped to fiddle with the screws and bolts, all while remaining oblivious to your fear.

‘Mm.’ He let out a second grunt before withdrawing, leaving you frozen on the spot. He was too busy working out something in his head to notice.

‘I can help you with this. I can’t leave this spot, I’m afraid, as I will scare too many civilians, but I can help you here.’

You finally shook yourself back to your senses as he spoke. ‘What- what kind of help?’ you asked.

He tilted his head a little, his long legs shifting. ‘I can fix your web shooter, and re-fill it. My webs are… stronger.’

‘I have weak webs?’ you replied drolly.

‘Yes’ he said, blunt and unashamed. He gestured again to your wrists. ‘Almost all of you have web spinnerets too small to produce anything substantial. Yours are held in the wrists, they could never be large enough to produce truly saturated silk.’

‘I… oh. Huh.’

Miguel seemed to finally pick up that your body language was less than ideal as you awkwardly glanced at your wrists.

‘It’s okay’ he said, ‘we’re not all meant to be adapted to the same thing. You have other strengths, I’m sure.’

You awkwardly shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Miguel decided to drop it before he dug himself a deeper hole.

‘Would you- like me to fix it?’ he asked, hand outstretched. You darted your eyes around his body, from his clawed fingers to his face. He seemed trustworthy so far. He certainly couldn’t do anything with your shooter, right? You could still leave, it’d just be awkward. You decided to remove your shooters and place them in his waiting palm.

‘Sure. If that’s okay, I’d appreciate it.’

Miguel nodded.

You followed him through the glade to another tree, one that appeared to have had a desk carved into its side. You sat down on the roots to rest while Miguel sank his abdomen to the floor. You watched as he put on a pair of makeshift glasses and began fiddling with the shooter, carefully prying it open and tweaking it with his claws.

In the ensuing silence you had time to admire this strange man. He looked oddly cute when focused, as he kept licking his fangs or pressing his tongue to his cheek, and he kept leaning forward too far until his glasses slid down his nose. It made you smile.

As time passed, you began to feel your inhibitions lower. You became curious.

‘Do you live out here?’ you asked. Mig grunted, seemingly startled by your interruption of his work.

‘Ah- yes, yes I do.’

‘Do you have a house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it- ah, sorry, am I annoying you?’

Miguel glanced over again. His face was unreadable. ‘No’ he said, just as blunt as the others. ‘It’s nice to have company.’

‘Oh, ah- good. I um- I was gonna ask—’

‘You were going to ask where I live? You were- curious, whether I sleep on the floor like an animal, or in a home?’

You were taken aback by how accurately he’d read your mind. You saw the ghost of a smile on his face at your shock.

‘Uh… yeah. I was’ you murmured.

‘Even basal spiders have homes’ he noted. ‘I am no different. I live in a nest I wove myself, close by to here. It’s quiet out here. I get left alone, which is… I suppose, my fate.’

‘Huh. Were you transformed by the same Alchemax incident? With the, splicing?’

‘Yes.’

After his blunt response you gave up on the questions for a bit. You felt a little awkward here still, but Miguel seemed just fine. He seemed much less tense in fact.

‘You’ he said, suddenly turning to glance at you directly. You met his gaze. ‘You. Little spider. Where did you come from then?’

‘Me? Ah… I’m, incredibly generic. Bitten by a radio-active spider, became my universes spider, then- got the call from Miguel, indoctrinated into the wider society a few months ago, and… I, haven’t done much since.’

You felt Miguel’s eyes raking you. ‘You, sound like this displeases you’ he noted.

‘What, being useless? Yeah, a little.’

He slowly turned back to his work as you huffed, lowering your head to your upturned knees. ‘I wouldn’t say useless’ he murmured. ‘Just, not needed.’

‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

‘No. I’d be glad that you’re not in danger. I’d be glad that you’re safe.’

Miguel paused the conversation briefly to focus on your shooter. You saw sparks flying as he bit his tongue, utterly focused on soldering something down. When he pulled back you were waiting with more questions.

‘So… why, aren’t you—’

‘Why am I not in the society?’

‘Aha, yeah. You- cut right too it, again.’

Miguel gently stretched his neck as he thought of a response. You couldn’t help eyeing up the way he arched his powerful back muscles, the gorgeous sight of his sculpted shoulders as they rolled.

‘Spiders are territorial. Especially males. I met the Miguel you referred too a long time ago, and he was- combative, to say the least. I don’t think our DNA could handle having two of us in the same place. We talked, civilly enough, but- in the end he retracted his offer and left.’

‘Huh. That seems- unfair.’

Miguel scoffed. ‘I’m also not, fit for this life though, really. I am- unwieldy.’

‘We have a T-Rex and a horse on staff, we could make accommodations for you’ you insisted.

‘Mm. What about the people?’

‘The people? Again, T-Rex and horse. We have a damn werewolf on site. People could handle a half-spider.’

‘Mm. No. I- scare people.’

‘You don’t scare me.’

Miguel glanced at you from beneath the long strands of hair now hanging across his forehead. His almond eyes were narrowed, his brown skin dancing with reflections from his red eyes.

‘I don’t?’

Out here in the empty woods your senses had recovered enough for you to feel his body shifting. You sensed everything; the rustling of hair on his spider half, the little scrape of his claws on the dirt, the wiggle his lower abdomen did as he stared you down. His size, his claws, the little white flash of a fang behind his full lips.

You just smiled at him. ‘Nah. You seem nice.’

He stared at you blankly. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he could possibly do next.

‘Hmm. Thank you.’

You fell into another silence as he began to feed in new web to the shooter. He’d built an adapter so it could connect to your webs when you fired them, effectively making them stronger. You sighed and watched your breath condense on the air as he worked.

‘You seem- lonely.’

You blanched a little at such a blunt statement, especially with no prior context. You turned and found Miguel staring at you again. ‘I’m- I look lonely?’ you repeated back.

‘Yes.’

It still surprised you, just how blunt he was. He leaned back so you could get a good look at his torso. God, he was pretty. Perhaps prettier than the other Miguel. He was tougher from having to maintain such a large body, covered in rugged scars.

‘What- do you mean by that?’

Miguel blinked. His face remained unreadable. ‘I find it- odd. You seem so- amicable, and you come from a society of thousands. But you look lonely.’

‘Ah. Ahuh.’ You scoffed and shrugged one shoulder, trying to play off what a scathing realization it was. ‘In a society of thousands, how do you get noticed? It’s like being a grain of sand.’

Miguel grunted. He seemed to be thinking something over in his head as he rolled your half-finished shooter.

‘I see you.’

You flitted your eyes back to his face. His expression had changed, just a little. He looked sympathetic. He looked soft.

He didn’t say anything else after that. He returned to your shooter and continued putting it back together with the new webbing inside. You, meanwhile, lulled on the roots and pondered this whole experience.

What a strange man, you thought.

‘Alright. It’s done.’

Miguel blew away the little specks of dirt covering your wrist mechanism before handing it back.

‘Thank you’ you rasped. As you grasped the shooter you noticed how small your hand was against his, with your frail fingers barely reaching the edge of his palm. You tenderly brushed his calloused skin before shyly yanking it away.

‘Thank you, so much.’

Miguel gave you a ghost of a smile. ‘I hope you get home safely, little spider.’

‘Aha, yeah, little. That’s me.’ As you spoke you turned and stood, shifting on the spot. You knew that realistically you needed to leave, but something kept you here. You twisted your neck to see Miguel still watching you, unmoving in the gloom.

‘I, um… Hey, just a thought, but- I could always put in a word for you, at the society. I don’t think people would be scared of you, or- at least not everyone would be. You can’t please everyone but… I’d be there, you know. It, might be nice, having a slightly less angry Miguel around.’

Miguel’s soft smile dipped. He ran a hand across his jaw, his spider abdomen twitching. ‘I told you, little spider. O’Hara’s are… territorial’ he noted coldly.

Your heart sank. You knew what that meant. It meant he couldn’t enter the HQ, and in turn that meant you likely wouldn’t see him again.

He looked so lonely as he gazed off into the distance. His jaw was tense as if to maintain a neutral expression. Was he sad you were leaving? Or was he just sad in general? Whatever it was, you hated the idea of leaving him here alone.

As you procrastinated leaving, you remembered him pointing out how lonely you looked. You were part of a society of thousands, and yet he was right. You were lonely. Perhaps you were just projecting onto him now, and that’s why you didn’t want to leave.

‘It was- nice to meet you, little spider’ Miguel said. It was a solemn farewell. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been standing in silence.

As you craned your head back to see his face you saw fully the sadness in his eyes. No, you thought. You weren’t projecting at all. You were both lonely.

‘Hey… That whole, territorial thing. It means, you can’t cross paths with him, right?’ you asked. Miguel nodded and turned to the side.

‘But… that doesn’t mean I can’t cross paths with you again.’

It made you jump the way his head snapped towards you. His eyes were wide, his pupils physically dilated.

‘You- what do you mean? You- do you mean, you intend to return? Here? To me?’

He stammered as he spoke, his legs instinctively creeping towards you. You felt your smile widen at his insistent hope. How strangely adorable. Whatever, you thought, consequences be damned. You knew your answer now.

With a final wave you clicked your web shooter into place and began to walk away, though you turned your head halfway to call back five simple words.

‘I’ll see you around, Mig.’

For the first time, Miguel smiled fully. It looked good on his rugged face.

‘Yes. I’ll- I’ll see you around, little spider.’

Link to part three!

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #smut fanfiction #read on ao3 #drider #smut with plot #smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #monster human relationship

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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

Text

before anyone else II: the reverent | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | double-shot, explicit

❛ summary | politics and murder? easy. but if he thought he could stomach forcing the princess he loves into marriage... he was wrong. or reader forces admiral miguel o'hara into marriage.

❛ tags | forced marriage, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of murder, betrayal, treason, angst, f!reader, persuasion inspired, Spanish is not translated, female led breeding session, hand jobs, spicy bath time, ignoring miguel.

❛ sy's notes | the update no one asked for. the first chapter felt very incomplete without this one, so i just wanted to complete this series with a little bit of angst and smut.

“And what is that? Up there, Lyla.”

Lyla is closer to you than he remembers. In his make-believe voyage to Stone’s home, he would need a new ship. Today Lyla invited you to sail imperial seas, cutting through the waters with a new ship, the Reverent. He hadn’t shown you much of anything in his rush to leave the capital eight years ago. He makes that right with Gwen at your side, donned in the clothing of the guard. You opted for a soft blue gown, a navy blue rebozo thrown over your shoulders. The fat bow that drew in your stomach tumbled down against the dress’s long train.

“That’s the Crow’s Nest.”

His men and women were ogling. It wasn’t exactly normal to have a soft woman on board—much less their princess. You held the top of your hat, glancing up at the beam. Sun bounced in your eye, and you laughed delightfully, clapping your hands together. “A crow’s nest? Why do they call it such a thing?”

“The Vikings would release crows from the crow’s nest if they could not see,” Gwen answered, he did not know she cared so much about ships. You looked at her in delight as she explained. “Chart the path they took toward land.”

“¡Qué chévere! Lady Gwen, you are quite knowledgeable.”

“All sailor legend,” Miguel responded, the string of jealousy coursing through his bones, before he jerked his head toward those gathered along the main deck. He never did like crowds. “Back to shore! Off to your work, then!”

“Thank you for showing me proper sailing,” they dispersed to the sound of your many thanks, a slight bow in your waist. If it were your father, he would never do such a thing. Gwen stepped to the side, holding her hands behind her back. “You have a wonderful crew.”

"You heard the admiral, off you go!" Lyla rushed off to the stern to take the ship's wheel.

“And Lyla?” she stopped, turning her big brown eyes at him. She probably knew what was coming as you slipped by Miguel, sliding your hand around his inner elbow. “No rum.”

It was one time, she threw a curse.

“Have I missed something?” you asked, setting your head against his thin poet’s shirt. He smelled of the salty sea and the thin film of his own sweat. The warmth of the sun must have drained you already, donned in tumbling full-body fabrics.

“I’ve something for you.”

“Have you?” you asked, turning around to face him. Miguel reached around his neck, loosening the cord. His gift was not a necklace. If it were, he’d be far outmatched with jewels like sapphires, diamonds, and topaz nestled between your breasts. He pulled a ring from the cord, slipping onto his knees. You recognized the ring that he presented to you immediately. A modest ring of pearl set with tiny bits of a jewel that wasn’t quite diamond on either side.

“Oh, Miggy. You kept it?” you slipped your hand down to his waiting fingers. Miguel slid his ring onto your finger.

“It isn’t much. A guards pay, yes?” He began, realizing he was stumbling over his words. “But I… couldn’t help but think you would prefer it to something new.”

You pulled your hand free, kneeling to catch his lips in a small, patient kiss. He was grateful for anything he could get-- repressed as he was. Gwen bit back a smile, a soft murmur of princess, to urge you not to draw out such attention in front of a band of sea-numb sailors. You slid back onto two feet, your hands coming together one over the other.

“I love it. I always have, Miguel.”

“Yes, well--” he cleared his throat. He pushed past Gwen toward the steer of the boat, barking some orders in intelligible sailor slang. “I should check on Lyla. Lest she beaches us on some obvious outcropping.”

Gwen and you both knew it was to loosen himself of the embarrassment of a kiss well deserved. You glanced down at the engagement ring glittering on your finger, a smile working over your cheeks.

“Perhaps I should not have asked Lyla for her help,” you leaned over to whisper in Gwen’s ear. “My Miggy will never let her live it down.”

“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “Perhaps not.”

Hours ago, Miguel was on the salty sea. Tonight, Miguel held a bloody seax, wiping away kingly blood from its blade with a handkerchief that he’d promptly dispose of. For all his talk, the king took death well. Admirable, even! Barely a coward’s cry, a simple do it mijo, as Miguel drove his blade across his neck. Perhaps he expected his death, perhaps he missed his sons. Miguel couldn't help but think he knew what would happen by asking Miguel to deliver you to Stone like a hunk of precious cargo.

“I would say that went quite well. No fuss from the council members. No fuss from the king,” Lyla relaxed at the king’s desk, her breeches smattered in blood. Miguel lifted his eyebrows at her, a bit of sweat dripping down his neck. “How about your fiancé? Think she’ll make a fuss? You did slit--”

“¡Callate! Go with the men and take the body to the undertaker.”

“You’re no fun,” Lyla threw her boots off the desk, guards flanking her side, heading toward the king’s chambers. Miguel replaced his seax in the sheathe, cupping his face in one of his large hands. The door creaked wide open. Jess, whose frame was also streaked in blood, strode in. Miguel threw her a handkerchief.

“Council members are done and dusted.”

He mulled over what was undoubtedly coming: talk of the next steps. Miguel braced himself for her prodding.

“It has been a long time, years maybe since the people favored the king. I dare say not ever."

"What of the imperialists?"

"My guards are posted to suppress those still loyal to the king."

“I can't imagine they were happy under his rule.” Miguel moved toward the king’s rum cabinet, grabbing a bottle of glass. He sniffs the pretentious liquid, striding around the front and pouring Jess a cup first, then himself. “He did nothing for them but levy heavy taxes. She is the one who handled public relations. They’ll welcome a new king.”

“Well, it is better to have a warrior king over a puppet king. Even the corrupt will be happy not to fall to Stone.”

He hummed in agreement.

“About your rule."

Oh, here she goes.

"You’ll marry her before the end of the rose festival. It is the perfect time for romance.” Jess drank her rum, clinking their ringed fingers together in a toast. “Everyone knows of her standing engagement to Stone. We can frame the wedding as an act of love and her father as an obstacle to it. The women will love it.”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Miguel. We agreed. She has no choice.”

The sound of it grated something low in his belly. His fiancé with no choice but to marry the man who murdered her father. Murder was in no way his preferred choice... It was unavoidable. He had no other choice.

“I know.”

Miguel threw back the rum. He cast a glance to the window, the sun rising over the horizon. She watches him push off the side of the desk, his claws scratching lines of blood behind his neck. He spoke to himself as much as he spoke to Jess with his next words.

“My woman is gentle. I do not know how to tell her-- that I’ve waited a decade to marry her only to force her to."

Jess had no answers. The king is dead, sang some distant lament, a panic echoing through the halls. He wondered which you would agree to attend first: the funeral or the wedding.

Your mother was assassinated when you were just a girl. Your brothers met their deaths while at war with Stone. That was the nature of war and being a royal. For much of your life, you were accustomed to the pain of loss. Creating connections with your subjects was what you always aspired to develop. You could talk to people in the crown city you knew would be there year after year. Like the willowy brunet who sold you rose oil even after Miguel left. That was why the rose festival was so important to you.

It was tainted that early morning with the shrill scream of the king is dead-- bouncing off the halls, sending your heart strumming in your chest as you lurched up in your silky sheets, throwing your feet over the bed onto the cold marble floor.

“My father is dead?” you asked one of the two sentinel guards who stood wordless at your door. Gwen was parked in one of your great lounge chairs, rushing to stand upon the sound of your sleep-laden voice. You picked the bottom of your sleeping gown, rushing down from your place on the bed to the double doors. Gwen stopped you short of them.

“By order of the Chief of the Imperial Guard, I’m afraid you can’t go out, princess,” she spoke smoothly. She cleared her throat. “It is not safe.” “Safe?” you repeated. “The last man I could call family is dead and you long to speak to me about safety?”

She steeled her face. Guilt trickled in, inking in her stormy eyes. She strode in front of the double doors, her hand over the pommel of her sword. You couldn’t believe your luck-- not only to be alive, drawing breath, but to at the same time be sequestered in your quarters like a small bird in a gilded cage.

“Yes, princess. It is for your own good.”

The doors swung open. In place of your father, with his jovial hops, your fiancé. Miguel took measured steps, swinging the door shut behind him. The doors boomed as they came to a close. Like the other sentinel, Gwen took her place in protecting the only feasible exit. Your chambers were high in a tower, looking before the beautiful coast and its silvery waves. You often looked out the window and thought of him.

“I take it you have heard.”

Something in his countenance set off an air of distrust. His chin was level as if it was cut out of marble, and effortlessly the words spilled from his lips. There had never been a day in your life that you did not trust Miguel O’Hara. That though he was curt, sharp, and decisive, he always bore your best interest in mind. That was something you reconsidered now.

He stood almost too pieced together. Miguel stood in a clean militant uniform, the finest set of regimental you ever did see him in. Any other time you may have drooled over the sight. Over the way he combed his hair back, tickling his broad throat. Or how tightly the shirt fit when he moved forth, then swayed back on his heel. His thumb hooked on the clasp of an iron belt.

“What have I heard, Miguel?”

“Of the military coup.”

His words carried no recognizable trace of remorse. They only communicated the facts of your situation.

“You…” you faded off. It couldn’t have been. ”It was you?”

“I had no other choice.”

Though he said the words, he knew you would find them inadequate. Wholly untrue, even. Your mind buzzed in disbelief, pacing backward to your bed. You glanced at the clothes your maid set out for the day, settled over bundles of fluffy pillows. As the sun raised over the glittering ocean, one that you visited often in his memory, you felt stilted. “I asked you not to--”

“Talk ill of the dead, yes, I know. I will not.”

“You missed my point entirely. I asked that you would not blame them for the past. To not dwell on it. You've done just that!”

It was perhaps an impossible ask to ask a man like Miguel, cocky as he were, to bury the past when your father made such requests of him. You could handle your father’s death by any other means. By an assassination by Jess or the many others who sought his head. With your heart something akin to numb, you dropped onto your bed, scratching at the ribbons laced in your hair from the night before. You pulled them free. Miguel made his way close, bending onto one knee between your own, sliding his gloved hand up your exposed skin.

“Perdóname,” he spoke candidly. You gazed at him with watery, bright eyes. If anything on this earth could fill him with remorse, it would have been that. He pressed a kiss to your knee. “It had to be done.”

“You say that but I wonder if you truly understand what those words mean,” you bit out. He appeared contrite, lowering his head lower, if at all possible. “What would you have me do next, hm? I have no more brothers to rule the crown. I care nothing for politics, only the health of my society, and what of Stone? Do you not think he will feel disrespected?”

“I did it for you.” Miguel simpered.

“For me? None of this is for me,” you repeated after him, knocking his hands from your knee. You replaced the skirt over the spot he kissed, finding the feeling of his slightly chapped lips blooming blisters of hot anger through your body. “No, you did it for yourself, Miguel. You are so selfish. My father gave you an ounce of power and you repaid him by taking his life.”

“I am selfish? He gave me nothing but years of pain.” Miguel’s facade cracked, his face going insipid. “I took these positions to please him. For you.”

“And how is it that these choices are now my fault?” you interrupted Miguel, looking up at his hard features. “Now where do I figure into this-- bloodlust of yours? What do you want of me?”

“I want you to marry me. You will marry me. You have no other choice.”

You weren’t going to let him skate by this time. You wouldn’t allow him to be this wonderful, handsome, caring man you fell in love with at first sight as a girl. The certainty with which he said those words was enough. You pushed past him, Miguel snatching your slight wrist in his thick grasp, holding you there. He couldn’t let it be. Not so easily.

“Get out,” you whirled your wrist around in his grip to break it. He easily could have overcome you, the admiral that he was. You heard the rumors of his swashbuckling run-ins with pirates and saw him in action as a guard. You knew the depths of his strength. He let you slip away. “That is an order from your princess, Miguel. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but it is the rose festival. I have duties to maintain peace that don’t require things such as murder and treason to the crown.”

He snapped his head down, inspecting something wildly interesting on the stony floor. His hands flexed and curled into tight fists, as though he could do or say anything more that would talk you from throwing you out of your quarters. His anger piqued before he absolved it of outward expression, instead speaking with a hard voice.

“We will speak of this again.”

“Out.”

He never wanted this. But it was necessary.

Miggy, Miggy, me duele.

The pain will pass, mi amor.

The only type of hurt Miguel wanted to give you preceded pleasure. One that could be fixed with patience and doting attention. That was what the rose festival provided nearly eight years ago. Today-- that reality couldn’t be any different from his reality.

Jess’s military presence was intense. Normally, you could cut bundles of bouncy rosy flowers and interact freely with others attending, creating rose products that could be bought, traded, or sold. Your chamber ladies held wicker baskets jam-packed with long flowers to be given to expecting or aged mothers, a small gift for their motherly worries. A parasol blocked the warm Mediterranean skin from your exposed skin.

“She looks beautiful today, eh?”

Lyla nudged him with a sticky creampuff between her fingers. Its rosy pink filling was smeared over her slight lip. Miguel’s arms turned one over the other, not a complaint on his lips. She was right as she usually was. You never wore red-- but the occasions that you did never failed to render him breathless. Unfortunately for him, the long dress hugged your curves beautifully, a fat bow behind your back, the diadem settled neatly along your head. You looked beautiful-- like that night, sliding into a hot bath of nothing but warm petals and rose oil purchased from some overly excited peasant. What he wouldn't give to hold your parasol, or the baskets, to simply be close.

“Suppose you didn’t think this bit through,” she leaned in, whispering words in his ear. “The whole let’s assassinate what’s left of her family.”

“Shut up,” Miguel pushed off the wall. “If you’re so knowledgeable, help me.”

“I could do that. Princess!” Lyla waved, rushing over. He followed her like a second shadow, nipping on her heels. Your gaze snapped to hers. A slightly forced smile worked at your lips as you brought your red-gloved fingers to the basket your chamber lady had. He tried to make eye contact-- but found you looked anywhere but his eyes, avoiding him in the cruelest way you could.

“Lady Lyla, I have something for you.”

“For me?” she laughed, a teasing thing. “I never receive gifts.”

“I give you casks of rum.” Miguel protested. You looked at Lyla for a moment, eyes flickering gently, before continuing your search.

How did you punish him? You look anywhere but at him. You ignore his existence. He longs.

“Yes,” you plucked out a ruby red crown of roses. “Well, girls, perhaps Lyla would like to feel like a woman for once. Trapped on the admiral’s battered and broken ship does not serve for much of a love life. Other than brief encounters at distant ports. Which I am sure you do not care much for.”

“Eh,” Lyla shrugged off the suggestion, slipping onto a knee so that you could set the crown of flowers on her head. She stands back up, nodding her head appreciatively. “I’ve had relations with some beautiful women.”

“Oh, please tell,” you took her thin arm and pulled her from his side, pinching your skirt between your fingers and walking on. As if he were fucking invincible-- “I am sure the admiral has taken on many lovers during the years. Have you?”

“He’s not even had one.” Lyla laughed, “Unless you count his hand.”

She thought she was so funny. Your chambermaids certainly thought she was, chittering in laughter among one another. He quickly understood that you not only did not want to speak to him but by peeling his-- begrudgingly said-- best friend away from him, you sought to make a point. To make him feel as lonely as your grief made you. In this busy, love-filled festival, he certainly felt it.

Miguel doesn’t buy things often. But there was something in the way the tiny stick of a man spoke. The glitter in his plain brown eyes invited Miguel to buy the stupid oil treatment that he spilled into his bath now. I think I remember you, you were the princess’s guard, the man said. You bought the princess this treatment years ago!

He couldn’t have remembered it. Miguel abandoned the towel by a gilded chair, sliding his sore muscles into the hot water. He shouldn’t have left to help his men at the docks. His muscles were tight with the tension of moving crates of products onto ships all afternoon and into the late hours of the night. The subsequent days of the rose festival proceeded much the same. It was nearly over. Jess would come soon to press him about his marriage. One that he was not certain would proceed-- not if things kept in this vein. Yet, he couldn't bear to walk to your chambers again, to force you into it.

“I’ve thought about it.”

Miguel would have jerked out of the bath if not for your hands sinking into the warm waters of the bath. Your gloves were thrown somewhere else, not here, dipping around his broad torso and below the waters. You wrenched your hand around his cock, gently pulling his dick to hardness underneath the waters. It did not take much-- it had been so long. He couldn’t quite process your words with the way you stroked him, milking him as if he were detached from his cock.

“Miggy."

"Yes...?" he didn't know what else to say.

"You murdered my father because you want to be king,” you said, the words held a vein of resentment. You enjoyed it, stroking the soft skin of his dick, tracing the veins that rushed to his head. You especially loved how he stiffened and grew in your silky hands. Miguel gripped the sides of the bath, his knuckles growing white as he held the rim.

“I don’t want to be king. I want you, I’d-- carajo-- murder him a hundred times over,” he supplied the truth, the words falling from his lips with great effort. Your other hand sunk lower, grasping his balls in your palm and melding them. You squeezed him in some mock punishment. But it wasn’t-- not nearly. It felt good. He cried out, a small pant of air filling the room.

“Hush, Miguel.”

“No-- te necesito. I need you, I’m so fucking-- I’m hard,” your languid circular strokes of his shaft were agonizing and caused him to ache. His nails dug into the side of the bath, mesmerized by how gently you treated him, settling a kiss at the side of his neck. Your pace quickened, jerking him more insistently. The many days at sea that he stroked himself just like this-- with the dream of your hands being the one to do it, to do just this, all culminated in Miguel’s harsh panting, trying to obey-- to be good for you, just as you had years ago.

“I know you do. You want me to marry you?” you murmured against his neck, tracing his pulse. He dropped his head back, closing his eyes, offering you only a small nod. Your hands drew back, leaving him bobbing in the water, so hard it hurt. So hard-- “Stop it.”

Miguel complied. You drew back your deep red cowl, drawing the strands loose as you moved in front of him. He bore at you in an incredible amount of awe, his hand pulling at his cock like it were second nature. He pounded into his own hand, so high on the lovely sight before him that it surged in his chest, the beautiful way your nails pulled at the frilled bottom of your nightgown, lifting and pulling it off your body. His mind was a haze, skin warm by the hot oil in the bath. What remained was a desire to be touched by you.

“¿Qué? I didn’t hear you,” your fingers teetered along your clit, stroking along your wet lips. Miguel soaked his own lips with the hunger that rose from the need to touch and be touched by you.

“Sí,” Miguel murmured, the words short and slight. You slipped into the water, gripping the rim of the bath and presented your ass to him. Miguel’s eyes caught your puffy lips, flecks of rose matted to your skin. He didn’t dare move-- lest you tell him to get out.

“Come mount me,” you urged, the words soft, gentle, inviting him to climb over your body. He didn’t know why-- but happiness bloomed in his chest, “Since you murdered what family I had left, you’ll give me more.”

“Give you… you want me to…” Miguel’s mind fizzled out, all cognizant thought of what you meant left field. In its place was the certainty of what you wanted. You wanted him-- his children. He clambered over you, nudging your lips with his cockhead.

“Sí, mi amor, I want you to impregnate me.” Your hand reached back, nails clawing into his muscular hip. Miguel flinched, the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Water sloshed over the rim of the bath onto marble floors. What you asked for was to be used, to be filled. He couldn't equate the depths of your need when just a few days ago you banished him from your chambers.

“Is that so? Then I won’t pull out.”

“I expect you not to,” you bit back.

“Fuck,” Miguel murmured, taking his time in sliding forward. He wanted to savor the feeling, the way his cock slid apart walls that hadn’t been used in years. Your body stretched to make room for him, the feeling of burning pleasure dancing down your spine. Miguel gasped, realizing he should have fingered you first-- because your body was tight, so warm and good, full of his cock deep in your belly. You moaned his name, sounding so beautiful in ways that Miguel had only dreamed of in the past few years.

He snapped his hips in forceful but short thrusts, his fingers gliding up your sides to your breasts, his thumb and index finger rolled and pinched your nipples. “Dios mío,” he found himself panting. “I’ve missed this.”

“So Lyla says,” you threw back. “Ah, there, faster--”

“As you wish.”

You were talking far too much for his liking. His hands snapped down to your core, fingers delving against the clitoral hood, that sweet little spot he knew would cause a weakness in this facade of yours. You gasped, lowering your head down over the rim of the bath, accepting his thrusts with helpless cries of his name, growing in their intelligibility, until felt it more than he heard it. Your pussy spasmed around him, milking him for his seed. Not yet, he wanted to remember the way you cried for him-- for his children. He snapped his hips hard, short thrusts snatching any relief of orgasm far away.

“Por fa Miggy,” you whispered, something soft and hot. His eyes went wide, failing to focus on anything but your voice. “Don’t be a tease. Give me your seed.”

He responded with nothing short of a sharp growl, turning his hands onto your hips. He threw his hips forward in a harsh, punishing pace, as if he were taking out every second you punished him out on you now. Water soaked the floor, replaced with the ringing slap of his hips thrown against yours, his heavy balls full of cum that-- seconds later, he released. Miguel choked loud grunts, scratching at your back for relief. You felt his warm seed fill your walls, his chest bowing over yours as he spurt his cum seated against your cervix. His claws drew lines of blood free of your unmarred hips, marks of his claim.

“Stay-- stay there,” Miguel murmured against your back, pressing small kisses along your back to your shoulder. “If you want a baby, my seed needs to take.”

Soon enough, Miguel grew soft and fell free from your body, globs of his cum spilling down your thighs. He stepped out of the bath, drying himself off and throwing the towel on the slippery floor. He extended his hand out for you to take. You did, sliding over the crumpled clothes Miguel threw on the floor so that you would not slip.

“You marry me tomorrow,” you supplied. Miguel’s bushy eyebrows pushed up, suddenly realizing why Jess had not yet come to bother him about his failure to secure a fitting date for marriage. You must have arranged it.

“What do you mean tomorrow?”

“Then our honeymoon. I want to have a child in my arms before the year is up, Miggy. You can handle politics, war, Stone. I care not for any of it.” You settled your hand on Miguel’s chest, drawing it down over his firm pecs to the muscles of his stomach. He glanced toward your core, cum soaking your walls. “You have no choice.”

“You mean to say you are forcing me into marriage?” Miguel bit out, a heavy breath slipping out of his lips when you grabbed him again. Already? You walked him back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, pushing him onto the silken sheets. He fell with a grunt, catching your body and dragging you on top. Cum from your leaking cunt soaked his thigh. You brought your thumb to his lips, quirking it against one of his fangs. Miguel turned his face to the side, glaring into the dark night.

“As if it were so hard. Now, the correct response is yes, my princess.”

He chuckled, small and pleased.

“Yes, my queen.”

Queen did sound so good when it came from his lips.

#miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #spider 2099 x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #atsv imagine #atsv x you #atsv imagines #atsv miguel imagine #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara angst #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader

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cougheemedicine · 4 months ago

Text

Twisted Fairytales; Twisted Wonderland Fantasy!au - Prologue

Will include all main cast x GN!Reader

Summary: A nameless adventurer with an incredible amount of friends in high places. Each more infamous and conniving than the last. The things those friends are willing to do for you is only a glimpse of how a so-called "Nobody" ensnared the most powerful in the continent.

A/n: A little au I'm cooking up. Not entirely sure where this will go so I'm not going to put any warnings/specific content until I get the individual chapters out. If this goes anywhere I'll probably add Neige, Che’nya, Rollo, etc. I already have come ideas cooking up for them. Have fun, dear adventurer~ 〜(￣▽￣〜)

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Night Raven College. An incredibly prestigious academy, whose history goes so far back in time that only the oldest Fae of the Briar Valley can even begin to fathom the legacy that such a renowned institute holds, and whose reputation reaches even the darkest corners of the kingdom. Aristocratic families from all over the continent vie to send their children to study the art of magic in its' hallowed halls.

You had attended such a college, once upon a time, though you are far from noble. You met the esteemed headmaster by chance one day, but you didn't know at the time. You had sold him a newspaper, and he grinned at you from under the beak of his mask and patted you on the head. He flipped a single gold coin into your shaking hands, it was the most money you had ever seen at the time. When you had turned around to thank him, more than ready to drop onto your knees and praise the dirt he walked on, he was gone. Leaving only a lone, ink-black feather in his wake.

You can only assume he took pity on you. Some unclaimed, nameless child, too old to be taken in by an orphanage but too young to be sent off to the mines. In a village so small and far North it didn’t even have a name. The old crones of your small village would wax poetic about his benevolence and graciousness (only after they prattled on about his villainously handsome face). You couldn't even read, let alone weave illusions from incantations or summon a beast from a bubbling brew.

But he appeared before you nonetheless, with a flurry of his feathered cape. He offered you his hand, that which dripped in gold, and swept you off to Night Raven College. Over the years he taught you everything you know now. He taught you how to paint and juggle, how to fluently read and speak every language used on the continent, even some more eccentric practices like how to identify cursed objects, how to weave certain sprigs of herbs together to create the most powerful warding charm, even which nerve to pinch to have any assailant drop unconscious instantly.

While under the roof of Night Raven College, you met creatures from every walk of life. One could say you were popular, even. Everyone wanted to get to know the charge of the infamous headmaster Crowley. You grew close to many, some you would even call your friends. Some others, maybe more. But they led very different lives than you. Friendships fade, it's simply a way of life. Even if waving goodbye to them as they graduated and left you behind stung in a way you don't really wish to name.

You stayed at the college longer than most. Not taking classes, simply acting as an errand runner for the headmaster as a way to repay him for guiding you to a much better path in life. But even he, past his grandeur and games, could see that you wished to spread your wings farther than the astronomy tower and botanical garden.

With a final pat on your head, he sent you away to pave your own path. His name and the beautifully detailed dagger on your hip, an ivory crow head for the hilt, as your only weapons. On your own you ventured for more years, gaining wisdom from those you met on the way. You had all but forgotten your old friends from your school days. All until one fateful day.

Sat on the edge of the cliff, you gazed down at the view below you. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant hues. You were in your own world, leaning back on your arms and kicking your feet over the edge of the cliff. Until a shrill meow drew your attention elsewhere. A scruffy grey cat emerged from the undergrowth. Eyes too blue to be a normal feline blinking up at you. A black and white bow tied neatly around his neck. In his mouth was a letter, the envelope only the most ornate of finery. The crest on the wax stamp was that of a noble house.

The cat curled up in your lap as you used your dagger to cut the envelop open. The parchment inside just as luxurious as what housed it. You scanned the words on the page, language so flowery and formal it may as well have been another language of it's own, but you got the message.

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Where will you go first, dear adventurer?

Heartslabyul Manor, the home of the ruthlessly strict Grand Duke Riddle Rosehearts and his cronies. They say he bows to nobody but the queen himself.

Savanaclaw tavern, the home base of a ragtag group of mercenaries. Rumor has it their roguish leader, Leona, isn't of this land, and that his reputation is far from good where he’s from.

Octavinelle Gambling Den, a house of luxury and debauchery. The head, Master Azul, is said to be incredibly kind and benevolent. For the small price of your darkest secrets.

Scarabia Merchant's Guild, a travelling guild with gold flooding from every crack in their coffers. The ever-so-kind Master Kalim is said to only be the face of the guild. His servant is who really runs things.

Pomefiore palace, the main residence of the illustrious Queen of the region, Vil Schoenheit. His past is stained red, as is the story of how he managed to sit on the throne. But the people adore him, so what is there to see if not perfection?

Ignihyde tower, the hiding spot of the forsaken Lord Idia Shroud. Head chair of the Magic Council. His brilliance is said to be unparalleled, but people talk... and sources say he hid himself from society after committing a sin to magic itself.

Diasomnia castle, skeptics say that centuries ago, the old castle at the northern border was occupied by Fae royalty. Now it seems there's life in those haunted halls once more, for an air of regality hangs heavy in the fog surrounding the grand castle.

Many a path to choose, and you have all the time in the world. But, even still, do you think it wise to keep them waiting?

I wish you luck,

Choose wisely, my dear adventurer~

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

work belongs to @cougheemedicine, all forms of plagiarism, modifying, translating, reposting are not allowed.

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thefallennightmare · 1 year ago

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Just Pretend-eleven

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: for this one, no theories or what ifs. it's all from our owns personal experience which makes it cathartic for us and maybe some of you. MUST LISTEN TO EILEY BY TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH! DURING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER, OVER AND OVER AGAIN. HEADS UP: there will be talks of suicidal thoughts throughout this chapter so please please please, read with caution.

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake

READER

My feet took me almost in autopilot mode to the end of the hallway where the door urged me forward while my heart kept screaming at me to turn around; go back. The tears that gathered in my eyes were blinding me and I could barley see as I pushed through the door, quickly ascending the staircase. So many questions filled my brain and nearly knocked me on my ass, I had to grasp at the railing. I gasped for breath, my lungs being crushed by the weight of leaving him. His broken eyes begging me to come back, not to leave. But my own issues kept me from following my heart.

Why did I leave? Why did I fucking leave? Why couldn’t I just talk? Why did I leave him like that?

Those usually bright eyes filled with so much darkness and sadness, it made me stumble over my feet as I neared the door that led out to the roof of the hotel. The wind brushed around me in rapid waves as I came to a sudden halt in the middle of the roof. Even though it was four in the morning, the hustle and bustle of the city noise carried all the way up here.

Why was I so worried about a future I wasn’t even sure I was going to have?

My mind was clouded with images of Noah and how I left him I didn’t realize I was standing at the edge of the roof until my foot slipped. I cursed while steading myself on my feet and stared down at the passing cars. If I was being honest, I wish I didn’t save myself from falling.

As I stood at the ledge, memories of Noah and I played in a loop in my brain as the weight on my chest caved in. Two hearts that beat in sync but they could never be.

When he first stepped off the bus, taking all the breath out of my lungs.

The day at the zoo where he bought me the stuffed wolf; the one Trey tossed out of the bus in his rage.

Our afternoon at the beach where we had a heart to heart conversation, one of many, and it made me realize Noah was someone I could trust. He made me feel so free and alive that day; like the crow.

When he analyzed my lyrics that first night of tour in the green room and how passionate he looked.

A choked sob crawled out of my throat when the memory of the night we lost Keaton slammed into me. Then his funeral and how broken Noah was that entire day. I thought I lost him into the darkness that was grief but no, quite the opposite happened. My lips tingled as I remebered our first kiss, the one we shared that night.

I should have known how fucked I would be for Noah Sebastian from that moment.

“Fuck!” I screamed while falling to my knees, sobs plowing through my entire body.

My chest finally caved in, bones crushing into dust, as that negative voice that buried itself so deep within years ago continued to chastise me for my decision.

You’re a fucking idiot.

How could you leave him like that?

He begged you to come back. He wanted you to stay until the morning.

Did you expect him to be okay with never having a family?

What man doesn’t want a future like that?

I told you he wouldn’t want to stick by all that bullshit.

“Stop it!” I smacked my palms onto my forehead repeatedly to quiet the voices.

It didn’t work; they only got louder and more persistent.

I tried to tell you, babe. Being with him only leads to heartbreak.

“Just get out! Get out of my head! I beg, please, just get out! Get out of my head before I cave in!” I screamed, now digging my palms into my eyes.

I was absolutely exhausted and unbelievably unhappy. I hated myself and was so angry for what I did. Noah and I were so happy and to see him smile that grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling made my heart burn in my throat. The tattoos that covered his toned stomach with slight pudge in the center. Soft skin and a comfortable smell I wanted to be buried in.

A mochi. My mochi.

No, not yours. You walked away.

I ruined it. I possibly, could have, most definitely destroyed the best thing that could have happened to me, besides this band. My hands shook, my body, my knees were weak. I should have stopped by my hotel room to bring some alcohol with me on this venture up here but knew if Chase or Malcolm saw me, they’d want to know what happened.

Shit.

Everyone had to know by now what happened, I’m sure they do.

Oh god, what did I do? To hurt Noah was like walking on broken glass. I never wanted to hurt him.

But you did, you bitch, you did!

“Oh Keaton,” I sobbed on my knees. “I ruined everything. You knew him better than me, what would he have done if I told him the truth and stayed!?”

Besides Chase and Malcolm, Keaton knew about my secrets only because he was there when the pain was unbearable. He helped me through it. So now, in this desperate time of need and confusion, I called out to the one person who couldn’t give me an answer.

CHASE

“Fuck, what do you think happened?” Malcolm wondered while tossing on a sweater.

I quickly stepped into a pair of sweatpants then ran a hand over my buzzed head. “I don’t know. But whatever it was, fucked both of them up.”

His hands shook as he tried to type something out on his phone and knowing Malcolm better than anyone, I knew he was seconds away from his own panic attack.

“Steven,” he wiggled his phone. “He’s wondering if there’s anything they can do to help find her?”

“No,” I said a little too quickly. “Tell them to take care of Noah; we’ll take care of Y/N.”

She was our responsibility; we made that promise to her father years ago when he came to visit. He couldn’t watch after her so he entrusted us to. We failed with Trey; we let him burry his claws so deep into her and now we’re afraid that whatever happened with Noah we wouldn’t be able to get her back.

Malcolm realized that too because his hands shook and breathing became uneven.

“Hey,” I said softly while covering his hands with my own. “We’ll find her, we always do.”

“I know,” he swallowed. “I’m just-worried. She told me earlier that she was going by Noah’s room to hang out. I didn’t think-.”

I cupped his cheek and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “Why don’t you stay here in case, she comes back. I think I know where she might be.”

Malcolm eased into my touch, emerald eyes glowing from the moonlight casting in through the window, and if it was any other moment, I’d tell him I love him.

He knew already, but I still liked to remind him.

“I love you,” he breathed a long deep breath.

With a final kiss, I muttered I loved him back against his lips, before pocketing my phone and slipping out of the room. I didn’t bother checking throughout the hotel for her. There’s only one place she’d be.

The roof.

Y/N’s always had this fascination with behind higher than others. She wanted to feel like one of the Gods on Mount Olympus. But I didn’t doubt right now, she felt smaller than a peasant in past Athens.

The door to the roof was open, cold winds blowing down the fire escape stairs as I reached the top, eyes immediately landing on a figure curled up with their knees to their chest, sobs being drowned out by the noise from down below in the streets.

Panic set deep within my stomach as I neared her. “Y/N?”

At first my voice was quiet, so I said her name again, this time deeper; louder as I kneeled in front of her. “Y/N!”

Her eyes struggled to open due to how swollen they were from her crying, mascara running down her cheeks and staining her face.

“Sweets,” I sighed with slumped shoulders.

“Chase?” My name came out raw, a clear sign that her voice had gone horse; from what, I wasn’t sure.

“What are you doing up here?” I questioned while taking off my sweater and wrapping it around her shoulders.

She was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Her lips were blue from the cold of the predawn air and she shivered as I rubbed my hands up and down her arms.

“Oh, gods. What did we do?” Y/N cried while falling into my chest.

For a moment, I didn’t move her although I knew I needed to get her inside to warm up, but I decided another minute wouldn’t hurt. She needed that extra minute to let out all of her pent-up feelings and doubt. Something happened in that room between her and Noah tonight and I didn’t care how long it took, she would tell us what happened.

I hushed her cries with a soothing hand to her back, cradling her, until the cries lessened and her body went limp against me; she must have dozed off again. So lifting her into my arms, I carried her back down the stairs towards our floor and as I turned the corner, our room only two doors down, I stopped mid-step when my eyes landed on Steven and Matt.

Anger filled me for the briefest of moments but I tried to let it go. None of knew what happened so it wouldn’t be right for me to get upset with either of them. They weren’t in the room with Noah and Y/N.

“She okay?” Matt asked.

I nodded. “Found her up on the roof. She’s fucking freezing and I don’t know how long she was up there for.”

Steven sighed while running a hand over his tired face. “I’m glad she’s alright; given the circumstances. We’ll let the others know.”

Not bothering to say anything else, I stepped between the two of them so they could get a good look at how broken Y/N was; blue lips, puffy eyes, and face stained with makeup and tears. Noah wasn’t the only one hurting, she was too.

When I knocked on the hotel room door, I could physically see the relief fall away from Malcolm’s shoulders as he opened the door, letting me step inside.

“Get the blankets,” I motioned towards the bed.

He pulled them away so I could lay Y/N gently into the bed, both of us covering her with the mounds of blankets; and a few from the closet. As I stepped away to let her sleep, cold fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.

“Chase.”

My name came out broken on her chattering lips and I laid a gentle hand on her face. “Get some rest, sweets. We can talk in the morning.”

She shook her head. “No, I n-nee-need-.”

Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed next to her while I stood behind him. “What do you need?”

“No-Noah,” Y/N forced out through the chills her body continued to attack her with.

“Y/N,” I sighed. “He’s not in a good place right now.”

Her eyes glimmered with tears before they fell from her eyes in groves. “It’s all my fault.”

Malcolm tensed under my touch on his shoulder. “What happened?”

Y/N remained silent as she stared up at the ceiling for a few long beats then she turned over in bed so she could face towards us, clutching the pillow closer to her chest.

Now I kneeled down in front of her so I could look directly into her eyes. “You need to tell us what happened.”

Malcolm wiped away her tears as she let out an unsteady breath. “I asked him a stupid fucking question.”

“What did you ask Noah?”

There was a slight hesitation in her words. “Where he wanted to be in 10 years.”

Malcolm and I shared a look with each other, not sure how that simple question could cause this much damage between them. Y/N could read us like a book, from start to end, so she immediately knew what we were thinking.

“Noah said one day, he wants a family, a dog and cats and a little wooden house,” she explained flatly.

Then it all clicked into place, the puzzle of the night with that simple word; family.

That subject always had been a sore subject with Y/N so we never brought it up. We knew how hard she had to work for things, especially that, so it was understandable why she freaked out the way she did.

“Sweets, it’s alright,” I cooed while brushing the hair away from her face. “He didn’t know.”

Malcolm agreed with a nod while rubbing her back. “I’m sure if you talk to him about it, Noah will understand.”

Suddenly, she was pushing away from us and stumbling out of the bed, both of us watching her pace with worry in our eyes.

“You guys don’t understand the pain. You don’t know how he looked!” Y/N pounded her chest. “It’s like a huge hole has been punched through my chest. This pain is the reminder, he is real.”

“Y/N,” I cautioned while rising to my feet and slowly walked over to her. “Everything will be alright.”

She jerked her hand away from me. “No, it won't! I did what I always do, Chase! I panicked and ran away. I so badly wanted to stay. Fuck, you guys should have seen his face when he asked me to stay- the crinkles, the cheeks, so sweet I just- I can’t believe I did this. I’m so damaged, guys, so damaged.”

I stood there frozen, unsure how to console Y/N because we’d never seen her like this; so broken. Tears fell from her eyes as her chest caved in with each deep, stuttering breath. As Malcolm pulled her into his arms, I took out my phone and typed out a message to Nicholas.

I know what happened.

MALCOLM

“Are you sure you two will be alright?” I asked while adjusting the bag on my shoulder.

Chase nodded while wrapping a protective arm around Y/N’s shoulder; she hasn’t slept since he brought her back into the room just a few hours ago. She was running on fumes, we all were, but I knew the long day she had ahead of her. She needed every ounce of energy she could find.

“We’re mostly going to pick up Salem,” Chase said.

Fuck, the cat.

I cringed at the mention of Y/N’s cat; soul as dark as its fur.

“I swear that cat fucking hates me,” I grumbled while leaning closer into Chase.

He chuckled while leaning up to kiss me, since I was a few inches taller than him. “I would say thats not true but we all know it is.”

Y/N let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll do my best to make sure he stays out of your guys’ room.”

I had to admit; it was really good to hear her laugh, even if it was a quiet one.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” I asked.

Her face flinched with my words but she quickly recovered. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

“Last call for flight 3E for Los Angeles. Now boarding.”

The three of us glanced over towards the group of people that were sitting in the same lounge we were. Nicholas was sitting next to Noah, who refused to lift his gaze from the chip nail polish on his fingers. Jolly was talking with Folio and when he felt us staring, Nicholas gave a curt nod to Chase.

Without Y/N noticing, he pulled out his phone to send a text to Nicholas. After we told him we knew what happened, we promised we would tell him everything; about Y/N, her condition, and why she left.

“Do you?” I asked Y/N, nodding towards Bad Omens.

She shook her head, not daring to look any of them in the eye. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” I smiled weakly. “Call me when you guys land, I want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Chase and I shared a kiss before I pulled Y/N into my chest, her arms wrapping around me.

“Thank you,” she muttered into my shirt.

It was hard for me to show affection but for her; I found it easier.

I placed a kiss on top of her head. “Anytime, buttercup.”

With a final wave towards the two people that mean everything to me, I turned my back and fell into line with the large group of others that were flying back to Los Angeles. I stood a few spaces behind Noah, who could barley lift his head up, the weight of what happened last night pressing down on his shoulders. Guilt ate away at my insides knowing that I could fix it but it wasn’t my place too. The part of me that needed to fix the bad with something good was overpowering. Any time something got too tense or awkward, I was always there to smooth it over with my humor; but this wasn’t one of those times.

“Hey.”

Turning on my heels, I gave a small smile towards Jolly. “What’s up, man?”

“You’re not going to Vegas?”

We both took a step forward as the line moved slowly. “No, I’m heading back to LA to get our new place set up.”

“Right,” Jolly nodded. “You’re only a few miles from us now.”

“Yea.”

Silence fell between us and I shifted on my feet, my anxiety about this whole situation suddenly becoming too overbearing. I felt as if my lungs were being crushed from the inside out. Knowing that someone I loved was hurting because of a choice they made killed me. I wanted to fix things. I needed to fix this. It’s what I’d done all my life as the middle child. I was there to fix my younger brothers smile when our dad hit him a little too hard. I was there to fix my mom when my dad took his anger out on her instead. I hated not being able to fix the division that stood between Noah and Y/N.

Breathe, Chase’s voice cooed in my mind. Deep breath in, long breath out.

“They’ll be alright,” Jolly’s voice broke me out of my inducing panic.

We watched Noah’s head lift finally from the ground as the flight for Las Vegas was called. His eyes danced around the room, searching for someone, but it was too late. Y/N and Chase had made it to the other end of the airport, their flight leaving minutes after ours. Defeat and possibly anger radiate off of Noah as he handed his boarding pass to the attendant behind the desk and grumbled his thanks before slipping down the long hallway towards the plane.

“She didn’t mean to break him,” I defended Y/N. “She’s going through something that takes a lot out of her every month. It’s a constant battle between what she wants and what her body needs.”

“I know,” Jolly nodded. “We’re here if any of you guys want to talk.”

I bumped fists with him. “Thanks, man.”

READER

There’s a thousand voices in my head, all saying the same fucking thing, and I hoped they didn’t take a rope around my neck.

Pathetic.

You can’t give him what he wants.

He won’t wait for you. He’ll find it with someone else.

I slammed the pillow over my head to smother the voices away. The darkness that clouded over my room did nothing to help the raging pain that pounded within the confines of my skull. Everything hurt and screamed for release but I did nothing. I’d rather let my body succumb to it than ease it because once the pain was gone, memories of Noah crept back in and I didn’t want to be reminded of what I did.

How beautiful his face looked when he asked me to say until morning.

How broken his face looked when I said no.

And how destroyed his face was when he begged me to come back.

Noah’s face haunted me every single night the last two weeks that I refused to sleep for longer than a few hours because I would eventually wake with a scream, his name echoing off my walls. The guilt of walking away sat heavy on my chest as I sat in bed, scattered pens, papers, and a fully charged laptop at my feet.

Rain pelted hard against the large windows of my bedroom and I sighed, knowing there was another full day of storm's head; figuratively and literally.

Salem’s soft meow broke me from my frozen trace and I picked him up from the floor to set him in my lap. He purred loudly as I scratched his head, letting the softness of his black fur calm my racing heart.

“I know Chase already fed you, stop trying to get second breakfast.”

It had been a few weeks since I moved in with Chase and Malcolm, all of us falling into living together quite fast, until the pandemic hit and forced us inside. I didn’t mind it, being holed up in my room with my writing and Salem, but Chase was going stir crazy. He was the social one out of the three of us, and knowing he couldn’t go out to see friends or even go for a hike was making him bang his head against the wall.

Malcolm, on the other hand, loved staying home. He spent the time writing music on his bass or baking bread. According to Chase, the first few batches weren’t that great, but he didn’t dare tell Malcolm that.

I stayed in my room most of the day, only seeing one of them when they occasionally checked in on me or brought me something to eat; like right now.

A soft knock on my door made me tear my gaze away from the page full of lyrics.

“Hey sweet,” Chase said while leaning against the doorframe. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head.

Salem jumped off of my lap and scurried towards the light that poured in from the hallway, clearly having enough of the dark somber of my bedroom.

“You have to eat something,” Chase sat at the end of my bed.

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. “I’m not hungry. I’ll come down and eat something for lunch soon.”

“It’s almost six in the evening, Y/N,” he sighed. “You’ve been up here all day.”

Shit, have I?

Glancing to the clock on my nightstand, I realized he was right.

“Oh,” I shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

Chase pointed to the papers in front of me, a silent way of asking if he could read it so I agreed with a nod.

I wanna feel something. That's not the touch of your breath on my neck. I wanna feel something. That's not the weight of your world in my head. And all the walls are caving in.

“This is really good,” he mused while handing it back to me.

I simply hummed in response, not exactly sure what he wanted me to say.

“Anything else?” I asked after some silence, keeping my eyes trained hard to the rain splashing against the window behind Chase.

His jaw ticked. “You’re killing yourself, Y/N. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Just call him and explain-.”

My eyes snapped over to Chase. “No, there’s nothing to fucking explain. I walked away from him, I hurt him, Chase. He won’t forgive me.”

“You don’t-.”

“Yes, I do! You don’t see what I see!” I pointed to my head. “Every fucking night his face haunts me. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat because it makes me fucking sick.”

I choked on a sob as tears slipped from my eyes down to the scatter of pages on my bed. My cries drowned out the rain as Chase pulled me down to bed, letting me lay against his chest, the wetness of my mistakes staining his shirt.

Memories of Noah will always fucking haunt me; how devastated he looked as I turned my back to him. I tried to force them away by thinking of anything else but truth was is I didn’t think he was going anywhere, soon. I’ve done some things that I can’t speak and I tried to wash Noah away, but he wouldn’t leave. Although, part of me was almost begging him to keep haunting me just, so I had an excuse to see his face.

I think I’m possessed, that was the only explanation. He put a fever inside me and I’ve been cold since I left him in that room weeks ago.

CHASE

I walked passed Y/N’s door again; she needed to eat. She hasn’t eaten anything since dinner last night and that was a small bowl of cereal. It was nearly two in the afternoon and if she continued at this rate, she’d be a mess of skin and bones. I was supposed to be out with Malcolm but felt as if I should stay back. Something was deep-rooted in my gut that I needed to be home with Y/N today.

My knuckles raised to the wood of her door, ready to knock, but stopped when I heard that song play yet again. Y/N’s had it on repeat every day for the last three days, nothing else coming from her room besides Keaton’s voice.

Fuck, why did she have to torture herself like this?

I sighed, knowing this was going to be a whirlwind, and pressed my ear to the door. Her soft, broken, voice singing. Suddenly the music stopped for a few seconds before Y/N replayed it and got louder.

Who was she talking to?

“How can you say this was all part of your plan, start explaining?”

“I knew you wanted me to meet him! I fucking knew it! Well guess what, Keaton?! I did; I fucking did, and now look! Look what happened!”

Keaton.

I ran a hand over my buzzed head and quickly typed out a message to Malcolm, who was out shopping. Since the ban had been lifted a few days ago, we were planning a small vacation just the two of us in a few weeks and he was buying things we needed.

Well, as long as Y/N was in the right headspace, we would leave her. But with what I was hearing on the other side of the door, I was afraid our vacation would have to get pushed back.

She’s blasting Eiley again. But now she’s talking to Keaton, blaming him for her meeting Noah. I don’t know what else to do, Mal.

What sounded like something falling over and breaking made me press my hear against the door again.

“Left with this hole, six feet of dirt I can’t fill,” Y/N’s raw but powerful voice called out into the air.

My phone buzzed with a text from Malcolm.

We need to talk with Nick. There’s not much else we can do, babe.

I sighed, knowing he was right, and quickly sent a text to Nick to see if he was free sometime next week. I remember him saying in our Hollow Omens group chat he was flying back from Virgina on Friday to see everyone.

Of course, neither Noah nor Y/N would ever respond in the chat, not wanting to risk saying something to each other. Maybe if they did, she wouldn’t be talking to the ghost of her best friend.

“Oh god, it hurts,” she wailed and I could picture her clutching her chest. “Why did I do this? Why did you fucking leave us both like this?”

A loud thud had me taking a step away from the door, thinking she was about to come barreling through but realized she was throwing things against the door and walls of her bedroom.

“I’m no better than you! I fucking left him. He wanted me, all of me, and I fucking left!”

“Oh, sweets,” I let out a shaky breath, hands reaching for the doorknob.

“He was mine, he was mine!”

She was mine; she was mine!

I hesitated opening the door at what I heard. Did she? Did Y/N change the lyrics of the song so it was as if she was saying Noah was hers?

Something fell to the floor, glass shattering, and Y/N’s ear piercing screams dug the knife deeper into my heart and I slammed through the door, it slamming against the wall next to me. All the blood drained from my face at the scene in front of me; Y/N was curled up on the floor crying, a framed photo on the floor smashed to pieces. She was clutching a piece of glass in her hand, droplets of blood falling to the wood floor beneath her.

“Fuck, Y/N!” I cursed while sliding on my knee’s in front of her to snatch the piece of glass from her tight grip, slicing my fingers. “Oh, come on sweets, get up! Don’t-don’t do this.”

Fear of what would have happened if I went out with Malcolm dug their nails into me but I refused to acknowledge the pain. Not right now, I can think of the what if’s later. Righ now, Y/N needed me.

Hollow, sunken, and bloodshot eyes stared up at me through the tears that clouded her vision. “I ruined everything, I ruined everything! His face! You didn’t see it! You don’t know!”

Her ramblings had been the same for a month now, never changing.

“Sweets, hey, it’s okay.” I cupped her face. “You didn’t, you’ll figure this out! You’ll talk to him, he’s not gone for good, Y/N. He’s here, he’s here.”

It killed me holding her; she was in agony. She felt like she ended Noah for good. It was almost as if she confused her feelings of grief and heartbreak into two. Noah was alive, his flesh and blood was still awake, he was numbing but he was there. She needed to remember this; she needed to know the feelings she was suffering through had a chance to get better.

“He’ll never see me the same,” Y/N kicked the broken frame away from us but I could see what picture it held; Noah and her at the zoo while they waited for the wolves to come out of hiding.

Unbeknownst to them at the time, I smacked Bryan’s chest so he could take a few pictures of them.

“Just give it time, just give it time.” I said while holding her, rocking her back and forth.

A little kiss on her head. My sister, my friend.

MALCOLM

“Hey sugar baklava,” I knocked on the door frame to Y/N’s room.

She was sitting at the large bay window, sunshine brushing its bright rays across her pale face and dark floors. It's been a few days since Chase found her with the piece of glass in her hand and ever since then, we made it a rule that she had to keep her door open. We didn’t care if she continued to hide away up here but the door needed to be open. It might have been a teenager rule, but we didn’t want to take any chances. We already knew she was hiding things from us so this was the only way.

“Where’s your head at?” I leaned up against the wall while crossing my arms over my chest.

Y/N chuckled at the nickname but I could see there was no light behind those usual bright eyes. She’d been sitting in that same spot for the last day and a half; hair not washed since I can’t remember when, clothes piled up, notebooks out with a variety of lyrics scribbled on every pages and her laptop always had a full charge due to the plug remaining inside it.

Through the pain, she smiled up at me. “Just the usual, contemplating my fucked life and all its wonders.”

I inhaled deeply while stiffing up straight. “I know what you’re going to say, but you are more than welcome to hang out with us at Applebees later. They have dollarRitas.”

“Thank you, maybe,” she smiled weakly.

“I’m worried about you.” I sighed with concern. “We all are.”

Salem clawed his way out from underneath her bed to stretch wide in the one spot on the floor the sun touched. If it wasn’t for that furry little creature that hated my guts, I don’t want to think of where Y/N would be right now.

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured while holding up a granola bar. “Bring me back some tacos?”

“Deal,” I smiled.

Turning my back to leave, her voice called after me. “Mind feeding Salem on your way out?”

My eyes cast down to my feet as the black cat sat between them, dark green eyes staring deep into my soul.

“Fuck, Y/N. Your cat wants to kill me,” I shivered at the thought.

She chuckled. “As long as you feed him, you’ll live!”

MALCOLM

The noise of the city faded to a dull buzz as I set down my second empty margarita class and pushed away the rest of my lunch. We were sitting on the patio at Applebee’s, the warm Los Angeles air doing nothing to ease the shake in my bones.

“How’s she doing?”

I nodded towards Nick who sat across from Chase and I. “Depends on the day you ask. But after the other day, we’re watching her like a hawk.”

He raised a brow. “What happened?”

Chase and I shared a look before eventually telling Nick about catching her with a piece of glass in her hand.

“You don’t think-?”

“I don’t know what to think, man,” Chase took a long drink of his beer. “I catch her breaking shit then holding a piece of glass in her hand so tight she cuts herself? Thankfully, she didn’t need stitches but if I wasn’t home, who knows what could have happened. She’s playing with her health and I don’t know what to do to help her.”

“What do you mean?” Nick wondered.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “She hasn’t been taking her medication. There’s at least six more pills than there should be. And two extra vials.”

“What about Noah?” Chase asked, suddenly not wanting to change the subject.

He adjusted the sunglasses that was perched on his nose. “His drinking is getting worse. We want to be stoked because he’s written two really great songs but the alcohol dulls the excitement.”

Chase spun the ice in his drink with the straw and sighed. “Y/N has Eiley on blast until 2 am, hunched over in pain and screaming into her pillows. Writing at random. It’s killing me, to watch her like this.”

“Noah’s been playing Sympathy a lot too, while downing the bottle of whiskey and writing. A fuckin mess, man,” Nick leaned back into the chair.

“Can I tell you something?” Chase asked.

“Shoot,” Nick nodded.

“If fucking hurts to hear this but sometimes, when she plays Eiley, so faintly I can hear her singing. There’s a part in the song where Keaton’s broken as he says she was mine-fuck- I hear Y/N sometimes crying and changes the words-.”

Chase paused, trying to find the right was to convey what he was feeling and Nick tilted his head in wonder.

“He’s mine, he was mine. He was mine,” I finished for Chase, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get the words out.

“She regrets it all, Nick.” Chase rested his arms on the table so he could look directly at Nick. “I think-no I know, she loves him. Y/N fell for him so hard, and I don’t think she’ll ever forgive herself for leaving that room.”

“I know,” he sighed. “That’s why I’m on her side for this as well. You told me what she’s going through, it makes sense why she freaked out the way she did.”

I shifted in my seat. “Did you tell Noah?”

“No,” Nick firmly shook his head. “That's something you two or Y/N has to tell him.”

Chase reached for my hand under the table and once our fingers were linked, I gave Nick my best stern gaze. “We have to do something.”

For a long few beats, we were silent, thinking of ways that we could help these two talk again. They weren’t going to do it on their own; the needed help.

“We’ll shoot them both a text,” Nick began. “Same time, telling them to get their heads out of their asses, because let’s be real- they’re stubborn as hell and won’t listen to us directly. They need an outsider to call them both out to wake the hell up.”

“So what? I text Noah while you text Y/N?” Chase wondered.

Nick nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. They need help, they both do, desperately and they need each other. They’re just being ridiculous about it.”

There was a clear hesitation in my expression with Nick's idea. “You know it’s not gonna magically happen over night though right?”

“Of course not, but I have a hunch it’ll work,” Nick assured while throwing some money on the table for his lunch.

“What we need to do is get them to seek help. They have soon many unresolved issues, deep-seeded. They need to get help and get them to at least be friends again. They’re in love with each other. That won’t change, but the circumstances have to.”

READER

The pillows muffled my screams as I clutched my abdomen, the stabbing, sheering pain spreading through my veins like wildfire. Every fiber of my existence was screaming at me to stop the pain, make it all go away, but I ignored it. I needed to feel this; it was the only thing that made me feel anything at all.

Eiley played on a loop through my speakers as I spoke into the air above me.

“Choose me over him, I often wonder why.”

“How can I face him again, Keaton? How? How can I ease the pain, he’s mine. He was mine.”

Rolling over to my other side once the pain stopped for a few moments, I started at the basket on top of my nightstand. 1, 2, 3, 4, bottles, and one syringe. They just stare at me. I counted each bottle, and that syringe repeatedly. A reminder of the work it takes to make myself normal. A reminder of what happens every month like fucking clockwork. A reminder that no man would ever want to stay with me and deal with this alongside me.

“Noah would,” I muttered into the pillow that was stained with my tears.

Yeah? Well you ruined that, sweetie.

I’ve had fans ask me, “how do I keep myself from losing myself entirely?” All I can tell them is that it can’t rain all the time. I hide the pain behind a smile and slip into a parallel universe.

I’m constantly making a series of small holes in a row, mistakes I made in my membrane between here and there until an opening exists. And who can resist an opening?

So do I take the meds? Or do I lay here and rot?

I’ll take them tomorrow. It’s already too late in the day, no need to take them.

It was the same thing I told myself every morning when I would wake up and stare at the medication. The same thing for the last month.

Maybe if I stopped taking them, I would go back to my natural state. I could succumb to the natural order of things, or maybe the pain would be so severe I’d be fine with dying.

Okay.

No. Stop. Stop that!

The voices continued to fight with each other as I dug my palms into my eyes, hoping his haunting face would leave; even for a few seconds.

Maybe I could wait for the dust to settle.

Eiley started playing yet again and I narrowed my eyes up towards the ceiling. “If this is all part of your plan, Keaton then start explaining because this is fucking bullshit. You wanted us together, well fucking give me a sign it’s worth it.”

I stared at those bottles and wondered why any of this mattered when my phone buzzed from underneath my pillow. Groaning, I had every intention of ignoring it, thinking it was the Hollow Omens group chat of Folio saying something he thought was funny; most of the time it was. But today, the pain was so debilitating that I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Nicholas: Hi.

I sucked in a breath, not expecting a solo text from him. I wanted to leave him on read because there was no reason for him to be texting me. What’s there to say? He's my friend, but Noah is his brother, why would he care about me at all? I hurt his friend.

But.

That one word weighed heavy on my mind as my shaking fingers typed out two letters back.

The bubbles popped up and stopped, then popped up again, before proceeding to another text.

I hope you’re alright, Y/N. and doing okay. I hear you moved in with the guys, a great idea and I’m glad you’re settled in.

That message I left on read only because I was hunched over my bed now, dry heaving saliva into the bowl that had a permanent spot next to my bed on the floor. The pain was becoming too much; like an animal with razor like claws were digging through my skin to be set free. My stomach was being ripped to shreds.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later once the pain and my screams of agony finally stopped that I had the courage to look at my phone; the text from Nick smacking me in my face.

Y/N, first I just wanna say this: it isn’t my business to step in or to make assumptions I know everything. I had a talk with Chase and Malcolm, and I understand to a degree what you’re feeling right now. I will admit, I was angry at you; you hurt my friend. Noah isn’t doing well right now, but he’s trying. However, I’m trying to remain mutual about this. I see what you both have; I see what you’re both capable of even if you don’t right now. He needs something; he needs someone stable in his life who can give him the comfort he’s been searching for; I thought that could be you; you acted as if it was. Maybe it still is?

Ten minutes in between this text and the next one.

I would never step in and say something like this to anyone, but because of our current friendship and the situation that’s in front of us, I had to. Because I care about you both. Noah deserves better than what you did; he deserves better than walking out with more questions than answers. But you deserve better than the trauma Trey left you with. My friend’s not perfect but he’s not that fucking guy. All I ask is that you dig deep and see that you can really work through this. Not just alone but together. Don’t be a stranger, Y/N. Please don’t. We miss you.

My eyes blinked a few times at the screen, wondering if what I just read actually was there. Everything Nick said was one hundred percent the truth. Especially the part where Noah deserves better than what I did. But so did I. I also deserved better than what Trey left me with.

I gazed back up towards the ceiling, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips. “Thanks, Keaton.”

READER

When I was supposed to be awake, I was asleep. When I was supposed to sleep, I was silent. When a pleasure offered itself to me, I avoided it. I wrote that fucking song repeatedly, a better perspective- a perspective of what I wanted to do that night.

I’ll face my fear of the cold nights

When you leave me behind

I felt your hands in my hair

I felt your breath on my neck

Yeah, I need to feel you again

Just wanted to say good night

Our eyes fighting the light

But I’m not ready to say good night oh

I try and hold on tight ‘cause it’s just not time to say good night

To say good night

One song completed last week and another one just needing the finishing touches. It was all falling into place; well, most things. All I wanted was for Noah to call me when he woke up. I wanted to be in his sweet dreams. But almost three days after Nick texted me, my phone remained silent. Nothing, no texts or calls from Noah. Which at the moment was fine because currently, Malcolm and Chase stood at the foot of my bed with their arms crossed over their broad chests, eyes staring daggers into me.

“The syringe?” Chase asked.

I nodded. “This morning.”

“Pills?” Malcolm then questioned.

Playfully rolling my eyes, I filled my palm with the variety of differnt pills and tossed them into my mouth, swallowing them down with the orange juice they’d brought up minutes ago. I even opened my mouth wide to show them I wasn’t hiding them under my tongue.

Malcolm physically relaxed but Chase wasn’t convinced quite yet.

“Did you call?”

I groaned. “Yes, dad. I have an appointment on Tuesday at ten in the morning. Did you want to drive me there too?”

“You bet your ass I am,” he narrowed his eyes before breaking out into a huge smile. “I’m proud of you, sweets.”

“Me too, buttercup,” Malcolm ruffled my hair.

I playfully smacked his hand away before motioning towards the open door of my room. “Feel free to close it on your way out.”

Salem meowed from his perched on the open window and I realized it was nearing five in the evening. “Oh, dinner time.”

I went to stand from the bed but Malcolm playfully pushed me back down.

“I got it. Let’s go, Salem,” he tapped his thigh a few times, my cat quickly following out of the room.

Chase watched with amazement in his eyes as I let out a lighthearted laugh, one that he hadn’t heard in so long, no doubt.

“What?” I asked, grabbing my phone that buzzed on my bed.

He shrugged before walking out. “Nothing, it’s good to hear that laugh again.”

Smiling, I looked down at my phone but nearly dropped it as I read the message over and over again. Chase noticed my face right before he stepped through the doorway and motioned towards my phone.

“Who is it?”

Mochi 🧋🥟: Hi.

My heart hammered against my chest and it felt like I couldn’t breathe, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering wildly with life I thought would never return.

“Shit, shit.” I muttered while showing Chase the message.

“Well fucking answer him, Y/N.”

“I- what do I say?” I asked as my breathing became erratic.

Fuck, it was like I was a teenager texting her crush for the first time.

“Start with a simple hello. Today’s the first day of you getting your life back in order.” Chase left a kiss to the top of my head before leaving me alone to my own choices.

I stared down at the phone, thumbs hovering over the screen, wondering what the fuck I was going to do.

Do I take Chase’s advice and get my life back in order? Or do I remember all the pain and agony, dark nights where I contemplated ending it all?

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #starcrossed lovers

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