#do not threaten The children or Nightmare will have your head

[usercookie2008]

What is the the Generation AU is about?? 👀

IM GLAD YOU ASKED :D

ready for a ramble here, it's gonna be a bit long

Alright so The Generations AU is an Au that goes off the passage of time and Generally poses the story Upon how Nightmare has to experience those he loves pass away with due time and life basically Circling through as it does

Now this is also like a Dadmare kind of Au with NM having a really Close relationship with his gang members (Cross, Killer, Horror, and Dust) or more of less Sons.

Now in the begining of the Au it really seems like a Simple ordinary run of the mill Bad Sanses Found family with a shit ton of Headcannons sorta spewed in there (like Cross is into Photography, Dust does Needle felting, Killer does carvings n stuff these actually play a part so much later too so like duely note this) but as it progresses Nightmare begins to watch his Boys Grow up and make families of their own, and that time they're still absolute menaces to the AUs yeah though it's a little calmer with Nightmare scheduling accordingly cause he doesn't want his boys to miss out on time with a loved one or ones cause some do indefinitely have kids in the far future

Now yk things seem to be going perfectly fine though theres the first Hick up with Cross's relationship really starting to fall appart with Swap. I'm not too sure what happens majorly between this point Appart from Nightmare being Absolutely pissed at Swap and also Nightmare getting to actually Meet Cross's kids for the first time since he and swap were temporarily taking a break from each other after a really heated argument they had about each other's Jobs of their respective teams, usually wasn't a problem but over the topic it was hard scheduling for making sure they were cared for when they had to do their jobs while Cross did indeed have that and could plan ahead, Swap was often Dragged away at the same time or anytime by Ink and Swap suggested that possibly Cross could Retire from the bad Sanses

Anyways so Cross Lives back in the manor for that time being and NM gets time to spend with his Grandchildren

Not much happens again though more time passes and more and more Problems or just inconveniences happen

But then that's when things kinda go for the worse for Nightmare when he finds Cross unresponsive and ultimately dust's due to a heartbroken soul

With Cross being separated from Swap, which due to the arguments getting worse with every time one arose Which had grew more and more constant by the day they had decided that their Marriage is over (oh yeah did I mention they were married? Er well they were), it left Cross very upset and in Abit of a bad headspace. Cross to kinda put it is like a person with a heart on their elbow (that's what it is right? Recently heard about it and really thought wow it kinda fits Cross quite a bit). He didn't do anything to himself but Fell down due to just how bad he felt and upsetting the whole ordeal was, especially because he still loved Swap even if the relationship was over

Noting Cross had the custody of their two kids, Fluke and Cort, Nightmare takes it upon himself to Protect and Raise them and this point Its where Nightmare kinda realizes or more or less remembers that he's inmortal, but his gang isn't. Even so doesn't really deter him from exactly Promising/swearing to himself that he'll take care of these generations

Maybe,,

Idk there's actually a lot still in speculation did only Thought up of this Au like 4 days ago but The ideas are brewing frfr

But uh yeah the general thing is Nightmare Watching over the generations of their Children and their children's Children and ECT ect for however long with the reoccurring of the kids wanting to follow in their parents footsteps plus nightmare ofc adopting more Sanses in the long run

Now though THE ANGST oh boy do I got Ideas

So knowing how these kids are basically similar like mini versions of his found family, there's probably been so many times Nightmare has to keep himself from Bursting into tears whenever he sees of of his kids in their childrens faces or just something that one of them did before that seemed to carry on through the kid like Habits or something

Also the General grief Nightmare would have with every Soul he has to watch pass by knowing he'll Never, Never, See them ever again and he'll live with that forever. Eventually he likely mellows out to acceptance but I don't think he'd ever truely recover from losing his boys that actually made him see life as actually something Truly beautiful instead of a Dark pit it had seemed to much like before they cracked through that wall he built around himself because of his Au and experiences before he even had a chance to really live

On a side note Nightmare does actually get some Support that also tag along with him through these things or more or less ends up picking up a few immortals along the way too so Noot gets some comfort but uh yeah that's kinda all I got of now

I don't even have a solid Baseline for this Au yet and I'm already thinking of All the Different times n stuff for it lol

Though it seems more centralized in the time period not too long after Nightmare looses all his Boys and is around the point of Raising a few of their kids and some Fusions he found too of what will be known as the first generation :>

Oh also here's some art cause I do have a bit of a doodle with Noot

I'm not 100% sure if I'm going to keep that jacket (I might change it later) but I do know I'm going to keep the Layers underneath it

Also planning on adding accessories that Nightmare was gifted from his kids, maybe something like a Locket from Cross, A Knife from Killer, yk like something that meant a lot to them and They Gifted Nightmare these things cause it resembled them (especially so to Nightmare even if to anyone else they just seem like normal items)

Also here's the initial Screenshot of me conjuring up the Au Idea and my brain has been going Bonkers over it since then

Also anyone feel free to ask more questions about the Au (or really any of my Aus) and I will be so Happy to answer 💥

[novaursa]

The Silent Pyre

- Summary: It was a rainy night when Blood and Cheese came to deliver you your half-sister’s message; a son for a son.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. Aegon and the reader have four children, the oldest son named Aeron, a daughter, Daena, and twin boys, Vaelon and Baelon. These events happen after Twin Fires and before The Fire That Binds Us. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot. Anonymous user inquired about these events, and I've decided to post it and share it with you all, it has been stashed away for too long in my file graveyard.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (no adult content, but there are graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 5 133

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The night is heavy with the scent of rain, the coolness of autumn seeping into the stones of the Red Keep. The fire in Helaena’s chamber casts long shadows across the walls, flickering as the wind howls faintly outside. You stand by the door, the weight of your crown pressing down upon you as you gaze at your younger sister. Her pale hair gleams like moonlight as she kneels by her children’s cradle, whispering a soft lullaby. Her voice is a quiet, fragile thing, a melody that seems almost too delicate for the world that surrounds you both.

“Helaena,” you murmur, stepping closer. She lifts her head, her violet eyes distant and unfocused, as though she is seeing something far beyond the chamber walls.

“Y/N,” she replies, a small, distracted smile gracing her lips. “Goodnight. May the Seven bless your dreams.”

“And yours, sister.” You reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sleep well.”

With one last glance at her serene face, you turn and leave the room, pulling the door shut softly behind you. The corridor outside is eerily silent, the usual clamor of the servants and guards muted, as if the Keep itself holds its breath.

As you walk through the darkened halls, a sense of unease begins to coil in your chest. The silence feels unnatural, like the calm before a storm. The rain patters against the windows, a steady rhythm that should be soothing, but instead heightens your anxiety. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, the chill of the stone floors seeping through your slippers.

Your thoughts drift to Aegon, waiting for you in your shared bedchamber. You picture him sprawled across the large bed, his platinum blond hair tousled, perhaps with a goblet of wine in hand. There is comfort in the thought of him, of the warmth of his body against yours, but it does little to dispel the growing dread that gnaws at your insides.

As you approach the nursery, the unease sharpens into fear. You pause, your hand hovering over the door. The sound of something crashing softly from within reaches your ears—a faint, almost imperceptible noise, but enough to send your heart racing. The shadows behind the door shift, moving in ways that shadows should not.

You swallow, forcing down the rising panic. Your children are in there, your precious sons and daughter. Steeling yourself, you push the door open slowly, trying to remain as silent as possible.

The scene before you is one pulled from the darkest of nightmares. The warm, cozy nursery is cast in a pall of terror. Your eyes first find your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, bound and gagged on the floor, her eyes wide with a terror that you have never seen before. She struggles against her bindings, her muffled cries like the wail of a ghost in the suffocating silence.

But it is the two men in the center of the room who capture your attention—the one holding your eldest son, Aeron, in his arms, a cruel knife pressed to his throat, while the other stands nearby, his presence looming and sinister. Your son is awake, tears streaking down his face, his small body trembling in fear.

“Do not scream,” the man holding your son whispers, his voice low and threatening. “Or the boy dies.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a wave of nausea rising within you as the reality of the situation crashes down. You force yourself to remain calm, to not give in to the terror clawing at your heart.

“What do you want?” you manage to say, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

“Vengeance,” the other man—Cheese, they will call him, from his size and the rat-like cunning in his eyes—replies coldly. “For son's blood has been spilled. Now, it is your blood that must pay.”

You take a step forward, and the knife digs deeper into Aeron’s tender skin, a small whimper escaping his lips. Your entire body tenses, every instinct screaming at you to protect your child, but you are powerless, bound by the threat that hangs over him like a blade.

“Let my son go,” you plead, your voice cracking. “Please. He is but a child.”

Cheese’s grin is twisted, devoid of mercy. “A choice, Your Grace. You must choose one of your sons. Two to live, and one to die.”

The words hit you like a blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the world spinning as the horror of what they ask becomes clear. They want you to condemn one of your children to death. To choose between your sons.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I cannot.”

“You must,” the man holding Aeron insists, his voice a menacing growl. “Or we kill them all three.”

You look between your sons, your heart shattering into pieces. Aeron, your eldest, so brave despite his fear, his wide eyes pleading silently for you to save him. And twin boys, Vaelon and Baelon, still asleep in their cribs, blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them.

Tears blur your vision, the anguish of the choice tearing at your soul. You cannot do this. You cannot be the one to decide who lives and who dies. But their lives, three of them, hang in the balance, and the choice is yours to make.

“Please,” you beg once more, though you know it is futile. “Do not make me choose.”

Cheese steps closer, his breath foul as he leans in. “Choose, Queen Y/N. Or your precious children will all die, and it will be on your head.”

The weight of your crown feels like a curse as you stand there, trembling, the choice before you too terrible to comprehend. Your hands are shaking, your heart breaking, as the words begin to form on your lips, but they can't leave them.

The world narrows to the unbearable choice before you, every second stretching into an eternity. You stand frozen, the screams of your heart drowned out by the silence that has gripped your throat. Aeron, your firstborn, stares at you with wide, tear-filled eyes, pleading for a salvation you know you cannot grant him. And there, in their cribs, laid Vaelon and Baelon, so small, so unaware, their chest rising and falling peacefully with each breath.

It is the smaller and younger twin’s innocence, his lack of awareness, that seals your fate. If he must die, let it be without knowing fear. Let him slip from this world in the safety of his dreams.

Your decision comes not from cruelty, but from a twisted, desperate kind of mercy.

“Vaelon,” you whisper, your voice a broken thing. “Take him.”

The words taste like ash on your tongue, a confession of the darkest sin. The man holding Aeron grins, his eyes alight with a sadistic satisfaction. But even as the choice leaves your lips, a cold realization claws at the back of your mind—this was never meant to end well. They were never going to let Aeron live.

You see it happen almost in slow motion, the knife glinting in the dim light as it draws across your eldest son’s throat. The sound that escapes him is a choked gasp, eyes widening in pain and betrayal as the blood wells and spills down his neck.

“No!” The word tears from your throat as you lunge forward, but it is too late. The man has already sliced deeper, crimson blooming like a terrible flower. Yet, Aeron is not yet gone. The blade catches as the man’s hand slips, and in that moment of weakness, Alicent—your mother—finds her strength.

With a fury you have never seen, she throws herself against the man holding Aeron, her bound body knocking him off balance. He stumbles, the knife digging deeper but freeing your son from his grasp. Aeron falls to the floor, clutching at his bleeding throat, his small hands stained red.

A scream of pure, primal rage rips from your chest as you hurl yourself at the man, the world around you narrowing to a singular purpose: kill him. You grab for the knife, your hands slick with Aeron’s blood, and wrest it from his grasp. The man struggles against you, but your desperation lends you strength. With a wild, desperate thrust, you drive the blade into his side, feeling the give of flesh and bone as it sinks in.

He gasps, a wet, gurgling sound, eyes wide in shock as he stumbles backward, clutching at the wound. You pull the knife free and stab again, and again, each strike fueled by the agony that has consumed you. Blood splatters across your face, warm and sickening, but you do not stop until he falls, lifeless, to the floor.

In the chaos, you do not notice Cheese until it is too late. He has turned his attention to one of the twins, to Vaelon, your youngest, the one you had chosen to condemn. As your daughter, Daena, screams—a piercing, heart-rending sound that echoes through the nursery—Cheese moves swiftly, seizing the smaller boy from his crib.

“No! Please!” you cry out, scrambling to your feet, but your voice is drowned by the sheer panic that has overtaken you. You are too far, too slow. Vaelon’s eyes flutter open, confusion and fear flickering across his tiny face as the knife flashes once more.

And then it is done. The light fades from Vaelon’s eyes as his small body crumples to the floor, lifeless. 

A silence falls over the room, broken only by the sound of your daughter’s sobs, Baelon’s baby gurglings and the ragged breaths of Alicent, who is desperately pressing her hands against Aeron’s wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Aeron!” You rush to him, dropping to your knees beside him. His eyes are glazed with pain, his breathing shallow and labored. The wound is deep, but he is alive, clinging to life by the barest thread.

Cheese is panicking now, his eyes darting around the room as if realizing for the first time the gravity of what they have done. The plan, whatever it was, has gone horribly wrong. He looks at the bodies—the man you killed, Vaelon’s small, lifeless form—and he falters, unsure of his next move.

“You will die for this,” you hiss, every word trembling with a deadly promise. “You will not leave this room alive.”

Cheese takes a step back, fear flashing in his eyes, but before he can act, you move. Fueled by a mother’s wrath and the madness of grief, you surge forward, the bloodied knife still clutched in your hand. He tries to fend you off, but he is no match for the fury that drives you. With a wild, savage strike, you plunge the knife into his chest.

He gasps, a final breath escaping his lips as his eyes go wide, then glassy. He collapses to the floor, joining his fallen companion in death.

You stand there, panting, covered in the blood of your children’s murderers, and of your children themselves. Your hands shake as you drop the knife, the sound of it clattering to the floor barely registering in your mind.

“Y/N,” Alicent calls out, her voice trembling. “Aeron needs you.”

You blink, the fog of rage lifting just enough for you to focus on your son. You drop to your knees beside him, your hands finding his, trying to staunch the flow of blood with trembling fingers.

“Stay with me, my love,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Stay with me. Please.”

Alicent is beside you, pressing her hands down on the wound with all her might. “He’s strong,” she says, though her voice wavers. “He will survive this.”

You nod, though your heart is breaking. You dare not look at Vaelon’s still form, his twin, Baelon, now wide awake in his crib, or at your daughter, Daena, who is now curled into a ball in the corner, sobbing for her brothers. You can only focus on Aeron, on keeping him alive, as the horror of what has happened sinks into your soul.

The night is no longer just cold and rainy; it has become a night of death and despair, one that will haunt you until your last breath. But you will not let it claim Aeron. Not him, too.

And as the dawn begins to break, casting pale light over the carnage, you hold your son close, praying to the Seven to spare him. To spare at least one of your children, as the taste of your own choice, the bitterness of it, poisons your every breath.

Aegon sits in the dim light of your shared bedchamber, his goblet of wine resting lazily in his hand. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls, but the warmth it offers does little to chase away the chill of the autumn night. He sighs, his thoughts drifting to you, knowing that you will join him soon. The bond you share, forged not only by blood but by a deep, consuming love, is one that neither of you can escape, nor would you wish to. Sleep eludes him without you by his side, as it always has since you were children. 

He takes another sip of the wine, waiting for the familiar sound of your footsteps approaching. The thought of the night ahead, of holding you close, offers a comfort that softens the weariness in his bones.

But then, a scream pierces the stillness of the night—a scream that he recognizes instantly as belonging to your daughter. It is followed by your voice, raw with anguish, echoing down the corridors.

The goblet slips from his hand, clattering to the floor as he leaps to his feet. The wine spills across the stone, forgotten as dread seizes him. He knows something is terribly wrong. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushes to the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Your Grace!” one of the Kingsguard calls as they fall into step behind him, but Aegon doesn’t respond. The only thought in his mind is to reach you, to reach his children.

He tears down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone, until he reaches the nursery. The door is ajar, shadows flickering ominously in the light from the hallway. The scent of copper fills his nostrils before he even crosses the threshold, a scent that chills him to the core.

He bursts into the room, but in his haste, he doesn’t notice the slickness beneath his feet until it’s too late. His foot slips on the blood that pools on the floor, and he stumbles, barely catching himself on the doorframe before he can fall.

For a moment, everything seems to slow. He looks down at the blood smeared across the floor, the vivid red of it stark against the stone. And then he sees the scene before him, a tableau of horror that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Two men lie dead on the floor, their bodies twisted in death, blood oozing from fatal wounds. But it is not them that hold his attention; it is the small, lifeless form of Vaelon, his infant son, lying not far from them, his throat cruelly slit. Aegon’s heart seizes, his vision blurring with tears that he fights to hold back.

“No… no, no…” The words are barely a whisper as he staggers forward, his mind unable to fully comprehend the sight before him.

But there is more—your mother, Alicent, is on the floor, her hands pressed desperately against Aeron’s throat, trying to stem the flow of blood. And there you are, kneeling beside your eldest son, your hands covered in blood, your face a mask of desperation and despair as you try to keep him alive.

“Y/N!” Aegon chokes out your name as he rushes to you, his voice filled with fear and anguish. “What… what happened?”

You look up at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying, and the sight of you breaks something deep within him. “Aegon… they… they killed Vaelon,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “They tried to kill Aeron… we… I couldn’t stop them…”

Aegon falls to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uselessly over Aeron, unsure of what to do. He can see the life fading from his eldest son’s eyes, the pale skin, the way his breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. Aegon feels a crushing sense of helplessness, something he has never experienced with such intensity before.

“Aeron, my boy… stay with us,” Aegon pleads, his voice thick with emotion as he brushes a trembling hand over Aeron’s hair. “Stay with us, please…”

Alicent looks up at her son, her own eyes filled with tears, though she fights to keep them at bay. “We need to stop the bleeding, Aegon. If we don’t… if we don’t…”

“I know,” Aegon says, though his voice is strangled. He tears a strip of cloth from his sleeve, pressing it to Aeron’s wound with a firm but gentle hand. “Stay with me, Aeron. You’re strong. You can fight this.”

But even as he says the words, he feels the cold dread settle in his chest, knowing that the wound is too deep, that his son’s life is slipping away with every passing moment. 

You lean into Aegon, your body shaking with sobs as you press your bloodstained hands over his, trying to help, trying to do something—anything—to save your child. But the blood keeps coming, seeping through your fingers, staining the floor beneath you.

“Please… please…” you whisper, over and over, your voice breaking with each word. “Don’t take him from us…”

Aegon pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you even as he continues to press down on Aeron’s wound. He can feel your pain, your sorrow, as if it were his own, and in that moment, he knows that this night will haunt both of you for the rest of your lives.

The Kingsguard finally arrive, swords drawn, their faces pale as they take in the scene before them. But there is nothing they can do; the threat is already gone, the deed already done. All they can do is stand there, silent and grim, as the horror of what has happened sinks in.

“Get a maester!” Aegon commands, his voice rising with desperate urgency. “Now!”

One of the guards rushes off without a word, the others standing watch as if expecting another attack, though it is clear that the danger has passed. Aegon looks down at Aeron, his heart breaking as he watches the light in his son’s eyes flicker and fade.

“Stay with us, Aeron,” he whispers again, but the words sound hollow, empty, even to his own ears.

Alicent, her hands still pressed against the wound, glances at you, her eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it seems to swallow the room whole. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice thick with grief, “he’s… he’s still fighting. But we need to prepare ourselves… we need to…”

“No!” You cry out, shaking your head violently. “No, he’s going to survive. He has to. He’s strong. Please, Aegon, tell her… tell her he’s going to survive.”

Aegon swallows hard, trying to keep the tears at bay as he looks at you, seeing the hope in your eyes, fragile and desperate. “He’s strong,” he agrees, his voice trembling. “He’s a dragon. He’ll survive this.”

But even as he says the words, he knows that they are more for your sake than for his own. He knows the truth, as much as he hates it, as much as it tears at his very soul.

And then, as if in response to your pleas, Aeron’s breathing hitches, a faint, ragged sound that sends a jolt of hope through your heart. But Aegon sees the truth in the way his son’s eyes begin to flutter shut, the way his small body goes limp beneath your hands.

“No, no, stay with us, please…” you sob, your voice breaking completely as you try to shake him awake, as if you can keep him from slipping away just by sheer will alone.

Aegon pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him, his own tears falling freely now. “Y/N… he’s…”

But before he can finish, the maester arrives, pushing his way into the room with a satchel of supplies. He takes one look at Aeron and immediately sets to work, but Aegon can see it in his eyes—the resignation, the grim acceptance of what is to come.

Aegon watches as the maester tries to stem the bleeding, his hands moving quickly, efficiently, but it is clear that he is fighting a losing battle. You cling to Aegon, your tears soaking into his tunic as you watch, your breath catching in your throat every time Aeron’s breathing falters.

Minutes pass, each one stretching into an eternity, until finally, Orwyle pulls back, his face pale and drawn. He looks up at Aegon, then at you, and shakes his head, his expression filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he says quietly. “There’s… there’s nothing more I can do.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you cry out, your hands trembling as you reach for Aeron, as if you can somehow pull him back from the brink.

“No… no, please, no…” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you cradle your son’s head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair.

Aegon feels his heart shatter completely as he watches you, as he sees the light finally fade from Aeron’s eyes, his small body going still in your arms. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but hold you as you break down completely.

The days following the brutal attack on your family pass in a haze of grief and despair. The Red Keep is draped in a suffocating silence, its once lively halls now cold and empty, as though the life has been drained from its very walls. The horror of that night lingers in every corner, every shadow, a constant reminder of the blood that was spilled and the lives that were lost.

Your remaining children, Daena and Baelon, are kept under the strictest watch by the Kingsguard. No less than two knights are stationed outside their chambers at all times, and they are never left alone, not even for a moment. The memory of what happened to their brothers hangs over the nursery like a dark cloud, and every sound, every creak of the floorboards, sends a fresh wave of terror through the household.

But it is you, their mother, who is most affected. The grief has hollowed you out, leaving you a mere shadow of the woman you once were. You spend your days in a state of numbness, your heart shattered beyond repair. Nothing and no one can console you, not even Aegon, who tries desperately to reach you, to bring you back from the edge of the abyss into which you have fallen. But his attempts are in vain. You are inconsolable, broken beyond words.

Aegon himself is a man consumed by fury. The fire of his rage burns hotter with each passing day, fueled by the sheer injustice of what has happened. He holds a small council meeting in the dead of night, summoning only those he trusts��or at least, those whose loyalties he can control.

In the dimly lit council chamber, Aegon sits at the head of the table, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white. His eyes are bloodshot, his face drawn and pale from lack of sleep. The tension in the room is palpable, every man present feeling the weight of the King’s anger pressing down on them like a physical force.

Around the table sit Otto Hightower, his face a mask of stern concern; Ser Criston Cole, his expression grim and unyielding; Lord Larys Strong, who watches the proceedings with his usual calculating gaze; Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, his fingers tapping nervously on the table; Lord Tayland Lannister, the Master of Ships, who remains unusually quiet; and Grand Maester Orwyle, who sits with his hands folded, his eyes downcast.

Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, a low, seething growl that sends a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. “How did this happen?” he demands, his eyes blazing with fury as he looks from one man to the next. “How did two men infiltrate the heart of the Red Keep, murder my sons, and nearly take the life of my other children without anyone knowing? Where were the guards? Where was the protection I was promised?”

Otto is the first to speak, his voice calm but firm. “Your Grace, we are all grieved by this tragedy, but rest assured, we are investigating every possible lead. The guards who were on duty that night have been questioned, and those found negligent will be dealt with severely.”

“Dealt with severely?” Aegon echoes, his voice rising with incredulity. “My sons are dead, and you speak of discipline as if that can undo what has been done! This was not just negligence—this was treason, betrayal of the highest order!”

Ser Criston Cole, ever the loyal sword, speaks next, his tone as hard as steel. “Your Grace, the Kingsguard were stationed as ordered, but the enemy was cunning. They knew exactly where to strike, and when. We are searching for any who might have aided them from within the Keep.”

Aegon glares at him, his anger still simmering. “You should have been there, Ser Criston. You should have been protecting my family, as you swore to do.”

Criston bows his head, accepting the rebuke without argument. “I failed you, my king, and I will bear that burden until the day I die.”

Larys Strong, who has remained silent until now, leans forward slightly, his voice smooth and unhurried as he speaks. “Your Grace, the men who did this were not acting alone. This attack was meticulously planned, designed to strike at the heart of your family and weaken your claim. There is but one who stands to gain the most from such an act of terror.”

Aegon’s eyes narrow as he fixes his gaze on Larys. “Speak plainly, Lord Strong. Who do you accuse?”

Larys meets Aegon’s gaze without flinching, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her husband, Daemon. They are the ones behind this atrocity. They seek to undermine your rule, to sow chaos and discord within the realm, so that Rhaenyra might usurp your throne.”

Aegon’s breath hitches at the mention of his half-sister’s name. His hatred for her is no secret, but to hear that she might be responsible for the deaths of his sons sends a fresh wave of fury coursing through him. “You have proof of this?” he demands, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Larys inclines his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “The men who committed the murders—the butcher and the rat catcher—are known associates of Daemon Targaryen. They were hired by him to carry out this heinous act. The gold they were paid with was traced back to Rhaenyra’s supporters in King’s Landing. This was not just an act of violence—it was a message. Response to the death of Lucerys Velaryon by the hand of Prince Aemond.”

Aegon’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into the wood of the table. “A message? They dare to send me a message by murdering my sons? Two innocent boys?”

“Yes,” Larys replies, his voice as cold as ice. “They wish to show that you are vulnerable, that your rule can be challenged. They wish to provoke you into rash action, to draw you into a conflict that will weaken your position.”

“Rash action?” Aegon scoffs, his anger flaring anew. “They think they can provoke me? They think I will sit idly by while they murder my children?”

“Your Grace,” Otto interjects, his voice measured. “We must be careful. If we move too quickly, without proof, we risk turning the realm against us. Rhaenyra still has many supporters. We must gather our strength, consolidate our power, and then strike when the time is right.”

But Aegon is beyond reason, his grief and rage too great to be tempered by caution. “I will not wait!” he snarls, slamming his fist on the table. “They have taken from me what I hold most dear, and I will make them pay for it, tenfold! If Rhaenyra wants war, then war she shall have!”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, each man aware of the storm that is about to be unleashed. Aegon’s wrath is a dangerous thing, and they know that nothing they say will dissuade him from the course he has set.

Grand Maester Orwyle finally speaks, his voice soft but insistent. “Your Grace, the lives of your remaining children—Princess Daena and Prince Baelon—must be your foremost concern. They are the future of your house, and they must be protected at all costs.”

Aegon’s expression softens slightly at the mention of his children, the thought of them momentarily piercing through the fog of his anger. He knows that Orwyle is right, that the safety of Daena and Baelon is paramount. But even this knowledge cannot quell the burning desire for vengeance that has taken root in his heart.

“I will protect them,” he says, his voice hardening once more. “But I will not allow this attack to go unanswered. Rhaenyra and Daemon will know the price of crossing me.”

Otto inclines his head, understanding that there is no turning back now. “Then we must prepare for war, Your Grace. We must rally our banners, secure our allies, and strike swiftly and decisively.”

Aegon nods, his jaw set with determination. “Do it. Call the banners, prepare the dragons. We will bring fire and blood to those who dare to defy us.”

The council members rise from their seats, each man knowing that the decisions made this night will plunge the realm into chaos. As they leave the chamber, Aegon remains behind, staring at the bloodstained map of Westeros spread out before him. His thoughts drift to you, to the shattered look in your eyes, to the bodies of his sons lying cold in their graves.

He swears to himself, to the gods, and to the memory of his murdered children that he will not rest until Rhaenyra and Daemon are brought to justice. No matter the cost, no matter the blood that must be spilled, he will have his revenge.

And so, the storm begins to gather, the winds of war stirring in the darkness of the Red Keep.

[godsfavdarling]

Vampire in the corner

my masterlist

+18

pairing: Spencer Reid x vampire!fem!reader words: 3,3k summary: You pay a late-night visit to your human boyfriend. warnings: smut - unprotected vampire x human sex, biting, blood drinking, blood obviously, i don't know anything about chess, AND if I had a vampire gf i'd let her bite me. just saying, no y/n a/n: surprise! happy kinktober and halloween to all my spencer reid bitches! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND BOYFRIEND WIFE LOVER THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THE FATHER OF MY CHILDREN! this is everything you could have asked for - vampire gf, halloween, smut, chess, love, lust, sharp teeth, birthday spence (if you want to fight in the comments about his bday date pls do but I'm not fighting with anybody. I know my truth.) also this is 1000th post on my blog. happy 1000 posts to me! there's so much to celebrate omg!!!

The night draped itself around the room, thick and quiet, broken only by the deep, uneven breaths coming from Spencer as he lay on the leather couch. 

His face, usually so composed, was twisted in sleep, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.

You could hear the subtle hitch in his breathing, the rapid thrum of his pulse as it raced through his veins. The nightmare had its claws sunk deep into him, gripping and torturing him with no mercy. 

Your poor Spencer. 

If you could pull his nightmares into yourself, taking them into your mind just so he could get some rest, you would do it without a second thought.

Anything to grant him a night of peace. 

But you couldn’t. You were left watching.

The notion lingered in your mind, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had the pleasure of a dream—or a nightmare. The release of sleep had been lost to you long ago, and so, too, the comfort it offered. It was a need you no longer possessed. 

But if you could make it yours for just a night, you’d take his burden without question.

You clung to those thoughts, using them as a fragile distraction, but the pull was impossible to ignore. 

Your senses flared, every inch of you attuned to the sharp, tantalizing scent of his elevated heartbeat. 

It tugged at something deep and primal, stirring a hunger that made your fangs press against your gums, threatening to emerge. 

Your mouth felt heavy, a bead of saliva pooling as the instinct to feed sharpened with each beat of his pulse, loud and insistent.

The temptation to move closer—to soothe him and to taste the warm blood rushing just beneath his skin—scratched at the edges of your self-control. 

But you held back, swallowing hard, anchoring yourself to the cool corner of his apartment. 

Instead, you stayed there, simply watching, willing yourself to be his silent guardian rather than the predator your body begged you to be.

You’d gone away to feed, filling yourself as much as possible, hoping it would dull the ache that his presence always stirred in you. 

Yet, what was the use? You could have drained the whole neighborhood, and still, the warm, honeyed scent of him would seep into your senses, making your mouth water.

His breathing quickened, his brow glistening with sweat as the dream tightened its grip on him. You felt the tension coiling in your muscles, the craving gnawing at you, but you stayed rooted, waiting. 

You wouldn’t wake him. Not like this.

Suddenly, Spencer gasped, his eyes snapping open, wide, and clouded with fear. He bolted upright, his hands trembling as he rubbed at his eyes, lost in the remnants of the nightmare. 

He didn’t see you. 

He just sat there, breathing, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves. 

You felt a pang of doubt—maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe he didn’t want to see you tonight. But you needed to.

“Spence…” you said softly.

His head whipped toward the sound, eyes wide with surprise as they landed on you in the corner of the room, near the open window. The one he always left cracked just a bit, so you could slip in whenever you wanted.

“Hi. Sorry… have you been here long?” His voice was rough, edged with lingering panic. He blinked, processing your sudden appearance, and you could see a flicker of fear before something softer settled in as he took you in.

Stepping forward from the shadows, you softened your gaze, a faint smile curling at your lips. “Are you okay?”

Spencer rubbed his eyes, still trying to shake what was left of his nightmare, but the fear clung to him like a fog. 

His pulse had slowed, though not entirely back to normal. He glanced at you again, the dim light catching your eyes as you stepped closer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently, your voice low and soothing.

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a tight line. "No," he mumbled, his tone making it clear he didn’t want to revisit whatever had plagued his sleep.

You watched him for a moment, a soft sigh escaping your lips. "Um… Happy Halloween," you said, a playful note in your voice as you tried to shift the mood. "It’s past midnight, and… it’s your favorite holiday."

A small, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"And… happy belated birthday," you added, softer this time, your gaze dropping for a moment. "I’m sorry I wasn’t here."

He tilted his head slightly, curious but not pressing as you trailed off, leaving your apology unfinished. 

The truth was, it had been too sunny lately. Those bright days always left you weaker, and hungrier, and each one had chipped away at your control bit by bit. 

You hadn’t fed properly in days—it had been too risky to stay close to him, not with your hunger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to snap. You needed to leave, find solitude, and regain your balance before the temptation grew too strong to resist. 

To resist him.

"I had to go for a bit," you continued after a pause, your voice carrying a hint of something unspoken, "but I’m here now."

Spencer nodded a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Though you could sense his quiet curiosity, he didn't push for more. 

Instead, he glanced at you, his body slowly unwinding, the tension softening from his shoulders. 

“Thanks… for the birthday wishes,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “And for being here.” His gaze drifted to your hands, clasped behind your back, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Oh… this is for you,” you said, noticing his furrowed brows.

From behind your back, you pulled out a neatly wrapped package and handed it to him. “I got you something,” you added softly.

Spencer looked surprised, his brow lifting slightly as he took the gift from your hands. His fingers brushed the wrapping, hesitantly and carefully, before gently peeling it open. 

When he saw the chess set nestled inside, a genuine smile broke across his face, softening his features.

“A new set,” he murmured, clearly pleased. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

The pieces and board glistened under the dim light, beautifully crafted. One set of pieces was clear and entirely transparent, like glass, while the other was foggy, milky white—elegant and striking in their contrast, each piece glinting with a subtle shimmer.

You returned his smile, a flicker of warmth rising in your chest. “Do you want to play?” you asked gently, knowing it might help calm him after the nightmare.

His face lit up even more at the suggestion. “Absolutely! I’d love to!” he replied eagerly, his earlier tension melting away.

With a huge grin spreading across your face, you took the chess set from his hands and finished unwrapping it, satisfaction bubbling inside you as you realized your plan had worked. It wasn’t complicated; all you wanted was to see him tonight, for him to like the gift, and to share just one game. 

You didn’t ask for much, especially since you knew you were putting him in danger. He might not fully understand the risks, yet he still seemed to want to be with you for some reason.

Deep down, a twinge of guilt gnawed at you. It always did. Burden and comfort simultaneously—that’s what he was to you.

You felt so deeply for him, even as you knew it didn’t make sense. This couldn’t last—not with your world and his being so different.

If you were any smarter, you would have disappeared from his life long ago. But how could you? You understood each other so well, and the thought of letting that go felt unbearable. 

Not now, at least.

You knew you would have to leave and never come back someday, but for now, all you wanted was this game of chess.

Spencer rubbed his face with his hands, pushing his hair back in a familiar gesture. He was still dressed in his button-up shirt and suit pants, the remnants of a long day he must have had.

He settled onto the couch in front of the coffee table, and you took a seat on the opposite side, on the floor, keeping your distance, carefully moving a few books to make space for the chessboard. 

As you began to gracefully arrange the pieces, a mix of excitement and sorrow washed over you. You loved him and these moments so much, but they were fleeting, it would all be over soon.

Spencer watched you intently, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “You start,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

“Okay.” You quickly made your move, pushing a pawn forward with a sense of purpose.

“Opening with the pawns, huh?” he remarked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Gotta start somewhere,” you replied, leaning in slightly, feeling the familiar thrill of competition.

He took a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, with a graceful motion, he moved his knight.

You tilted your head, examining his choice. “Using your knight so soon?” you teased, fingers hovering over a piece. 

“Sometimes, it's good to make unexpected moves,” he replied, glancing up at you with that curious glint in his eye.

You smirked, nudging another pawn forward. “Oh, I’m unpredictable, too, don’t worry.”

The game stretched on until, finally, the inevitable checkmate descended. Spencer’s triumphant smile faded as he glanced from the board to you, sensing the end not just of the game.

You let out a soft sigh, letting the moment linger before standing. “Well, I should probably get going,” you murmured, already feeling the tug to stay just a little longer.

He met your gaze, a flicker of something in his eyes, “You don’t have to leave yet,” he said softly, almost as if hoping to halt time.

You stood up, feeling a mix of reluctance and responsibility. ”Spencer…”

He rose with you, his expression shifting from playful to earnest. 

He reached out, gently grasping your hand, his touch sending a warm shiver through you. “Can you stay a little longer? It’s still a long time until dawn.”

You hesitated, caught in the depths of his gaze. “I don’t know, Spence. It’s better if I—”

Before you could finish, he stepped closer, capturing your lips with his. 

You felt his warm lips on yours and then his tongue between your lips. Your own must feel so cold, you thought, pulling back instinctively.

“Sorry,” you murmured, unable to meet his gaze. 

You’d kissed before, but you still couldn’t shake the thought of how strange it must feel for him—your cool skin, so different from his warmth.

“What are you sorry for? I kissed you,” he replied, his voice soft but steady.

“I just… I must feel so cold, so unpleasant to touch.”

He persistently searched and held your gaze as he reached up, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re the most pleasant thing I’ve ever touched,” he said, sincerity lighting his eyes.

A soft laugh escaped you, and you looked away, feeling vulnerable under his intense eyes.

“I mean it,” he whispered, guiding your gaze back to him.

Before you could think of a reply, he kissed you again, his lips gentle but insistent, stealing away any protests that lingered on the edge of your mind. 

You knew you shouldn’t, that maybe you should pull away. 

But maybe just for a moment, you could allow him to make you feel good. Allow yourself to be held by him. Allow him to have you.

“Could we at least try? I trust you,” he murmured against your lips as he slowly guided you both toward the couch.

“You shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, even as he sat down and pulled you onto his lap.

“But I do,” he said, his voice filled with certainty. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body close against his chest, his lips trailing from your cheek down to your neck, kissing softly again and again.

His hands traveled up your back, slipping beneath your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin. 

You buried your hands in his hair and leaned your head against his. Careful though not to bring your face too close to his neck. You could still smell him very well, too well. 

You had to move away.

You dropped your head back, unable to stifle the moan that escaped you as his lips found the other side of your throat, leaving slow, heated kisses, each one like a spark against your cool skin. 

You could smell him—his blood coursing just beneath the surface, its pulse throbbing under your palms. You could practically feel it moving through his veins.

You closed your eyes, reminding yourself you didn’t have to breathe. 

You could handle this, you told yourself. You would handle this if it meant giving him what he needed. 

You’d give him anything.

With determination equal to the tide returning to shore, you stopped your breathing and brought your hands to his face, kissing him deeply. 

Your lips met his again and again, his summer-warm mouth against your winter-cold one. His rosy pink, blushing skin contrasted with your own.

His hands moved up to cup your breast, fingers gentle yet firm, and you gasped into his mouth, a new surge of desire spiraling through you. 

You dreamt about this. 

You needed this—sometimes, it felt like you needed him even more than blood itself. Nights were spent wanting him, aching for what you knew could never, and should never, happen.

Every time his warm hands found yours, your dead heart seemed to beat again, pulsing with something that should be forgotten. 

For these past few months, that desire had coiled tighter within you, growing.

And it felt like the same was true for him, both of you caught in a spiral of longing—desperate, demanding, on the verge of breaking.

His fingers continued exploring beneath your shirt, his touch warm and insistent, and you let yourself lean into it, your hands slipping down to the buttons of his dress shirt. 

One by one, you undid them, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling his heartbeat unsteady and strong beneath your touch.

Spencer’s hands left your back briefly to help you, sliding the shirt from his shoulders and tossing it aside before his hands found you again, this time tugging your shirt up over your head. 

He took in the sight of you, his gaze trailing over every inch as his hands followed, gentle but reverent. 

His lips found your shoulder, pressing kisses down along your collarbone, igniting shivers you have not felt in years.

You let your fingers drift to his belt, undoing it slowly, deliberately, as his hands roamed up your sides, tracing over every curve, sending your dead pulse racing. 

He leaned back slightly, watching you, his breath a little unsteady as he helped slide the belt free. 

The pull between you both was intense and undeniable, and you wanted him more than words could say.

You stood up, slipping out of the last of your clothes and letting them fall to the floor, baring yourself completely before him. 

Spencer’s gaze traveled slowly over your body, studying every inch with quiet admiration. 

His eyes softened and his voice was almost a whisper as he said, “You’re beautiful… so incredibly beautiful.”

A thrill ran through you at his words, and you returned to him, straddling his lap again, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. 

His breathing quickened as you reached between you both, freeing him from his pants. 

His cock, hard and ready, brushed against you, and you guided him to your entrance, sinking onto him slowly, already wet and done. 

His head fell back, a deep groan escaping him, and you began to move, setting a rhythm that made both of you shudder with each slow, intense movement.

As you rode him, lost in the rhythm and warmth of his body, you found yourself leaning in, your lips grazing the curve of his neck. 

Just one inhale.

Just one. 

Unintentional but all-consuming.

The rush of his scent, his blood beneath the surface, hit you like a shock. 

You pushed against his chest, pushing him back just enough to keep the warmth of his heart at arm’s length, your palm firm against his skin to hold him there as you continued moving, keeping that tantalizing closeness but staying just far enough away.

He looked at you, a flicker of confusion, and then something darker, more intense. “Bite me,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you kept riding him, a playful deflection. 

But his hand came up, covering yours against his chest, his gaze steady. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his voice low and certain—an invitation and a plea.

“It’s my birthday,” he added softly, almost as if admitting it to himself.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not anymore,” you murmured.

“Please,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, the weight of his plea stirring something deep within you. 

His words sent a thrill through you, and though you kept your rhythm steady, you couldn’t deny the pull of his request, the way it made your dead heart somehow pound.

“What if I can’t stop?” you asked, the question trembling on your lips.

He met your gaze, unwavering. “I don’t care. And I trust you. I know you’ll stop,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity, a quiet confidence. 

You could see it in his eyes—how serious he was, how much he wanted this. 

The hunger you felt mingled with a deep longing, and you took a deep breath just to taste him again on your tongue. 

Just his smell - so intense, so delicious. 

It filled your senses, intoxicating and overwhelming. 

Just one bite, you thought. 

Just one gulp from his beautiful neck.

Just one. He offered. 

How could you say no? 

Just one.

You leaned in, tilting your head to the side of his throat, your lips brushing against his warm skin. 

The world around you faded, leaving only the thundering of his heart and the fast pulse beneath your lips. 

You could taste him already, your senses heightened as you studied the soft skin of his neck, your fingers grazing it gently. 

His hair fell across it gracefully, and you tucked the strands behind his ear with one hand, tilting his head slightly to expose more of his throat with the other

You leaned in closer, your fangs barely grazing his skin, lingering there as a silent promise. 

You could stop. 

You would stop.

You could feel his breath hitch as you bit down gently at first, savoring the moment, but soon sank your teeth in deeper, taking two swift gulps. 

The metallic richness flooded your mouth, a heady mix of sweetness and warmth that sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire dead being. 

You pulled away, blood glistening on your lips and covering his skin.

He kept staring at you, but your eyes were fixed on the red streaming slowly down his neck, covering the small punctures you’d left in the perfect spot. 

His blood still lingered in your mouth, and you savored it, licking your lips and teeth, gathering every last bit before swallowing.

A low, involuntary moan escaped as the taste stayed on your tongue, the richness of him filling you in more ways than one.

Without thinking, you leaned down, your lips tracing his chest, shoulder, and neck as you licked the blood from his skin, savoring every last drop of him.

[natsaffection]

Wait and Hope. Pt 3 | N.R

Warnings: Hospital stay, coma, broken hearts, Wasting food

Word count: 10,9k

A/n: Aaand here us the final part! Thank you again Anon for this great Idea. 🩵

Natasha leaned against the wall, her knees threatening to give way as the adrenaline that had kept her going slowly began to fade. She knew she had to stay strong, had to pull herself together. For you, for the kids, but as she watched the doctors, the terrible reality of the situation fully dawned on her. The words of her children echoed in her mind, Lilas angry question, Jacob’s heartbreaking plea, Mia’s frightened sobbing. How was she ever going to explain this? How could she make them understand that you might not wake up, that the woman who had fought so hard to be their mother might be taken from them before they had truly let you into their lives?

Natasha closed her eyes, resting her head against the cold, sterile wall, and whispered a silent prayer, a prayer that you would fight, that you would survive, that you would come back to them. Because the alternative was too horrific to contemplate. The waiting was unbearable. Every time the door to the infirmary opened, Natasha’s heart jumped into her throat, only to be shattered again when it was just another nurse or passing doctor. She couldn’t sit still, couldn’t find any semblance of calm in the storm of emotions raging inside her. Fear, guilt, anger..all swirled together, threatening to overwhelm her.

The sterile smell of disinfectant in the air only intensified her fear, mixing with the metallic scent of blood that still clung to her hands, no matter how many times she scrubbed them. Your blood. She could still feel its warmth, still see how it had soaked your clothes, staining them a deep, merciless red. Her mind replayed the moment over and over when you threw yourself in front of the bullets, how you had crumpled to the ground, your eyes wide with shock and pain. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the image away, but it was burned into her memory, a nightmare that wouldn’t let go.

“Why did you do it?” she whispered into the empty hallway, her voice heavy with unshed tears. But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. You did it because you loved her. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of a world without Natasha. For the same reason Natasha had so often pushed herself to the limit in the past, risking everything to protect the people she loved. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. On the contrary, it only made the guilt worse.

She couldn’t stop the memories that flooded her mind. Memories of you, so vivid and real that it felt like you were right beside her. She remembered the first time they met, how your smile had lit up the room and disarmed Natasha in a way she hadn’t thought possible. Back then, she had been so closed off, so determined to keep everyone at a distance. But you had broken through all of that, your warmth and kindness slipping through her defenses like water through a crack in a dam.

Then there were all those countless moments of quiet joy they had shared. The lazy Sunday mornings spent together in bed, the sound of your laughter filling the air as they chased the kids around the park, the gentle, stolen kisses in the early hours before the world woke up. You had given Natasha a life she never thought she could have, a family she never believed she deserved.

But now, all of that hung by a thread. A thin, fragile thread that could snap at any moment.

Steve stood nearby, his presence a silent offer of support, but Natasha couldn’t look at him. She knew what he would say words of comfort, reassurances that you would pull through, but she didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t bear the empty phrases, not when every second felt like a countdown to disaster. “Natasha-” Steve began quietly, his voice filled with concern.

“Don’t.” Natasha snapped, her voice sharp, barely able to keep her emotions in check. “Just..don’t.” Steve fell silent, his brow furrowing in worry, but he respected her need for space. He watched as she resumed her frantic pacing, unable to do more than be there for her. He knew Natasha was spiraling, but there was nothing he could say to pull her out of it.

Every time Natasha thought about what had happened, the guilt nearly consumed her. You had taken those bullets for her. And why? Because you believed-no, you *knew* that the kids needed Natasha more. That they loved Natasha more. That was the brutal truth she could no longer avoid. You had felt like you were losing the children, that they preferred Natasha, and that’s why you did it. The memory of your voice, so weak and filled with pain, echoed in Natasha’s head. “Im so proud of you.”

Those words had been like a knife in Natasha’s heart, cutting deeper with every breath. She had known, in some way, that you had been feeling distant from the kids lately. But she had never realized just how much that distance weighed on you, how much it had pushed you to the edge. You had sacrificed yourself because you thought it was the only way to keep the family together, the only way to make sure the kids wouldn’t grow up without the parent they loved most. And that thought..the knowledge that you felt that way, that you believed Natasha was the better, more needed parent was enough to make Natasha’s breath catch, her heart pounding with guilt and fear.

“What am I supposed to tell them?” Natasha whispered, her voice trembling as she finally stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor. She buried her face in her hands, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free. Steve knelt beside her, his hand hovering near her shoulder, not quite touching. “They love you, Natasha.” he said softly. “They’re kids. They don’t understand-”

“They understand more than you think.” Natasha interrupted, her voice bitter and filled with pain. “They’ve made it clear who they love more. They hardly listen to [Your Name] anymore. They push her away. And now..now she’s the one lying there, fighting for her life because she thought they didn’t need her.” Steve hesitated, then finally rested his hand on Natasha’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’re scared, Nat. They’re kids. They don’t know how to deal with everything that’s happened, and sometimes..sometimes kids take out their anger on the people they love because they don’t know how to handle those feelings.”

Natasha shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she looked up at Steve, her eyes filled with despair. “But what if it’s too late? What if she never hears them say they love her again? What if..what if she-?" The thought was too much for her, and Natasha crumbled, sobbing into her hands as the weight of everything came crashing down on her. You had been so brave, so selfless, and now you were lying on that operating table, your life hanging in the balance, all because you believed you weren’t enough for the family you loved so much.

“I should have done more..” Natasha choked out, her voice breaking between sobs. “I should have made sure she knew how much she meant to me, how much she meant to all of us. I should have..I should have seen how much she was hurting.”

Steve pulled her into a gentle embrace, his strong arms wrapping around her as she cried. “It’s not your fault, Nat." he whispered, even though he knew his words wouldn’t take away her guilt. “Y/n knows how much you love her. She knows how much you need her. That’s why she fought so hard. And that’s why she’ll keep fighting.” But Natasha couldn’t shake the sense of doom that had settled in her chest. She clung to Steve, her sobs slowly subsiding into quiet, painful breaths as she tried to find some strength in his words.

After what felt like an eternity, the door to the infirmary finally opened, and Natasha held her breath. Dr. Cho stepped out, her expression exhausted and serious, her scrubs stained with your blood, a sight that sent a fresh wave of nausea through Natasha. “Hey.” she began softly, gently, as if she feared the wrong tone might shatter Natasha completely.

Natasha pulled away from Steve, got to her feet on trembling legs, and faced Cho, her heart pounding so hard she feared it might burst from her chest. “How is she?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. Dr. Cho sighed, her face reflecting the gravity of the situation. “We were able to remove the bullets and stop the bleeding. But she’s in a coma. Her condition is critical, and we don’t know how long it will be before she wakes up- if she wakes up.”

Natasha felt as if the ground had opened up beneath her. She swayed slightly, her vision blurred as Cho’s words echoed in her mind. “Coma.” The word felt like a death sentence, a slow, agonizing torture she didn’t know if she could survive. “But she’s alive?” Natasha asked, her voice trembling as she clung to the smallest spark of hope. Cho nodded. “Yes, she’s alive. But she’s not stable. It’s a delicate balance, and all we can do now is wait and hope.”

"Wait and hope." The words felt like a cruel joke. Natasha had always been a woman of action, someone who did everything in her power to protect the people she loved. But now, she could do nothing but stand here helpless, while you fought for your life in that cold, sterile room. Steve placed a hand on Natasha's shoulder again, but she pulled away, shaking her head. "I need to see her." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I need to be with her."

Cho nodded, her understanding evident in her tone. "You can see her, but be prepared..she's hooked up to several machines and won't be able to respond." Natasha didn't care. She just needed to be near you, to hold your hand and tell you that you weren't alone, that you were loved, even if you couldn't hear it. Dr. Cho led Natasha into the infirmary, where the steady beeping of monitors and the soft hum of machines filled the air. Natasha's heart broke all over again when she saw you lying there, so still and fragile, your skin pale and lifeless against the stark white sheets.

Slowly, she approached the bed, her legs feeling as if they might give way at any moment. The sight of you, connected to so many machines, was almost unbearable. Natasha had always known you were strong, stronger than you ever gave yourself credit for, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable, tore her heart into a thousand pieces. Gently, she took your hand in hers, feeling the coolness of your skin, the slight tremor running through her own fingers as she held on to you. "I'm here, Y/n.." she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm right here. Please..please come back to me. The kids..they need you. I need you."

But there was no response, just the steady beeping of the heart monitor, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as the ventilator did its work. Natasha sat down on the chair beside the bed, her eyes never leaving your face as she whispered words of love and hope, praying with every fiber of her being that you could hear her, that you would wake up, that they would have another chance to make things right.

The days after your surgery blurred together in a haze of fear and waiting. You remained in a coma, your condition stable but unchanged, and the uncertainty slowly gnawed at Natasha. She spent every possible moment by your side, clutching your still-cool fingers, whispering words of love and encouragement, begging you to wake up. Every day, Natasha brought the kids to see you, a routine that had become her way of coping with the uncertainty. Lila, Jacob, and Mia each dealt with it in their own way, but Natasha knew that being near you, even if you couldn't respond, was helping them process their feelings.

Today was no exception. As they entered the quiet room where you lay, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound, Natasha felt that familiar tug in her chest. She led the children to your bedside, her eyes never leaving your pale, peaceful face. Jacob, who had been standing silently beside Lila, stepped closer, his face twisted with worry. He hesitated for a moment, then placed his small hand on yours, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Please wake up, Y/n.." he whispered. "I..I don't want you to be hurt any longer. We all want you to come home."

Mia, who was clutching a piece of paper in her little hands, stepped forward next. She had been drawing pictures for you every day, leaving them on the nightstand beside your bed, as if they could somehow help you heal. Today, Mia had drawn a picture of her family, a simple, colorful drawing of five stick figures holding hands, with a big, bright sun overhead. Natasha, you, Lila, Jacob, and Mia were all there, smiling and happy. "Look, I made this for you." Mia said softly, her voice full of hope. She carefully placed the picture on the bed next to you. "This is us. See?" Natasha's heart swelled with emotion as she watched Mia interact with you. Mia had been distant for so long, hesitant to build a connection with you the way she had with Natasha. But here she was, so small and innocent, offering you her love and support in the best way she knew how.

As Mia stepped back, Natasha noticed something on the picture that took her breath away. Above the stick figure representing you, in Mia's careful, childlike handwriting, were the words "Mama." "Mia.." Natasha whispered, her voice trembling as she knelt down to her daughter. "Did you write 'Mama' on your picture?"

Mia nodded, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and uncertainty. "Yes.." she said softly. "She's my mama too, right?" Tears welled up in Natasha's eyes, and she pulled Mia into a tight hug, her heart aching with love for her daughter and the woman who had fought so hard to become part of their family. "Yes, she is." Natasha whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "She's your mama too, and she loves you very much. I know she'll be so happy when she sees your picture."

Mia sniffled, nodding as she hugged Natasha back. "I hope it helps her wake up.." she murmured. "Come on.." Natasha said gently, guiding them softly toward the door. "It's time for Mama to rest." As they left the room, Natasha cast one last glance at you, lying peacefully in the hospital bed, Mia's drawing still beside you. The sight of the lovingly written word "Mama" filled Natasha with renewed hope.

In the following days, Lila was constantly drawn to the hospital room. She sat in the corner, watching your motionless form, as your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. At first, Lila kept her distance, arms crossed, her face set in a mask of indifference. But inside, her emotions were a storm, battling between fear and guilt.

One evening, after another long day of waiting and worrying, Lila couldn't take it anymore. She found Natasha in the hallway, looking more exhausted and broken than ever before. Lila's chest tightened as she saw Natasha run a hand through her hair, her usually sharp eyes dulled with sorrow. Lila approached her slowly, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I need to know what happened." she said, her words filled with a desperate need for answers. "You're here every day, and I see you suffering. But I need to know why. What happened that day? What really happened to Y/n?"

Natasha looked at Lila, her heart aching at the pain in her daughter's eyes. She had tried to shield Lila from the full truth, wanting to protect her from the horrors of that day. But she could see that Lila needed to know, that not knowing was eating her up inside. Natasha took a deep breath, nodded, and led Lila to a quiet corner of the hospital where they could talk undisturbed. She didn't know how to start, how to put into words the events that had shaken their lives.

"It was like any other mission..." Natasha began, her voice trembling slightly. "We knew it was dangerous, but we had no choice. Things went wrong from the start, and by the time we realized it, it was too late. We were ambushed, and I..." Natasha paused, her throat tightening as she remembered the moment that haunted her every waking thought. "An agent aimed his gun at me, and I couldn't move..."

Lila watched Natasha closely, her heart pounding as she listened. The image of her mother, the strong and fearless Natasha Romanoff, cornered and helpless. Natasha continued, her voice breaking. "But Y/n..she saw what was happening. She didn't hesitate. She jumped in front of me and took the bullets. She..she saved my life." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the truth. Lila felt the ground shift beneath her as the full impact of what Natasha had said hit her. Y/n had nearly died because she chose to protect Natasha. The realization was like a hammer blow to her heart. "She did that..for you?" Lila whispered, her voice barely audible. "But..but why?"

"Because she loves us." Natasha replied, her voice trembling with emotion. "Because she wanted to protect me, to protect all of us. She wasn't thinking about herself, only about keeping us safe." Lila's eyes filled with tears as she looked away, unable to meet Natasha's gaze. "It's my fault." she choked out, her voice shaking with guilt. "If I..if I had made her feel like she belonged, maybe she wouldn't have felt like she had to prove herself. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten hurt, maybe.."

"Lila, no." Natasha said quickly, reaching out to her. But Lila pulled away, her emotions boiling over. "It's my fault!" Lila cried, her voice rising with the pain she felt. "I made her feel like an outsider! I pushed her away, and now..now she's lying in that bed because of me!" Natasha's heart broke at the sight of Lila's pain, but before she could say anything, Lila turned and ran, tears streaming down her face. Natasha called after her, but Lila didn't stop. She couldn't bear it, couldn't face the reality of what had happened, of what she believed she had caused. Lila ran until her legs gave out and collapsed in a secluded area of the hospital, her body shaking with sobs. She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying into her hands, overwhelmed by the crushing weight of her guilt. All she could think about was how she had pushed you away, how she had refused to let you in, and yet you had sacrificed everything to protect your family..

The next evening, Natasha lay on the small, uncomfortable couch pushed into a corner of the room, her eyes closed, though sleep continued to elude her as usual. Ever since you had been brought here, she had refused to leave your side, sleeping only in short, restless intervals on that couch, always ready to be there if you showed even the smallest sign of waking.

Earlier in the day, Mia had brought you another of her drawings, proudly showing off the colorful picture with "Mama" carefully written above the stick figure representing you. It was a moment of bittersweet hope, one that filled Natasha with a mix of pride and sadness. She had kissed her children goodnight and watched them leave with Maria. Maria had also informed Natasha that Lila was safely in her room and not coming out. As the hours passed, Natasha’s thoughts swirled in a fog of memories and what-ifs. She tried to focus on the rhythm of your breathing, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and hoped it was a sign that you were fighting your way back. But despite her exhaustion, her mind refused to rest, her thoughts repeatedly returning to the same fear. That you might never wake up.

Then, in the silence, Natasha’s finely tuned instincts picked up the faint sound of the door opening. Her eyes snapped open, her body tensing automatically, but she didn’t move. She recognized the sound of those steps, the cautious way they moved across the floor.

Lila.

Natasha forced herself to stay still, to keep her breathing steady, and pretended to sleep as she listened to her Daughter sneak into the room. Lila moved quietly to your bedside, and Natasha heard the soft scrape of a chair being pulled closer to the bed. There was a long pause, and Natasha could almost feel the weight of Lilas emotions filling the room. She kept her eyes closed, her heart clenching as she realized what this moment meant for you both.

“I don’t understand you..” Lila whispered, her voice breaking the silence. She wasn’t sure if you could even hear her, but she had to say it, had to let the words out. “Why did you do it? You barely know us, and I was nothing but a burden.”

She felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes but blinked them away. “I don’t understand why I matter to you so much.” she continued, her voice trembling. “You keep trying, even when I push you away. You don’t give up on me, even when I’ve been awful to you.” Lila’s voice caught in her throat. “I’m s-sorry..” Then the tears came, hot and fast, and Lila didn’t try to hold them back. She had kept everything bottled up for so long, afraid to let it out, but now she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I’m so sorry I pushed you away..” Lila went on, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I was scared, scared that you’d leave if I let you in, just like everyone else. But I was wrong. You didn’t leave. You stayed, even when I was awful, even when I didn’t deserve it.” Natasha bit her lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She knew how hard you had fought to build a connection with Lila, how much it hurt you that she kept you at a distance.

“I was so stupid..” Lila admitted, her voice shaking. “I wouldn’t let myself love you because I was too scared.” She angrily wiped away the tears, frustrated with herself. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for being so difficult, for not letting you in. I..I just didn’t know how. But I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to lose you.” Lila took a trembling breath, her hands shaking as she reached for your hand. It was warm but limp in her grasp, a reminder of how fragile life is. She gently squeezed it as if willing you to wake up, to respond, to give her a sign that you were still there.

“Please, Mama..” Lila whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it. It felt strange on her tongue, but also right, as if it had been waiting to be spoken. “I’m so scared of losing you before I ever really showed you.”

There was a long pause, the room filled with the weight of her confession. Natasha’s heart ached for both of you, for you, who had fought so hard to be accepted, and for Lila, who was finally realizing how much you meant to her. And now, hearing her call you “Mama” for the first time, knowing how much it would have meant to you if you could hear it, was almost too much to bear. “You were always my Mama..” Lila whispered, her voice breaking. “I just didn’t know how to say it. I love you, and I need you to wake up. Please, Mama..please wake up. Mom, Mia, Jacob..and I..we need you here.”

For a moment, there was only silence, and then..something changed. A gentle, almost imperceptible movement. Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching as she heard a faint rustling from the bed. Lila must have noticed it too because she fell silent, her breath hitching as she looked down at you. “M-Mama?” she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of hope and fear.

Natasha’s eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as she saw it..your hand, the fingers twitching slightly. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was enough. Natasha was on her feet in an instant, crossing the room in a fraction of a second. “Lila, stay with her.” Natasha ordered, her voice tense with emotion as she reached for the call button to summon the doctor. “I’ll get Helen.” Lilas eyes were wide, her hand still holding yours, her grip tightening as she saw your eyelids flutter. “Mom..is she..?”

“She’s waking up, Lila." Natasha whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief. “She’s waking up.” Before she could say more, the door to the room flew open, and Cho rushed in, her face a mixture of professional calm and urgency. Natasha stepped back to give Cho space, but she stayed close, her heart hammering in her chest. Cho leaned over you, her hands moving with practiced precision as she checked your vitals, her eyes fixed on your face. “Y/n, can you hear me? If you can hear me, try to open your eyes.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Natasha felt her heart clench with fear. But then, slowly, painfully, your eyelids fluttered again, this time with more intent. Your fingers twitched in Lilas hand, and she gasped, her eyes wide with shock and hope. “Mama?” Lila whispered again, her voice trembling.

Your eyes opened just a sliver, your gaze unfocused, but you were trying, trying to come back to them. Natasha felt tears streaming down her face, and she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to miss a single moment of this miracle. Dr. Cho smiled softly, a look of relief spreading across her face. “That’s it, Y/n.” she encouraged. “Keep your eyes open. You’re doing great.”

Your eyes slowly began to focus, your gaze searching the room until it landed on your Daughters face, who was looking down at you with a mix of awe and love. “Hey, Mama..” Lila repeated, her voice breaking as she gently squeezed your hand. “I’m here. We’re all here.”

Your lips parted, and although no sound came out at first, the effort was clear. Natasha watched with bated breath as your gaze finally met Lilas, recognition flickering in your tired but living eyes.. “Lila.." your voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse from the long silence, but it was the most beautiful sound Natasha had ever heard. Lilas face crumpled with emotion, and she leaned down, gently pressing her forehead against yours. “You’re back. ” She whispered, her tears finally breaking free. “I’m so sorry..I love you so much..”

Natasha covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to hold back the sobs of relief and joy that threatened to overwhelm her. She had waited so long for this moment, had prayed for it, and now that it was finally here, it felt almost too good to be true. Your hand moved weakly in Lilas grasp, your gaze shifting to Natasha, who was looking down at you with love and gratitude despite your exhaustion. “Hey..” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Natasha stepped forward, her legs trembling as she reached for your other hand. “I’m here.” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. “We’re all here, Y/n. We’re all here, and we’re not going anywhere.” Dr. Cho smiled gently at the sight and stepped back to give the family a moment. “She’s still very weak. She warned gently, "but this is a very good sign. We need to monitor her closely, but it looks like she's going to recover."

Natasha nodded, tears streaming down her face as she held your hand, gently stroking your knuckles. "Thank you." she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she was thanking Dr. Cho, the universe, or you. All that mattered was that you were here, that you had come back to them. Lila stayed close to you, her hand never leaving yours as she leaned in, his her soft and full of emotion. "We missed you. We need you." Your eyes fluttered shut again, your energy spent, but the small smile on your lips told Natasha everything she needed to know. You were going to get better. They were all going to get better.

The morning light gently filtered through the blinds of the hospital room, casting a warm glow over your bed. Natasha sat beside you, holding your hand gently, her eyes still red from the tears of relief she had shed the night before. You were awake, and although you were still weak, you had finally come back to them. It was a miracle Natasha had prayed for, and she couldn’t suppress the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that filled her heart every time she looked at your face.

You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you squeezed Natasha’s hand. "Morning.." you murmured, your voice still hoarse from the long silence. "Morning." Natasha replied, in an instant. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired.." you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips. "But better..especially because you’re here." Natasha leaned forward and gently kissed your forehead. "I’m not going anywhere." she promised. "The kids will be here soon. They’ve been so worried about you."

As if on cue, the door to the room opened, and the sound of small, excited footsteps filled the room. Mia was the first to burst into the room, her face lighting up when she saw you awake and sitting slightly upright in the bed. "Mama!!" Mia called out, running to the bed with outstretched arms. Before Natasha could stop her, Mia jumped onto the bed, her small body enthusiastically bumping against yours.

You groaned softly in pain, your body still tender and weak from the injuries you had sustained. Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly moved to intervene. "Mia, sweetheart, be gentle.." Natasha said softly but firmly, pulling Mia back a little. "Mama is still very sore, okay?" Mia’s eyes widened with concern as she looked at you. "I’m sorry!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with worry. "I didn’t mean to hurt you!" You managed a weak smile and gently ran your fingers through Mia’s curly hair. "It’s okay, darling.." you whispered, your voice soft but full of love. "I’m just so happy to see you."

By then, Lila and Jacob had also entered the room, their faces glowing with relief as they saw you awake and smiling, even though you still looked a little pale. Lila, trying to be the responsible big Sister, held Jacob’s hand as they carefully approached the bed. "Hey, Ma," Lila said, her voice calm but full of emotion. "We missed you." Jacob nodded, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Yes, Mama.." he echoed, his voice trembling slightly. "We’re so glad you’re awake."

Your heart swelled as you looked at your children, their faces full of love and relief. Hearing them all call you "Mama" was like balm for your soul, healing wounds you had carried in your heart for so long. Mia, eager to show you everything she had worked on, pulled out the stack of drawings she had brought with her. "Mama, I made so many pictures for you while you were sleeping!" she said excitedly, holding them out to you. "Look! This one shows all of us together!"

You smiled warmly, taking the drawings from Mia’s small hands. You began flipping through them, admiring each one and listening as Mia explained the different scenes she had drawn. Each picture was a colorful explosion of love and innocence, capturing the world as Mia saw it. But then your hand paused as you reached a particular drawing, a simple picture of your family, all five of you standing together and smiling. Above the stick figure representing you, in Mia’s careful, childlike handwriting, was the word "Mama."

Your breath caught, your eyes filling with tears as you traced the letters with your finger. It was the first time Mia had called you "Mama" in any form, and seeing it now, so lovingly written in a drawing made just for you, filled you with a deep sense of belonging. "Mia.." you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "You..you called me Mama."

Mia nodded eagerly, her face beaming with pride. "Yes! Because you are my Mama!" she said, her voice full of conviction. You felt your heart swell, tears streaming down your face as you gently pulled Mia into a soft, careful hug. "Thank you, sweetheart." you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "It means the world to me." Natasha, who stood nearby, felt her own tears rising as she watched the scene. It was everything she had wished for, everything you had deserved for so long. Your family was coming together in a way that felt right, in a way that was healing not just you but everyone.

As you continued to flip through the drawings, Mia carefully climbed onto the bed next to you, this time making sure not to jostle you too much. "I’m going to draw you even more pictures.." Mia promised, her eyes shining with love. "I’ll draw as many as you want!" You smiled, your heart filled with love and gratitude. "I can’t wait to see them, darling." you said softly, kissing Mia gently on the head. Lila and Jacob moved closer, both leaning in carefully to give you a gentle hug. "We’re so glad you’re okay." Lila said, her voice quiet and sincere. "We missed you."

"I missed you too." you replied, your voice full of warmth as you looked at each of your children in turn. "I’m so proud of all of you. You were so brave, and I love you more than you’ll ever know." Natasha stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes filled with love and pride. "We’re all so proud of yo.," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "You fought so hard to come back to us, and now..now we’re finally together."

You looked up at Natasha, your eyes brimming with tears of joy. "I couldn’t have done it without you." you whispered back. "Without all of you." The gentle hum of the medical equipment provided a soothing background as the children reluctantly left the hospital room, guided by Maria. They had spent the morning showering you with affection, and now it was time for Dr. Cho to conduct a routine examination. Natasha watched them go, a small smile on her lips as Mia blew you a kiss from the doorway.

When the door closed softly behind them, the room felt a bit emptier, though the warmth of the morning’s visit still lingered. Dr. Cho entered the room with her usual professional demeanor, her presence a calming anchor amid the emotional turmoil of the past days. “How are we doing today?” Dr. Cho asked kindly as she approached the bed.

“We’re doing good.” you replied with a grin, though your voice was still a bit weak. “I’ve got my whole team here taking care of me.” Dr. Cho smiled as she began her examination, checking vital signs and gently inspecting the wounds. Natasha stood nearby, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on you with a mixture of love and lingering concern in her eyes.

As Dr. Cho carefully removed the bandages to examine the healing wounds, you winced slightly in pain but forced a smile to lighten the mood. “You know, I was thinking..these scars are going to be pretty impressive trophies. I’ll be able to tell the kids I fought off an entire army of Hydra agents.” Dr. Cho chuckled softly as she continued her work. “Well, you certainly earned those scars. But let’s focus on getting you fully healed before you start collecting trophies, okay?”

You grinned, but the playful expression on your face didn’t reach Natasha, who was staring at the wounds, reliving the moment the bullets hit. She could still hear the sound of the shots, feel the panic as you collapsed, blood soaking through your clothes. The memories overwhelmed her. Your body hitting the ground, Natasha’s desperate screams for help, the overwhelming fear of losing you forever. Her breath hitched, and she had to force herself to stay in the present, to remember that you were here, alive, and on the road to recovery.

Sensing the sudden change in Natasha’s demeanor, you looked at her with concern. “Hey, Nat..” you said softly, your voice cutting through Natasha’s spiraling thoughts. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Natasha blinked, returning to the present, and quickly forced a smile, though her eyes were still shadowed by the memories. “I know.” she whispered, trying to sound reassuring, but she couldn’t hide the strain in her expression.

Dr. Cho finished her examination and gently re-bandaged the wounds. “The wounds are healing well.” she said, looking up at Natasha with a comforting smile. “She’s making good progress, but she still needs plenty of rest.”

“Thank you, Helen.” you said, giving a thumbs up, though your attention remained on Natasha. You could sense that something was wrong, that Natasha was holding something back, trying to stay strong. After Dr. Cho left, you looked at Natasha with a knowing gaze. “Come here..” you said softly, patting the spot next to you on the bed. “Lie down with me.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded, unable to resist your gentle urging. She carefully climbed onto the bed, mindful of your injuries, and settled beside you. You shifted slightly, grimacing in pain, but you wrapped an arm around Natasha and pulled her close. Natasha let out a shaky breath, the warmth of your body grounding her in the present. She pressed her forehead against your shoulder and allowed herself to relax for the first time in days.

You gently stroked Natasha’s hair, your touch soothing. “Tell me..” you whispered. “What’s going on in your mind?” Natasha closed her eyes, taking in your familiar scent, the feel of your heartbeat against her own. “I..I keep seeing it..” she confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I see you getting hit, hear the shots..I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you.”

Your heart ached at the pain in Natasha’s voice. You held her tighter, your thumb tracing calming circles on her back. “But you didn’t lose me.” you said softly. “I’m here, Nat. I’m right here with you.”

“I know..” Natasha murmured, her voice trembling. “But it’s hard to let go of that. Every time I see those wounds, I can’t stop thinking about how close I was to losing you.” You sighed quietly, understanding the weight of those memories. “You were there for me when I needed you most, Nat. You got me to safety, you made sure I got here, and now I’m healing because of you. We’re going to get through this, okay?”

Natasha nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek as she buried her face in your shoulder. “I was so scared.” she whispered again, the confession coming from a place of deep vulnerability. “But I’m so grateful you’re here.” You kissed the top of Natasha’s head gently, your voice filled with love. “I’m grateful too. And I’m so proud of you, Nat. You were so strong for me, for the kids..I don’t know how I would have done it without you.”

You lay there in silence for a while, holding each other close, finding comfort in the nearness of the other. The trauma of the past days was still there, but in each other’s arms, you both found a sense of peace. After a few minutes, you spoke again, your voice gentle but curious. “How are the kids handling everything? I know they’ve visited me, but..how are they really doing?”

Natasha smiled softly, lifting her head to look at you. “They’re doing okay, all things considered. Lila has been incredible. Shes really stepped into the big sister role and has been taking care of Mia and Jacob. And Mia..she’s been bringing you those drawings every day, you know.” Your eyes softened at the mention of the drawings. “I saw the one yesterday.” you said, your voice filled with emotion. “The one where she called me ‘Mama.’ I couldn’t believe it.”

“She’s been calling you that ever since.” Natasha replied, her heart swelling with love. “And it’s not just her. Lila and Jacob..they’ve started calling you ‘Mama’ too.” Your eyes filled with tears, and you let out a shaky breath. “I never thought I’d hear that from them.”

Natasha smiled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “They love you. They’ve always loved you. I think..I think they just didn’t know how to show it until now.” You nodded, your heart full as you pulled Natasha closer. “I’m so glad I’m here to hear it.” you murmured. “I’m so glad I didn’t miss it.” You lay there for a while longer, wrapped tightly around each other on the small hospital bed, speaking softly about the children, your future, and the love that had carried you through the darkest times. The trauma was still there, but together, you found the strength to face it and heal.

Finally, the day had come. After weeks of recovery in the hospital, you were being discharged. Natasha stood by the window, watching as the morning sun streamed into the room, bathing everything in a golden light. It felt like a new beginning, a second chance you had all been waiting for.

You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in comfortable clothes Natasha had brought from home. There was a lightness in your eyes that hadn’t been there for weeks, a feeling of relief, of gratitude for the simple fact of going home. Cho had given you the all-clear, though she had thoroughly reminded you that you still needed plenty of rest and care. You were still weak, still healing, but the worst was behind you. Natasha packed up the few things you had accumulated during your hospital stay. A few books, some drawings the kids had brought, and a small bouquet of flowers Steve and the rest of the team had sent. She turned to you with a gentle smile. “Ready to go home?”

You looked up at Natasha, your eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve been ready since I woke up.” you said, your voice warm but tinged with the exhaustion that still clung to you. “I can’t wait to be home with you and the kids.” Natasha stepped closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “We’ve been waiting for this day too." she whispered. “They’re all so excited to have you back.”

At that moment, the door swung open, and the children burst in, their faces glowing with joy and anticipation. Mia was the first to reach you, practically bouncing with excitement. “Mama! You’re coming home today!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. You grinned, stretching out your arms to embrace Mia, who snuggled against you. “Yes, I am.” you replied, your heart swelling with love as you saw the happiness in your daughter’s eyes. “And I can’t wait to spend the day with you.”

Jacob, with his usual calm demeanor, stepped forward next, his face bright with relief. “I’m glad you’re coming home, Mama.” he said softly, sliding his hand into yours. “We missed you so much.” Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you squeezed Jacob’s hand gently. “I missed you too, sweetheart.” you whispered. “I’m so happy to be going home with you.”

Lila hesitated for a moment, her expression more reserved, but the emotion in her eyes was unmistakable. Finally, she approached you, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “It’s about time they let you out of here..” She said, trying to keep her tone light, but the relief in her voice was evident. You chuckled softly, “I know, right? I was starting to think they’d never let me go.” Natasha watched the exchange, her heart full of joy as she took in the sight of your reunited family. This was the moment she had been waiting for, the day when you could all be together again, without the shadow of fear hanging over you.

Dr. Cho entered the room, smiling warmly at your family. “Are we ready to go home?” she asked, her voice filled with encouraging brightness. You nodded, taking a deep breath. “More than ready.” you replied, your voice steady. Dr. Cho quickly went over the final instructions, reminding you to take it easy, get plenty of rest, and come in for follow-up appointments. Natasha listened intently, committing everything to memory. She was determined to make sure your recovery at home went smoothly.

With everything in place, Natasha helped you to your feet, supporting you as you took your first cautious steps. You leaned on her, grateful for her steady presence, but also determined to show your strength. You were ready to leave this place behind and begin the next chapter of your life. The children clustered around you, each of them eager to help in their own way. Lila carried your bag, while Jacob and Mia flanked you on either side, their small hands resting on your arms as if they were there to support you.

The walk to the car was slow, but it was filled with a sense of triumph. Every step you took was a victory, a reminder that you had survived the darkest days and were now on the path back to the life you loved.. During the drive home, the car was filled with chatter and laughter. The children couldn’t stop talking about all the things they wanted to do now that you were back home. Family movie nights, picnics in the park, and Mia was especially excited to show you the new drawings she had made just for you.

Natasha kept one hand on the steering wheel, while the other rested on your knee, a silent connection between you. She glanced over at you, seeing you relaxed against the seat, your eyes closed, a content smile playing on your lips. When you finally pulled up in front of the house, the children practically burst out of the car, racing to the front door to open it for you. Natasha helped you out of the car, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you as you walked up the steps together.

The moment you stepped into the house, a wave of relief washed over you. The familiar scent of home, the warmth of the rooms, and the sight of the life you had built together, it was everything you had fought for. Mia immediately grabbed your hand, tugging you toward the living room. “Come on, Mama! I want to show you what I made!”

You laughed softly, letting Mia lead you to the sofa, where you carefully sat down. Natasha was close behind, ready to help if needed, but she was just happy to see you home at last. Jacob ran into the kitchen and quickly returned with a glass of water, offering it to you with a serious expression. “Here, Mama.” he said earnestly. “You should drink this.”

You took the glass with a grateful smile, taking a sip before setting it on the coffee table. “Thank you, Jacob..” you said warmly. “You’re such a good helper.” Lila, trying to maintain her cool demeanor, hung back a little, but the gentle smile on her face betrayed her happiness. “If you need anything, just let me know, okay, Ma?” She said, her voice carrying a note of quiet sincerity.

“I will, Lila.” you replied, your heart swelling with love for your children. Mia climbed up beside you on the sofa, pulling out her latest drawing from behind a cushion. “Look, Mama! I made this last night! It’s our whole family!” You took the drawing from Mia’s small hands, your eyes misting over as you took in the bright colors and happy figures she had drawn. In the center of the picture was your family, all holding hands, with “Mama” written in big, bold letters above your figure.

“It’s beautiful..” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for making it for me.” Mia beamed, leaning against you and giving you a gentle hug. Natasha sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve got you now.” she whispered, her voice filled with love. “You’re home, and that’s all that matters.” You leaned into Natasha’s embrace, feeling the love and warmth of your family surrounding you. The road to full recovery still lay ahead, but with your family by your side, you knew you could face anything.

As the afternoon wore on, the sounds of life filled the house. Laughter, conversation, and the pitter-patter of the children’s feet as they ran around with renewed energy. And through it all, you felt a deep sense of peace and gratitude. You were home, where you belonged, with the people you loved most in the world. And as the day turned to evening, you and Natasha sat together on the couch, your children snuggled close, and you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, as a family.

Several months had passed since you had returned home from the hospital, and life had gradually settled into a comfortable rhythm. The scars from your ordeal had healed, leaving only faint marks as reminders of the battle you had fought. Your strength had returned, and with it, the joy of fully embracing your role within your family once more. One Saturday afternoon, the house was buzzing with the energy that only comes when everyone is home and looking for something fun to do together. You, Natasha, and the kids were gathered at the kitchen, ready to tackle a new family activity: making homemade pizzas.

The kitchen island was covered with ingredients, slices of pepperoni, bowls of cheese, fresh vegetables, and various sauces. Lila, who had taken a recent interest in cooking, was carefully spreading tomato sauce over her pizza dough, her tongue sticking out slightly as she concentrated. Mia was excitedly sprinkling cheese on her pizza, making sure every inch was covered, while Jacob, ever the perfectionist, was meticulously placing his toppings in neat rows. You and Natasha exchanged amused glances, both of you reveling in the happy chaos that surrounded you.

"Alright, who wants to add the secret ingredient?" Natasha asked, holding up a small jar of fresh basil leaves. "Me! Me!" Mia shouted, jumping up and down with her hand raised high. "Okay, Mia, you get to do the honors." Natasha said, handing her the jar.

Mia carefully took out a few basil leaves and sprinkled them on top of her pizza, her face glowing with pride. "Now it’s perfect!" she declared. Jacob, not to be outdone, added a few basil leaves to his pizza as well. "I think mine looks pretty good, too!"

Lila, on the other hand, was more focused on making sure her pizza looked like a work of art. She had carefully arranged the pepperoni slices into a smiley face, and as she stepped back to admire her work, she nodded with satisfaction. "Looks great." you said, giving her a thumbs-up. "Everyone's doing an awesome job." Natasha grinned mischievously as she reached for a handful of cheese. "You know what would make this even better?"

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing the playful glint in her eyes. "What?" Without warning, Natasha tossed a handful of cheese at you, laughing as it landed on your head. "A little bit of extra cheese, just for you!" The kids burst into giggles as you stood there, a mock look of shock on your face. "Oh, you did not just do that."

"Oh, I definitely did.." Natasha said, her smile widening. Not one to back down, you grabbed a handful of flour from the counter and lightly dusted Natasha's hair with it. "There, now we match." The kitchen erupted in laughter as Natasha shook her head, sending a cloud of flour into the air. "Alright, now it's on!" she declared, reaching for the bowl of tomato sauce. Before anyone could stop her, Natasha flicked a spoonful of sauce in your direction, but you dodged just in time, causing it to splatter across the countertop.

Mia, eyes wide with excitement, quickly joined in by tossing a few stray pieces of pepperoni at Jacob, who retaliated with a handful of mushrooms. Lila, seeing her opportunity, grabbed a handful of cheese and tossed it at you with a grin. "Sorry, Mama, but I’m with Mom on this one!"

Soon, the entire kitchen turned into a battlefield of food. Cheese flew through the air, flour dusted the counters, and vegetables were scattered across the floor. You couldn’t stop laughing as you and Natasha teamed up against the kids, who shrieked with joy as they dodged and counterattacked with equal enthusiasm. At one point, you found yourself cornered by both Mia and Jacob, who had somehow managed to team up against you. "Surrender, Mama!" Jacob demanded, holding a piece of broccoli as if it were a weapon.

"Never!" you laughed, trying to fend them off with a handful of pepperoni. Natasha, seeing your predicament, rushed to your rescue, pelting the kids with a few extra leaves of basil. "Let your mama go!" she ordered playfully..In the end, everyone was covered in food, and the kitchen looked like a disaster zone. But the sound of laughter echoed through the house, and the sense of pure joy made every bit of mess worth it.

When the battle finally died down, you all collapsed onto the kitchen floor, breathless and laughing. Natasha leaned over and planted a flour-dusted kiss on your cheek, her eyes sparkling. "I think we make a pretty good team.".You grinned back at her, still catching your breath. "The best." The kids were sprawled out around you, all of them grinning from ear to ear. Lila, who was still giggling, looked over at you with a playful smirk. "That was so much fun. We should do this every week!"

Mia nodded enthusiastically, her face smeared with tomato sauce. "Yeah! Pizza wars every Saturday!" Jacob, always the practical one, sighed dramatically. "But we’re going to have to clean all of this up, aren’t we?" You and Natasha looked around at the chaos, and then at each other, before bursting into laughter again. "Yeah, but it was totally worth it." Natasha said, ruffling Jacob’s hair.

"Alright, troops!" you announced, clapping your hands together. "Let’s get this place cleaned up so we can actually eat these pizzas. But first, how about we take a picture to remember this day?" Everyone gathered around, and Natasha set up her phone on the counter, setting the timer. As the camera flashed, you all huddled together, covered in food but filled with happiness.

The pizzas, once they were finally cooked, tasted even better after all the fun you’d had making them. You all sat down together at the table, enjoying the fruits of your chaotic labor, the laughter continuing as you recounted the best moments of the "pizza war." As you looked around the table, at the smiles on your children’s faces and the warmth in Natasha’s eyes, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. These were the moments that made everything worthwhile. The laughter, the love, the togetherness.

Hours later, you stood in the kitchen, watching the late afternoon sunlight filter through the windows, The house was filled with the familiar sounds of life. Mia's laughter, Jacob's chatter, and the soft hum of Natasha's voice as she discussed something with Steve on the phone in the next room. It was a peaceful, ordinary day, the kind you had longed for during those difficult weeks of recovery.

As you poured yourself a cup of tea, you heard the sound of hesitant footsteps approaching. You turned to see Lila standing in the doorway, her expression thoughtful. She had grown so much in the past few months, both physically and emotionally, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as you looked at her. “Hey, Ma.” Lila greeted you, using the casual nickname she had adopted for you ever since you had come home. It was a sign of the bond that had strengthened between you two..a bond you cherished deeply.

“Hey.” you replied with a warm smile, setting down your cup. “What’s on your mind?” Lila shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on her lips. “So, um, I was wondering..Some of my friends are going to the movies tonight, and they invited me to go with them. I really want to go, but..well, I figured I should ask you first.”

You raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. “And why didn’t you go straight to your mom with this?” you asked gently, already knowing the answer. Lila sighed, her smile turning sheepish. “Because I know she’ll say no. You know how strict she is about curfews and all that. But you’re a little more..reasonable.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Lila knew exactly how to play her cards, and over time, you had learned to navigate the delicate balance between being the understanding parent and maintaining the boundaries Natasha had set. “Well, I appreciate you coming to me.” you said, leaning against the counter. “But you also know that your mom and I are a team. We have to be on the same page when it comes to decisions like this.”

Lila nodded, looking down at her feet for a moment. “I know. But I promise I won’t be out late, and I’ll text you both every hour if you want! I just really want to go..It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with my friends outside of school.” You could hear the sincerity in her voice and saw the hopeful glint in her eyes. You knew how much these moments meant to her, especially after everything your family had been through. You also understood the importance of giving her some freedom to grow and experience life.

“Alright,” you said after a moment’s thought, “I’ll let you go, but you have to promise me a few things.” Lila’s face lit up with excitement. “Anything, Ma! What do you need me to do?” “First, you’ll text both me and your mom when you get to the theater and when you’re leaving.” you began. “Second, you’ll be home by 10:30 at the latest. And third, if anything feels off, you call us immediately. Deal?”

Lila nodded eagerly, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Deal! Thank you, Mama!” The switch from “Ma” to “Mama” was subtle, but you noticed it. Lila had taken to using “Mama” whenever she was particularly grateful or when she really wanted something. It was a small thing, but it made your heart swell with warmth every time she said it.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” you said, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Now, go get ready. I’ll talk to your mom and make sure she’s okay with this.” Lila hugged you back tightly. “You’re the best, Mama. I’ll be quick, I promise!” As Lila dashed off to her room, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the conversation with Natasha. You knew it might take a little convincing, but you also knew that Natasha trusted your judgment. You found Natasha in the living room, still on the phone with Steve, but she ended the call when she saw you approaching.

“Everything alright?” she asked, immediately picking up on the fact that you had something on your mind. You nodded, sitting down beside her on the couch. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Lila just asked if she could go to the movies with some friends tonight.”

“Did she now? And I’m guessing she came to you instead of me because she thought I’d say no?” You smiled softly, reaching out to take Natasha’s hand. “You know our girl well. She’s eager to go, but she knows how strict you are about curfews and safety.” Natasha sighed, her gaze softening as she looked at you. “And what did you tell her?”

“I told her she could go, but only if she agreed to text us when she gets there and when she’s leaving, to be home by 10:30, and to call us if anything feels off. I know it’s important for her to have some freedom, especially after everything we’ve all been through.”

Natasha leaned back against the couch, her hand still holding yours. “You’re right. I just..I worry about her, you know? She’s at that age where she wants to push boundaries, and I don’t want her to get into any trouble.”

“I know.” you said gently, squeezing her hand. “But she’s a good kid, and she’s been through a lot. She needs to feel like we trust her, and this is a way to show her that we do. Plus, we’ve given her guidelines, and I believe she’ll stick to them.”

Natasha nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “You’re right. I do trust her, and I trust you. If you think this is okay, then I’ll support it.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly on the lips. “Thank you, Nat. I know it’s not easy to loosen the reins, but I promise we’ll keep an eye on things.”

Natasha returned your smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re really good at this, you know? Balancing everything.”

“I had a great partner to learn from..” you replied, resting your head on her shoulder. “We’re in this together, remember?” Natasha wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer. “Always.” A few hours later, Lila was dressed and ready to go, her excitement barely contained as she came into the living room to say goodbye. She hugged you tightly, a big smile on her face. “Thanks again, Mama. I’ll text you both as soon as I get there.”

“Have fun!” you said, hugging her back. “And remember, be home by 10:30.”

“I will, I promise!” Lila assured you, before turning to Natasha. “Thanks, Mom. I know you’re just trying to keep me safe.” Natasha smiled, pulling Lila into a hug. “I am, but I also want you to have fun. Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.” Lila promised, and with that, she was out the door, practically skipping with excitement. As the door closed behind her, you and Natasha shared a look, both of you feeling a mix of pride and the inevitable worry that comes with letting your child out into the world.

“You did good.” Natasha said, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You’re really good at this whole parenting thing.”

“So are you.” you replied, smiling at her. “We’re a team, remember?” Natasha nodded, resting her head against yours. “Yeah, we are.” As the evening progressed, you and Natasha spent some quiet time together, savoring the peace and quiet of the house. The kids were occupied with their activities, and for once, there was no pressing crisis to deal with. It was just the two of you, enjoying each other’s company and the knowledge that, no matter what, you had each other.

Around 9:30, Lila texted as promised, letting you both know that she was on her way home. You could sense Natasha’s relief, and you shared it, knowing that your daughter was safe and had had a good time with her friends. When Lila finally walked through the door at exactly 10:25, you couldn’t help but smile at her punctuality. She looked happy and content, and that was all that mattered to you.

“Did you have fun?” you asked as she kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch beside you.. “Yeah, it was great.” Lila replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Thanks again for letting me go.”

“You’re welcome.” you said, ruffling her hair affectionately. “I’m glad you had a good time.” Natasha came over and sat on Lila’s other side, pulling her into a hug. “We’re both glad, sweetheart. Just remember, you can always come to us with anything, okay?” Lila nodded, leaning into the embrace. “I will. I love you, Mom. I love you, Mama.”

“I love you too.” you and Natasha replied in unison, both of you smiling at the bond that had only grown stronger with time.

As the night settled in and the house grew quiet, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Your family was safe, happy, and together, and that was all you could ever ask for. And in the weeks and months that followed, as the kids continued to grow and thrive, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Natasha would face them together, hand in hand, surrounded by the love of your children. The greatest gift you could ever have.

[nvuy]

poor provincial town — il capitano

summary. your father disappears suddenly, so you set off in search, and discover something much worse than the monsters you were warned about in your quiet little village.

notes. nvuy actually writing something holy shit we lost. it’s a beauty and the beast spin off. i want this man so badly i will trudge across the sahara desert just to lick off his sweat to cure my unbridled thirst.

warnings. 16+, mature themes, you can interpret capitano as yandere but he’s also implied to not be human (riding on the draconic capitano headcanons here) so in general he’s just a weirdo, he’s probably ooc because yeah, gn reader (any usage of the word ‘man’ is just another word for ‘human’), mentions of violence, threatening, violent threats can also be interpreted as sexy i guess, mentions of death, AU sort of because beauty and the beast spin off.

Your father had gone missing.

The news had shaken you to your core, and despite the wrangling on from the poor terrible and boring provincial town that you hailed from, you planned to set out almost immediately in search of him.

The people had warned you of wolves in the forest, flesh eating bugs that crawled in the winter snow, and men with pointy sharp teeth and large claws that could slice you to ribbons. All horror stories from children’s books; the same nightmares you had when you were little. Raging beasts within the trees to make sense of the shadows that moved strangely in the night.

You were warned, denied, almost locked away in your home for protection. But, you moved. You set out, for your father was already old and frail as he was. You couldn’t imagine him being lost to the woods. Not your father. He was wiser than to step out by himself, and especially so deep within the trees.

“It does not make sense for you to venture by yourself. Trekking through the woods is not for people such as you.” The older lady of the town library told you one day. “What lies out there… I could not tell you.”

You took the book from her hands and pressed your fingers into the hard cover. Your nails left a permanent dint in the laminate. “I do not fear death.”

“Not death,” she corrected. “Death is not what lingers.” She then glanced up at the ceiling, thoughtful. “Death is beautiful. What you should be afraid of are people.” She looked back down at you before a sad grin grew onto her lips. “Speak not to strangers, for you may provide dinner for the beasts that roam the woods.”

She did say beasts, you know. Monsters with fangs and fur and hooves that knew nothing but to bite and eat, eat, eat.

But there are various sorts of beasts. Charming, handsome quiet beasts. Kind and polite and patient.

“It is the gentle beasts that are the most dangerous of all.” The older lady sighed deeply, perturbed. She fidgeted in her seat behind the counter. “If you do leave, bring a weapon.”

You cannot fight, though you did pocket a small dagger.

And then you set off. Through the woods, down hills, across rivers, trying to piece together a narrative as to why your father had disappeared. It was winter — though, it did always snow here — and the winds were much more biting than usual. Thankfully, you had brought layers, and the thick hood that wrapped over your head did its job in banishing most of the cold.

It did not stop the lingering gazes of the creatures that crept along the trees, and lingered within the shadows.

You are soaked in snow and wind and cold, but you press on.

You eventually stumbled upon a castle. A grand one, with cracked and broken windows, thorny leafless bushes that surround the forked fencing, and a door so giant your hand can barely wrap around the handle. It is the only source of shelter for miles.

He must be here. Your father was ill. He needed a roof to sleep under. And possibly, despite its state, the castle could have food hidden away if looked for thoroughly.

You push open the doors, wincing from the loud creaking that alerts your presence to anyone residing inside. It looks abandoned. The once polished floors and mangled and ruined, and it a single candle flickers with life. The chandelier sits on the floor, smashed to pieces, and glass spills from every corner.

It is dark, and cold, but it is shelter.

So, you search.

High and low, wandering through the endless halls, trying to trace your steps. You search upstairs first. There are many levels, perhaps maybe five or six, and as you look, you find different rooms. Grand empty ballrooms, bathrooms that once had plated gold edging to every corner and crevice, bedrooms with torn sheets and broken wardrobes. Most rooms were empty — you cannot imagine being able to fill every single one.

Then, you search downstairs. You hadn’t wanted to go below the ground, but your father did not answer to any hushed whisper you called, and you were beginning to lose hope.

The deeper you go, the more you feel trapped.

There are cellars down here, and they stretch on beyond what your eye can see.

The cellars are dark and twisted and cold. It smells of mildew and mould, and every step you take emits a splash from the puddles. The walls are brick and cracked and covered in moss so old it has turned black with time. There are no little white flowers along the vines.

You step further along the wet stone, feeling along the wall blindly. Your nails scrape along, and you try to even your breathing. It’s cold. It’s cold. Frost and snow still clings to your clothes.

That’s when you spot your father rotting away in a cell, and you quickly take his hands through the bars. He’s frail and older now, and so much sicker from being locked away for so long.

You cry out pathetically when he struggles to curl his fingers around yours. Frostbite has taken the tips, and his skin has morphed to an ugly purple and black.

“You shouldn’t have looked for me,” he tells you. Then, he glances down the dark hall. He cannot see anything, for shadows linger across the walls like spiders crawling upon silvery silken webbing, but he knows there is something out there. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

You dismiss his concern. “You’re freezing.” You squeeze your hands tight over his thin skin before you shed off your hood and hand it to him through the bars. “Who did this to you?”

“You need to leave,” your father pleads.

“‘Leave?’” you echo. You try to see through what little light there is for a keyhole. You do not have a key, but the iron is rusted and weak, and you’re sure you can find something to smash the door through with. “I cannot leave. Not without you.”

You search around. You try to steady your racing heart, breathing deeply through your nose. Fog passes from your lips with each breath. Water drips from somewhere, and the constant ticking and creaking of the old bricks make you nervous.

You’re concerned the entire floor will collapse, so you work quick.

The cellars are empty and abandoned. Most of the doors are open, and there’s no keys in sight. There are no weapons, either, nor any long poles to smash the door down.

You panic.

It’s hopeless.

This place is completely empty.

You turn back to your father and try weakly pulling at the door. It does not budge. “Who locked you in here?”

“A beast,” he replies. It is said in a whisper, as if he’s afraid of even uttering the word. “It tore me off my path and brought me here.”

But beasts can’t be real. They’re just fairytales; stories your mother told you when you were little so you wouldn’t wander off by yourself. “Did it hurt you?”

“No. Not yet.” He glances down the hall again. “But it may hurt you.”

“I am not leaving without you. I have searched for days.” You stand up to search for something again, but you know deep down it is futile.

There is nothing.

There’s nothing here.

You want to weep, but that will not help.

It’s hopeless. It’s all so twisted and horrific. There is no beast here. There cannot be. You would have stumbled upon it by now. It would have sliced you to ribbons by now. It would have locked you away with your father by now.

“Listen to me,” your father whispers. “Return to the village and call for the soldiers.”

You shake your head.

“They will not listen to me. They think I’m crazy.” And they do. You briskly wipe at your tears and kneel down in front of the bars again. Then, helplessly you bash at the bars, and the sound echoes down the halls. “How do I get you out?”

Your father tries to quiet your sobbing. “Go back to the village. Find General Zasha, speak with the soldiers.” He grabs your hands through the bars. “The General will listen to you.”

“He will not.”

“He will.” Your father nods once, confident. “I know a man in love when I see it.” Your father kisses your knuckles once before he lets go. “I will be alright.”

He will not be, but you stumble to your feet and back away from the cellars.

And then you leave. You say not a parting word to your father. You pray and hope he remains alive for another few days. You can do nothing else but trek back up the stairs and return to the main halls.

You know they must have been beautiful once. Now everything is old and withered and etched away.

In another world, another life, just maybe, you would have loved to roam the halls of a castle and spoiled endlessly.

You walk slowly, beaten down, cold and alone. Your bones ache with exhaustion, but you will not rest here. You are determined to return to the village and speak to the general, even if you despise him with every inch of your heart.

Your hand reaches for the door handle.

“What’s this?”

And then there is a blade at your throat.

“Another thief roaming my halls?”

You swallow, but all that does is press the blade further into your skin. The discomfort sends you into a panic, and your breathing stutters. Your hand remains wrapped around the handle, but you cannot will yourself to move.

Escape is futile.

You should not have come here.

The blade is removed swiftly. So swiftly that the sharp end glides along your throat and leaves a shallow cut. It stings, and you try not to cry out in fear. Sweat pools down your neck and twists into the new cut. You hiss silently at the pain.

“What did you steal?”

You do not turn around. “Nothing. I am no thief.”

“Then you know the man I locked away.” His voice is deep, and it echoes in the hall. “Otherwise, you would never have come at all.”

You turn slowly, aware he is still armed.

It is a sword he holds, though it is hidden away beneath a large feathered and fur coat that rests upon his shoulders. Long black hair falls from beneath a mask that covers his face, and the shadows below disguise his skin, and anything that can identify him.

He is taller than you. Much taller, and much bigger. You cannot fight him.

“Why did you lock away my father?”

“Your father is a thief,” he replies easily. “And thieves remain thieves until they rot.”

There is no noise. It is just you, and him, and the constant dripping of water from your hair.

“My father is not a thief, beast,” you argue. “You are locking away a sick man.”

“I am no beast,” he denies. “I am man.”

“A man with a blade is no different to a beast.” He must be a beast. There is no reason as to why he would reside in a place such as this. “I will bring back an army.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you will.” It sounds condescending, and you scrunch your face up when he leans down to scrutinise you. “That is if you can leave my grounds alive.”

“You will die before you lay a hand on me.”

You pull out the dagger residing in your pocket. It is a desperate attempt to create space between you, but the knife only manages to garner a simple tilt of his head.

It’s small, barely deadly, but if angled right, you could take out an eye. But the thought of that makes you crumble; you don’t fight.

The man simply tuts. “You are not even worth a chance to spar.” He simply plucks the weapon from your hands. “How you survived out there is both a mystery and a miracle.”

“I am not weak,” you say. You don’t feel it’s true.

“Stubborn. You are stubborn.”

Your finger twitches in frustration. “Free my father from his cell.”

“Bring your army,” he answers. “It has been a while since I’ve been faced with a challenge.”

“You will lose your head before you even unsheathe your weapon.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you have to trust yourself. Just this once. “You cannot take on one hundred men.”

“I have once. I will do it again.”

“I will be honoured to have your severed head hanging as decoration in my bedroom,” you sneer. “You will not win this. Your arrogance will be your downfall.” You try to twist and make for the door again, but he holds steady on your wrist. “Unhand me.”

The man, or the beast, or whatever he is, does not falter.

“You are small. Whatever army you bring will be smaller.” He pulls once at your wrist and that silences your struggling. It hurts and stings in warning. “Puny. Is this the best you can do? What if you were to run into a real beast?”

“Let go of me!” you try.

His grip tightens. You fear your bones will snap into pieces. You’re unsure if the skin beneath his gloves belongs to a man or a beast. The tips are sharpened and metallic, and you’re sure they can pierce into your flesh.

He leans in close. Too close.

Close enough you can barely identify the outline of lips drowned out by the shadows that swamp his features. A big man, much too big for you, and he terrifies you beyond your nightmares.

You will dream of him.

Terribly.

“Let go of me,” you plead quietly.

“Let us strike a deal,” he whispers.

“I will make no deals with any man,” you defy.

You see a smile and a flash of sharp teeth.

“I am no man, nor beast,” he responds. “Send your men. Send one thousand. Send every man that has ever walked this plain.” He grabs you even tighter, and if the mask did not obstruct his face, your lips would have touched his, and the scar that runs across the vermillion. You share his breath, and you smell blood and ash. “I will kill them all.”

You feel he tells the truth.

Still, you insist. “You will die.”

“If I do so perish, then the wager is in your favour. Have whatever you wish from this place. Destroy it, restore it, it is yours.”

You want to tell him you do not want this terrible castle. You want your father home, but you are aware he knows this. You open your mouth to speak, but a hand abandons one of your wrists to grab your face and squeeze just enough to keep you quiet.

His claws press into your flesh. You try to wretch yourself free and rake your nails down his arm.

“And if I kill every man you send, I will return your father.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“I will have you instead.” He twists you further towards him, and your lips touch. “I will decorate these halls with the heads of every man of your village, and I will ruin you.”

That is a promise. You know it is. You can tell from how he whispers it, and how his grip has slackened into something more gentle than it was before.

“You cannot–” Nothing comes forth from your lips.

“I can.” He lets go of your other wrist and twists his claws into your hair. “It has been so long since I have tasted the flesh on mortal bone.”

The man, whatever he is, releases you finally, and you startle backwards against the door. Blindly, you feel for the handle behind you, trying to keep your breathing even as you finally grip onto the cold metal.

The door swings open behind you and you step outside of the castle. The cold hits you instantly, and you double over in the icy strong winds. You abandoned your hood to your father, and have nothing to shield your eyes. They sting with tears and snow.

Something drapes over your shoulders, heavy and warm.

It’s a coat. The same feathered and furred coat, though it is not laid onto you out of concern or politeness. It is possession, and complete control, ownership when the beast grasps your chin from behind you one last time.

You stare out in fear into the forest ahead.

“Flee, little one.” You feel his lips on your ear. “Time slips away as the clock ticks forward. The world will stop for you, if I so choose it to wait.”

He is warm. Warm against your back, and it provides temporary, ill-fitting relief into your skin.

“I await your return, blade honed, and hungering for your skin.”

You slip from his grasp. “If I don’t return?”

“Your father will draw his final breaths in my cellar,” he tells you, “and once he does, I will chase you to the ends of the earth to deliver the good news.”

[spngi]

My tears ricochet | mafia!carlos sainz jr x reader

Prologue | part 1

Part 2

summary: Mr. and Mrs. Sainz lived in a dream for many years, now everything is falling apart and they need to deal with their feelings

warnings: Grammar mistakes, mentions of violence, Carlos is an idiot, mentions of cheating

My blood boils; Carlos’s words repeat in an infinite loop in my head. My hands tremble with rage, and I press them on the table to try to contain the impulse to simply rip that smile off Carlos’s face.

“You wouldn’t do that “ my words come out slowly, trying to maintain the little patience I have left. “You can’t do this.”

“Or what? Are you going to threaten me now too, dear?” Carlos asks, his relaxed figure at the table and his tone full of irony.

I stand up from the table, and the chair scrapes loudly as it moves away. I look through the glass door at the inevitable: that woman in my house, lying on one of the loungers, wearing a bikini, as if she already belonged to this house.

I feel even more irritated, or perhaps sad. I feel invaded by all of this. I turn back to Carlos; I have the urge to throw all the objects in that room at him, to hurt him the same way he’s hurting me.

“She must be low enough to accept the role of mistress” I insult her in the end.

“She knows it won’t be for long” he replies.

“Well, I can agree with you… she won’t stay for long” I approach Carlos and lean in until I’m at eye level with him. “Pay attention to what I’m going to say, Carlos. I will always be your wife, I will be by your side whether you want it or not… this girl might be getting a bit of your attention now, but she will never be anything more than a fling because, at the end of the day, the only one who has the privilege of wearing this ring is still me.”

Carlos’s brown eyes watch me as I speak. He doesn’t bother to respond but seems irritated nonetheless.

“She will never be welcome in this house, Carlos… so spare her the humiliation and get her out of here as soon as possible!” I add, and before stepping away, I kiss the corner of his lips.

I don’t wait to see his reaction to the gesture; I quickly leave to distance myself from that situation before I lose control and throw that cheap model out of our house. I lock myself in one of the farthest rooms of the house and fight the strong urge to go back and throw the crystal candelabrum at Carlos’s head.

I sit on the floor at the foot of the guest bed, a pillow in hand to muffle my screams and the occasional sobs of crying. I couldn’t take it anymore; I couldn’t understand why Carlos was doing this to me.

Before the accident happened a few months ago, we were talking about starting a family, about filling this house with children. But after that day, everything changed.

I still have nightmares about how it all happened, how my car flipped several times on the road, the pain I felt, and the terror I experienced seeing all the armed men approaching me. Carlos managed to find me quickly enough so that no further harm was done; he stayed by my side throughout my recovery and tripled the security. But when I got better and asked him for revenge on those who escaped, he changed.

My fear had turned into anger, and I needed to know that those animals would never come back to hurt me, I needed to know that I had killed them with my own hands. But he never agreed with that; it led to many discussions and arguments. He never wanted to give in, even with his father’s words supporting me, Charles’s, Lando’s, and some other allied family heads. He promised he would do the job himself, that he would never leave any of them alive, but he didn’t understand that wasn’t what I needed. And when I went against his will, when I got what I wanted, everything began to fall apart.

The door opens in front of me, bringing me back to reality. I see Lando enter the room; it’s not the first time he has found me here. This room had become a hiding place for me, so I could hide during crises or just cry without being heard.

Lando walks into the room. I point to the dresser near him, and he smiles slightly. He opens the last drawer, already knowing where I hide my things. He pulls out a bottle of bourbon and a glass.

“I’m giving you a break today. Drink with me” I try to smile at him “and grab one of those cigars too, I need my complete pity party.”

“How are you?” he asks in the end, sitting next to me and spreading the items on the floor.

“Terrible” I pour the drinks. “Is she still out by the pool?”

“Yes. If it’s any consolation, Charles and I asked the staff not to take any orders from her.” Norris says, and the gesture makes me a bit happy to know that I can still count on him.

“Thank you, Lando, you’re a good friend. And Charles too, is he upset about what I did yesterday?”

“He understands, Y/N.” Lando offers me the lighter so I can light the cigar.

“You know what annoys me?” I ask him between puffs. “If the situation were reversed, the man who dared to step into this house would already be dead. Carlos wouldn’t think twice about doing it. And I could never live with myself knowing I did that, even though now I can think of a thousand ways to do it to her.”

“You’re a good person, Y/N. You know that, and Mr. Sainz knows it too… he’s just trying to challenge you or whatever his game is.”

“I don’t know if I still have the strength to play, Lando” I murmur to him, the alcohol in my mouth calming me.

“You know I’ll be here by your side, whether you want to continue or if you want to give up… you’re my friend, Y/N, I will always support you”

“Thank you, I hope I can repay all your support someday” I smile at him and pass the cigar to him.

“Does Mr. Sainz know you stole these from his collection?” Norris asks and takes a drag on the cigar.

“He can go fuck himself” I murmur and take a sip of the drink.

One more chapter! I hope you guys are enjoying it!

Leave your comments and opinions ❤️

[battymommastuff]

The Loop [Caution: Sharp Objects]

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: It was all a nightmare...simply a nightmare right? Right?

TW: DARK THEMES, NEEDLES AND DEATH

Masterlist Part 1

(GIF not mine)

You uncomfortably made breakfast as Cassandra stared holes into your head. Every Time you moved too quickly, she would flinch then reach out for you. As if she were trying to protect you from something. While you enjoyed spending time with the people you considered your children, this was making you weary.

You were still trying to figure out what happened earlier that morning. Never in your life were you greeted like that. Every single face that you saw had the same look of pure horror on it. It was like you had died right in front of them or something.

"She's just cooking...cooking breakfast." Barbara said as she watched you from the security cameras in the kitchen. Well it wasn't just her watching. "Every movement, and order she's cooking in was exactly the same." Barbara leaned closer to the camera, she wasn't going to miss any details. Anything that you do differently, she will document.

"A hallucigen?" Tim suggested grimacing when he felt the needle push into his vein. Alfred hummed in thought as he collected another blood sample to test, "We were all at the fight with the League, it's possible they used some invisible drug. Maybe us waking up was the drug leaving our system?" Tim asked as Alfred pulled the needle from his arm. After getting it bandaged, he stood up so Duke could get his blood tested next.

"That is likely, we should have done urine samples instead." Bruce mumbled as he analyzed their blood for any signs of drugs or anything that didn't belong.

"Bruce, all the blood is coming up clean. If we were drugged, I doubt something that strong would wash out that quickly. I mean come on, we were all there. We felt her dead body, I felt her blood soak into my pants. There was no way it was fake. It was too real." Dick snapped and ran his hand through his hair, "I felt her body get cold. How is any of this even happening?" He asked then walked away while weaving his fingers through his hair. Stephanie followed after him to try and console him.

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Okay, you were a little offended. You've just finished your famous breakfast, and no one is anywhere to be seen. Well except Cass, who was still watching you while she ate. After a few minutes of the silence, you stood up and stormed to the batcave.

The team was hard at work trying to figure out what happened when you made your way into the dark and gloomy place. "I made a delicious breakfast, and no one has come up to enjoy it. What possibly is so important that you couldn't wait?" You asked while crossing you arms.

They nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard your voice. They were so focused on finding a solution, that they didn't hear you coming down the steps.

Your eyes drifted from your family to the giant computer screen where you saw the results of their drug tests, "What is going on?" You asked then grabbing the nearest person who happened to be Damian. You turned his arm around to see the gauze and bandage wrapped around his arm.

"After the fight with the League, we wanted to make sure we were under the effects of anything dangerous. A simple precaution." Bruce said quickly as he made his way over to you. He rested his hands on your waist, but you noticed the slight hesitation as he did. "Now, let's go eat your breakfast." He said then started leading you out of the batcave, which only led you to ask more questions.

The surprise party was quickly canceled. Even if it was a dream, they didn't want to relive an ounce of those memories. Instead, they opted to take you shopping to your favorite places. Each store, they took turns buying you whatever you wanted. To you, it looked like a simple family outing, but to others, it looked like you were walking around with bodyguards.

Damian even went as far as threatening someone who glanced at you for too long.

After several stores, it was time to get a snack. Everyone managed to cram themselves into the outside patio of an ice cream shop. Bruce felt at ease being that they were in the safer part of the city. You ate your ice cream while chatting away happily. Everyone began to relax, and finally started to feel as if this was just a bad dream.

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Now fully relaxed, your family abandoned the protection formation. You were pushing Barbara and chatting with Jason casually. Though you didn't miss the sketchy person that had been following you. Your constant glances behind you didn't go unnoticed by Jason who alerted the rest of the family.

As soon as the stalker realized he'd been discovered, he lunged for you. Jason quickly intervened, but this man was clearly skilled. It wasn't long before your entire family was fighting to subdue this man. They had to do so as best they could without raising any suspicion as to who their alter egos were. After their success, they proceeded to question him. He could be linked to their dream...if it was real.

Though they would never think that this man could have a partner. He did. You let out a strangled scream when someone grabbed you from behind and a knife was plunged into your chest. The knife left your body, only to be plunged in again and again. Both men ran in opposite directions after the deed was done. This time, Damian was the one who caught you instead of your body hitting the ground.

The young boy watched as you coughed up your blood, and looked at you bleeding body in shock. You then looked up at Damian and your eyes went cold. "Ummi?" He called out while pressing his small hands against your wounds, as if that would help. How could this have happened? What the hell was going on?

Like the night at the party, everyone stood in shock. It was up to one of the Gotham citizens to call the police.

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Police cars, and news vans crowded the area as the family found themselves reliving the horrible night over again. Though no one was holding your body this time. A bloody white sheet covered it. Jason was currently handcuffed and in the back of a police car after he took his anger out on another one.

Gordon knelt by his daughter's side in an attempt to get her to speak, but she was quiet. All eyes were on your corpse once again. What did they do wrong? Was someone out to kill you? First a bullet through the head, then being stabbed in the middle of the street? It didn't make sense.

Dick sat on the ground with his head in his hands when he felt the urge to look up. Across the street where the massive crowd was, he saw a dark figure standing there. It seemed like no one could see it, but him, "Guys?" He called out as he stood up. Everyone looked at him, then followed his pointed finger. Like Dick, they saw the same dark figure.

They watched as it cocked its head to the side then held up an all too familiar music box. Slowly, it opened and the crank started to spin. Bruce started running across the street to try and stop this figure, but his body collapsed to the ground. Gordon caught his daughter when she fell into his arms. She was fast asleep.

Dick held himself up against the wall while trying to memorize every detail of this figure. Whatever it was, he was going to stop it.

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Damian woke up with cold sweat on his body. He wasted no time in getting out of bed to get to his parent's bedroom. He was wearing the same pj's as last time. He threw the door open, and saw that Bruce had just woken up.

Ignoring his father, he went right to the bathroom where you were rubbing some lotion onto your hands. "Damian, what's-" You were cut off when Damian collided with you. His arms were nearly crushing you, "Ummi." He whimpered out like he did when he was having a nightmare. You rested one hand on his head, and the other was on his back.

"It's alright little bird, I'm right here. Everything is okay."

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TAGLIST

@justafanficsreader @seaweed-orchid @O-n-1-x @jared-oranges

@cumbermovels

[ellastone-olsen]

The Legend of Sleepy Valley - Wanda Maximoff (part 1)

★Pairing: Vampire!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: no one had ever seen the family members living in the huge estate nearby. maybe this is not just the case and they are hiding something. legends surround this place and soon you will find out for yourself where is the truth and where is the lies. this is the first time a vampire will not kill her victim.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+ (in future parts), dark au, blood, stalking, mentions of murders, nightmares, slowburn

★Word count: 2.6k

★AN: I decided to re-read Dracula and an idea came to me. this is my first series fic and the first part is preparation for the most interesting things. maybe there will be one or two more parts, I don’t know how much my imagination will suffice.

The small village of less than one hundred fifty people could not boast of special wealth, but as they say, human blood is not water, this is the true wealth that these people had. If only they knew about it.

Away from the crowd of dilapidated houses stood the old estate of the Maximoff family, whose history dates back to ancient times. No one could say exactly how long ago they settled, but every generation of people who lived here knew who lived in the ancient “castle” as the locals called it. Family members did not often catch the eye of the village residents, preferring a secluded life without “good neighbors” nearby. All you knew about them was information gleaned from the legends that parents told their children, passing on these terrible stories from generation to generation.

One of them said that it was the Maximoff family that was behind the disappearance and fatal diseases of ordinary peasants who lived in these parts. If someone’s livestock died, it means that people’s turn will soon come. No one could explain exactly how they were involved in this, which is why they were legends. Some said that all the troubles began with the arrival of the first ancestor - Konstantin Maximoff. As soon as this man set foot on the dead, poor soil of these regions, terrible things began to happen.

But who are you to believe in stupid old legends? Now is not the time when people rely on fairy tales. This was the age of computer technology and the Internet, so you could read horror stories on Google. It’s a shame that the stories turned out to be true, what’s even worse is that you learned this from your own experience.

“Why did you kill me? Why did you kill me?" You looked in horror at the doorway in which stood a man... no, a child, judging by his height, about 7 years old, but his face was not visible. Only glowing beady pupils and a dark silhouette, that’s what you could make out in the pitch darkness of the tiny room. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill you.” You tried to move, but it was all in vain. The body froze like a heavy marble stone. The brain was already awake, but the limbs were stuck to the mattress of the bed. Heart beat out a fast, ragged rhythm, threatening to jump out through ribs. No one would come to the rescue, you knew. “Why why did you kill me.” The hallucination repeated these words like a prayer in the temple of the Lord God, to which you were ready to go any minute. What to do, what to do, probably the same as always. Scream.

An eardrum-breaking screech escaped from your chest, maybe someone will hear it? But absolutely everything that happened was only in your head. Together with the scream, flashing flashes began to hit eyes, a good sign that the method was working. If anyone had heard the screeching, they would probably have gone deaf.

You suddenly sit up in bed, breathing as if you had run a marathon and won. It was all over, but the fear remained. Sleep paralysis was never limited only to the state of paralysis itself; even after them, anxiety was with you, sticking to the subcortex of consciousness like soft molasses. You turned on the light in the room and picked up the phone. The clock showed 3:42 am, if you are lucky, within an hour you will fall asleep again. Your finger clicked on the messenger icon and you entered a chat created specifically for communication between people living in your village and surrounding area.

Your eyes quickly scanned hundreds of messages and ads for old junk when photos of the scene caught your attention. It was talking about another cattle killing of one of your neighbors. People, as always, wrote that these were wolves or pumas, which often live in these parts. At least the claw marks were definitely not left by a human. A terrible bloody mess, what more can you say. Soon panic will sweep the village again, because everyone knows that this will be followed by the death of one of the residents. Damn it, sitting at home all day long again was the first thing your sleepy brain generated. Well, let it be, but you will get some sleep for the first time in the last couple of months.

The phone slowly fell from your hand onto the soft, fresh sheets and your lead-filled eyelids fell into your eyes. Finally the long-awaited dream. You saw your past, but more exaggerated. Winter frost, a scarf that covers half of your face and you don’t know where to go. The picture changed and you found yourself on the red carpet, walking towards the door at the end of a hundred-meter corridor. There are white walls and camera flashes all around. You didn't know where you were going, but it seemed like a good place. The door opened revealing a round room with a bunch of people and animals. A ginger cat similar to yours came up to you and you extended your hand to pet him, but the animal grabbed you with its teeth, biting over and over again. The claws passed along your forearm, leaving red droplets of blood, the wonderful dream again became a nightmare and you opened your eyes.

Your room again. The lights were off. It's strange, you didn't seem to turn it off. Perhaps mom woke up and walked past the room. Your gaze could not focus on anything, you looked around, blinked a couple of times and looked into the doorway. Someone was standing there again. A woman with long hair, you would think it was your mother, but she had short shoulder length hair. Again, hallucination is the first thing that came to your mind. You tried to bend your leg to make sure that this was the case, but the movement was easy and you sat down in fear. The figure was still standing in place and eyes accustomed to the darkness could discern clothing in the form of a knee-length dress, boots and a jacket, it seems? The head of the unknown woman in your room tilted to the side, she was also looking at you. She studied, as if deciding what to do next. It seemed that being noticed was not part of her plans.

"Who are you?" the vocal cords did not produce anything louder than a whisper. And only now did you notice a strange pain in your hand, in the same place where the cat scratched you in your sleep. You grabbed the forearm of your left hand, feeling the moisture under your palm and lifted it to get a better look. You couldn’t see anything in the darkness and you licked your palm to feel the metallic taste. Liquid scarlet blood was streaked and still leaking from the scratches, not deep enough to leave scars.

In response to your action, the stranger loudly sniffed air and seemed to... growl. But people don't know how to make SUCH sounds. “Did you do this?” you extended your palm to her, but instead of answering, the dark figure disappeared outside your bedroom. You wanted to catch up with her, but got tangled in the blanket and fell to the floor, cursing under your breath. When you went into the common room, no one was there anymore. Not a trace of anyone else's presence.

The morning greeted with the rays of the sun, which lay softly on your face. The smell of homemade pancakes wafted from the kitchen, the recently returned birds chirped on the tree branches as if they were wound up.

The phone was still lying next to you and the clock on the screen showed noon. Among hundreds of notifications overnight, you found a message from your friend Lily, which read: “I’ll pick you up at one o’clock in the afternoon.” Well, at least you had an hour to get ready. Surely, after those messages about the murder, your parents would lock you at home, and you wanted to have time to take a walk in the first days of spring.

While you were sitting in the kitchen and looking at one point, while finishing breakfast, your thoughts returned to this night. There was no doubt that the first thing that happened to you was sleep paralysis, but what happened then? How could someone sneak into your family home so silently and without a trace, why did this woman need to watch you, and even more so... You could write off the incident as another nightmare, but your forearm still stung. Raising your hand, you saw scratches that were already covered with a blood crust and were in the process of healing. Oh no, it wasn’t definitely a hallucination. When you got out of bed, the first thing you did was check your room for missing valuables, but everything was there. Apparently the only thing this strange woman touched was you. Today before going to bed you need to check all the locks in the house, all the windows and make an impregnable fortress out of it.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” The question hung in the warm spring air. Your friend was dragging you by the hand to the so-called Sleepy Valley. The children of your village were not allowed to go there, firstly because flocks of sheep usually grazed there, and secondly...

“Y/N, do you know why this place is called that way?.” Of the two of you, you knew more about local folklore, so you easily found the desired legend in the memory archives. The legend of the Sleepy Valley.

“My mother told me that there were always sheep grazing there, but one day a shepherd came into the valley and the whole flock was lying on the grass. It looked like someone had thrown cotton balls around. It looked as if the animals were simply asleep, but when the man approached one of the sheep, he realized that it was dead. They were all dead. Some maniac or animal ripped out the throats of the poor animals. This is where the name comes from.” You finished the story and were walking through the wild forest when you saw an opening. Perhaps there were such stories around this place, but there was no other place for walking cattle in the vicinity.

As the tall trees retreated, a majestic field stretched around, with a herd of fluffy white sheep as usual. Lily pulled you by the arms a little away from the animals to sit on the fresh green grass looking up at the sky. The two of you just lay there and listened to the chirping of tits, voluminous white clouds rushed above you, forming bizarre shapes. Life seemed unreal at that moment.

Only in the forest from where you came out it was watching you. Red eyes scanned everything that was happening, and acute inhuman hearing caught your conversation even at a distance of twenty meters. Your night visitor did not miss the chance to follow the first person whom she, for some reason unknown to her, did not kill during close contact. Wanda was patient, even too patient, and something about you caught her attention that night. Maybe your peace of mind or... No, it’s too early to think about that. In any case, she spent the rest of the night waiting for you to wake up and leave the house.

For so many years that she lived on this sinful earth, the daughter of the Maximoff family could tell a lot from a person’s blood. She drank dozens of people dry and each was unique in their own way, from the first sips one could understand what kind of life a person lived and what it was like, blood for her was a thing in which the essence of human nature was hidden. None of her victims had aroused an iota of interest or compassion in her, until that day.

Once every few months, Wanda’s family could afford such a delicacy as a few people from the village for whom no one would grieve. She liked to stretch out the pleasure and start with cattle, leaving human lives for dessert. Then she decided to watch the future victims and find the most tasty morsel in her opinion; in the end, her choice fell on a young beautiful girl like you. When life is in full swing, taking it away is many times more pleasant and sweeter.

That night, her plans included killing you, drinking to the last drop like everyone else before, but standing right next to you, she froze. Something was wrong. Why were your eyes open but you didn't move? She heard your heart that was ready to jump out, but it was not because of her. It seemed like you saw something that she didn’t see and she became curious. The woman walked into the darkness of the room, to the farthest corner, and watched. So you woke up, jumped out of bed and nervously turned on the light. Wanda sensed your fear, but did not understand what it was connected with.

Waiting for you to fall back into the world of dreams, she turned off the light that was blinding her and came closer, running her sharp nails along your arm to collect a small portion of blood for testing. When the first drops touched her tongue, her pupils dilated, covering the irises of the vampire's red eyes. The blood was saturated with adrenaline and was even sweeter than she expected and your personal taste. There was something about it that she couldn't place, something familiar. She took a closer look at your calm face, noticing what a cute little thing you were in her hands. No, killing you was too great a loss, she turned on her heels to hide as quietly as she appeared, but a rustling was heard behind her.

Wanda stood in the doorway and watched as you woke up for the second time that night. It’s surprising how you didn’t notice her right away, but when she saw your wet, rough tongue running over your palm, licking the scarlet substance, something clicked in her. “Did you do this?” your voice, hoarse from sleep, has long since become a spring deep inside her being. She needed to leave right now if she didn't want to kill you or take you by force.

The woman silently left the house and sat down nearby in the wild raspberry bushes. "She was beautiful, but who the hell was that?" Thoughts were heard in her head, but they were not hers. She heard your thoughts and her eyes widened, remembering what her stepmother told her many decades ago. If her memory did not deceive her, and it did not deceive her, then when sampling a person’s blood, if they arent killed, she will be able to hear all the thoughts associated with her. Then, being a recently converted vampire, Wanda did not attach any importance to this, because she did not think that something would happen that she would not complete the job. Apparently this was very arrogant on her part.

But since this has happened, why not entertain yourself for the first time in the last two hundred and ninety-seven years. From that moment on, she had her own personal human.

Part 2?

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (34)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, mention of killing a lot of people, catching others having sex ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that never before in his life had he felt such fury as he did that evening when an attempt was made to poison his wife. He ordered all the servants to assemble in the hall, and then watched as one by one they tasted the wine that had been prepared for the supper for his wife and their cousin.

Some of them began to sob, and some of them were clearly unaware of what was happening − however, he decided that he couldn't take any risks, and soon they were all lying on the ground, looking like terrifying monsters from nightmares.

Their eyes bulging and red, their mouths full of blood and foam, their skin at once purple and pale.

He ordered the guards to watch over his and his cousin's chambers throughout the night and to bring fruits and other things to eat that could not be poisoned.

They had to manage in this way until they questioned and found new servants, whom he was going to choose himself.

As he walked into his quarters, he saw Baela lying on his bed in the darkness, his wife snuggled into her, immersed in a restless sleep.

"− she just fell asleep −" She whispered, lifting herself to sit up, trying to do it quietly and slowly so as not to wake her.

He hummed under his breath at her words and nodded.

"− you may return to your chamber now − I have assigned you guards from King's Landing − they will watch over your safety all night −" He replied, wishing she would just leave them alone at last.

Baela stepped around him and left without another word.

He sighed heavily as he walked over to the bed and lay down beside her, pulling his eye patch off his eye beforehand, feeling the pain in his eye socket due to the stress − his heart squeezed as her body instantly clung to his, recognising him, her hands tightened on his leather tunic.

"− uncle −" She muttered, lifting the dreamy gaze of her eyes to him. He kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair with his palm, hushing her.

"− shhh, my love − sleep − no one will threaten you anymore −"

"− are they dead? −" She asked quietly, and he swallowed hard.

"− yes, my love −"

"− all of them? −"

"− yes −"

"− and what about Alys? −"

"− her life belongs to you −"

"− thank you −" She whispered tenderly.

He swallowed hard, feeling the anger and rage slowly begin to leave him, giving place to his horror and disbelief.

"− embrace me, Rhaenys −"

He sighed as her small arms embraced him tightly at the waist, her face snuggled into the hollow of his neck, her legs entwined with his. He sank his hand into her hair, drawing her close, feeling the scent of vanilla fill his lungs wonderfully.

His wife and his child were alive and safe in his arms.

"− how did you know? −" He asked quietly, although some part of him knew the answer.

"− she told me − she warned me again −"

He sighed heavily and kissed her forehead again, her body warm and familiar, his.

"− I could have lost you − you and the baby − I thought we were safe here − but I promise no one threatens you anymore − I will choose new servants myself −" He whispered and she nodded wordlessly, snuggling into him as if she wanted to melt into one with him.

His hand slid down her waist between them and stopped at her womb.

He thought he wanted to tell her.

He wanted her to know that whatever she brings out into this world, it would make him happy and grateful towards her.

"− I will love our offspring − even if a little girl with your dark hair is born − I will love her because she will be my beloved wife's gift to me and our kingdom −" He whispered, imagining in the back of his mind their daughter so similar to her with his violet eyes, smiling in the same wonderful way as her.

How could he not love her?

His niece's words snapped him out of his reverie.

"− I want to give you seven children − as many as there are gods −" She murmured, stroking his hand with hers. He involuntarily snorted at her words.

"− after this, will you stop letting me between your thighs? −" He asked lowly and heard her sigh.

He knew she was smiling.

"− I fear no force will stop my uncle from reaching for what he desires −" She cooed, lifting her head, meeting the amused look in his eye.

Little tease.

"Indeed."

He swallowed quietly, coming up with an idea that seemed mad to him at first.

What if they had both decided to stay in Harrenhal?

Then they would not be prisoners of any family, neither of them would feel threatened, stranded.

The fortress was theirs, they could do what they wanted with it − they could live in it.

He thought he wanted that for them.

Peace and quiet so she could carry his child in her womb in peace.

"Let us not return to King's Landing or Dragonstone." He whispered. "Let us stay in Harrenhal. Let us create our own legacy. Give birth to our child here. Neither of us will feel like prisoners then."

She blinked, completely taken aback by his words. She swallowed quietly, thinking hard, only to lift the warm gaze of her bright eyes to him again a moment later.

"Very well. It's my desire too." She said quietly and touched his cheek with her palm, running her fingers over his jaw. He closed his eye and let the air out loudly − a hiss broke from his lips as he grasped the place where the sapphire now glittered in his eye socket with his hand, feeling that piercing, burning pain in his skull again.

It felt like someone had hit his head with a hammer.

"− uncle? −" She muttered terrified, touching his shoulder, but he just shook his head.

"− it will pass − it always passes −"

"− is it your eye? − does it cause you pain? −" She asked tenderly, worried and concerned, her large eyes open wide in horror at his condition.

For a moment he felt that the pain had taken away his speech, so he just shook his head, letting her know that he just needed to rest for a while.

"− should I call the maester? −"

"− no −" He whispered with difficulty.

He lay down on his back, still keeping his hand over his eye, breathing deeply, reminding himself that this had always helped him.

He realised that since his niece had come back into his life the pains in his eye socket had stopped as if by magic − before, for eight years they had tormented him notoriously, most at times when he was angry or frightened.

It had been months since he had felt as much fear as he did that evening.

"− can I do anything to relieve you? −" She asked helplessly, sitting beside him, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− no − lie down beside me and embrace me − I need to calm down −" He muttered, and after a moment her body was already beside his, her head clinging to his chest where his heart was beating.

They lay like this in silence, not speaking for a long time, her fingers stroking his free hand lying on his stomach. He concentrated only on that − on her presence, on the warmth of her body, on her scent, on her touch, and he felt the pain become less and less stinging, fading further and further, relaxing his tense muscles.

They both finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

He spent the next few days selecting new servants. He had them brought from villages independent of Lord Strong, warning them that they were to be loyal only to him and his wife, on pain of losing their heads.

He ordered his guards to watch them closely and supervise how the food was prepared, lest someone tried to poison his wife or his cousin again.

Although impatient and concerned that Lord Strong had sunk to the ground, apart from that, he felt this relaxed and content for the first time in his life.

His wife was at his side of her own desire, free and thirsting for his presence.

He felt as he had when they were children − now she too sought his closeness, the touch of his hand, the embrace of his arms at the most ordinary, prosaic things she shared with him every day.

At night, too, she was able to show him how great her longing for his closeness was, even though she had him at her fingertips − although he took care of her devotedly in the evening, he could feel her fingers trailing over his face, immersed in a deep sleep.

He purred then, involuntarily cuddling her warm, soft body into his, entwined with his legs. His breath grew heavier, his senses sharpened as he felt her full, soft lips place tentative, gentle kisses on his chest, his cock pulsed and quivered as her fingers traveled up and down it in slow, steady strokes.

"− my wife can't fall asleep? −" He whispered in a hoarse voice, grasping her plushy thigh with his hand, putting it around his waist, pulling her closer to him. She squirmed as his free hand gave her an encouraging, short smack on her buttock, his sweet punishment for rousing him from the peaceful, deep sleep he had only experienced at her side.

He softened this aggressive gesture by seeking her lips in the darkness, joining her in a warm, lazy kiss full of their tongues and sticky moisture, sighing contentedly as her small, delicate hand clamped down on his root, squeezing and rubbing it skilfully so as not to cause him pain.

It took her embarrassingly little time to make him completely hard and ready to possess her − he could feel that his own wetness was already dripping from the thick, pink head of his erection, proof of how delighted he was that his own wife craved him so desperately.

Had another woman been lying next to him, he would have felt cornered and humiliated, as if she wanted to deliberately deprive him of control and dominate him − with her, however, with his tender friend, with his sweet wife, he felt at peace, desired and assured.

A murmur escaped his lips as her fingers guided his long erection against the heat between her thighs − they both sighed as he pushed against her puffy, leaking slit with a soft thrust of his hips, feeling his heart pounding like mad, already fully awake despite hardly opening his eyes.

Her little cunt offered him slight resistance at first, moist and tight − he opened her wide at the thickest part of her length, drawing a sweet, girlish cry of exertion from her lips, her fingers clenched on his back, her breasts, her hard nipples pressed against his bare, sweaty chest.

They were so close with each other.

"− shhh − there you go −" He whispered, thrusting deep between her swollen, fleshy walls pulsing with desire, welcoming him home, as usual wonderfully warm, making him feel safe.

Nowhere was he so comfortable, nowhere could he find a more wonderful refuge than deep inside her.

He didn't have the strength to pretend in front of her any longer, recognising also that there was no reason to do so − he allowed himself to be more vocal than usual, his panting and groans low and filled with relief.

His hand clamped down on her plump buttock, spreading her thighs wider, pounding into her delicate flesh with loud splats of her wetness and his seed that he had filled her with the evening before.

"− uncle − so good − make love to me −" She mumbled innocently as if in a dream, kissing again and again his chest, his neck, trailing her fingers along his back, waist and buttocks making a wonderful hot shiver run through him − his achingly swollen cock expressed his contentment at her closeness and treatments as it twitched hard inside her, her walls sucking it and clamping down on it greedily, soaking him wet.

"− f-fuck −" He breathed out and groaned low with pleasure as her puffy, wet lips clamped around his nipple, her tongue swirling around it making a wave of tickling pleasure run down his lower abdomen, causing him to quicken his pace, pressing his face to the hollow of her neck, clutching her fragrant flesh to his.

"− mghmm −" She whimpered as he tightened his fingers on her breast, wanting to feel, as he usually did for a moment before reaching his peak, how perfectly it fitted the shape of his hand, in response to what she was doing pressing and teasing her nipple with his thumb.

He didn't know when his niece was shaken by a wave of pleasure − her fleshy walls squeezing his soaked cock were enough to make his spend fill her again with his loud sigh of delight that left him speechless.

He kissed her forehead, feeling fulfilled and at peace, his heart and body filled with a wonderful, hot emotion, his affection for her, his devotion, his care, his eternal desire that could not be satisfied.

He knew she felt the same.

They both breathed loudly, trying to calm themselves, stroking their naked bodies, sweaty from the sudden exertion. He murmured lowly as he felt her palms travel up his buttocks and rise higher along his waist making him feel goosebumps.

If Maris Baratheon had touched him in this way, he would have felt discomfort − he would have thought that such behaviour was unworthy of a lady or wife, and he would have pushed her away, frustrated and discouraged.

Yet it was his childhood friend hands that stroked and caressed his body, it was her lips that roamed his bare flesh, giving him pleasure and a sense that she desired him as much as he desired her, that his scar and what had happened to his eye had never crossed him out in her eyes as neither her husband nor her lover.

This realisation, her care and the warmth of her embrace calmed him.

He fell asleep again with his face snuggled into her hair, her naked body pressed against his, his soft erection deep inside her.

It didn't bother her − on the contrary, he got the impression that it wasn't just about fulfilment. She, like him, enjoyed the feeling of him being deep inside her, of feeling him, of them being one flesh.

Woman and man couldn't have been more connected.

The following nights that he spent at her side were filled with their intimacy and peaceful, deep sleep. He only awoke in the morning, struggling to tear himself away from her, assuring her that he would soon return to her by placing warm, lingering kisses on her bare shoulders and neck, before getting up to attend to his duties.

After what had happened he sent Aegon a letter, and it took several days for his reply to reach Harrenhal. As it turned out, according to his suspicions, their grandfather was still acting behind their backs, and Aegon decided to put an end to it by locking him in his chamber, allowing only his most trusted servants and guards to approach him.

Several people carrying information out of the Red Keep, which was apparently then passed on to Larys, lost their heads, and their deaths were a warning to others.

It was Aegon Targaryen, not Otto Hightower, who was King.

For now.

Baela chose not to leave Harrenhal, horrified by what had happened, clearly wanting to watch over his wife − her presence frustrated him, but he couldn't underestimate her contribution to her safety all the more so when he had other things to attend to and wanted to make sure his niece or their child was in no danger.

"− it's slowly becoming visible −" She whispered to herself, stroking her belly. He looked up at her from over the parchments, snapped out of his reverie and hummed under his breath, extending his hand to her. True to her words, as she approached him and he placed his hand on her lower abdomen, he felt it swell, though it was barely noticeable.

"− indeed −" He murmured, for some reason clearly pleased. He leaned down and nestled his face into her belly, sighing heavily, her hands enclosing him in a tender embrace.

They both shuddered and pulled away from each other, hearing a roar in the skies. He stood up, walking over to the window, seeing a black blur approaching towards Harrenhal, gliding between the clouds, however, he was unable to recognise who it was.

Only after a while did he recognise the familiar silhouette and sighed heavily, looking at his wife resentfully, as if it was her fault that her older brother had decided to fly to Harrenhal.

He, his wife and Baela came out to meet him. Jace was visibly upset, as he jumped down from his saddle he quickly ran to his sister and locked her in his embrace.

"− are you hurt? − I arrived as soon as we received the message − our mother is terrified −"

"− I'm well, brother −" She whispered and stroked his back. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard his jealousy at the sight, looking away, clenching his hands folded behind his back into fists.

"− how could you let this happen? −" He heard his enraged voice pointed in his direction and looked at him warningly, hitting the wall of his cheek with his tongue.

His wife intervened, seeing the look on his face.

"− Jace − that's enough − in my condition I can't be upset −" She said impatiently, using this argument every time she wanted to shut down a discussion that was uncomfortable for her.

Her brother swallowed hard and nodded, trying to control himself.

"− mother sends me to personally make sure you are not in danger here −" He said finally, Baela snorted at his words, clearly offended.

"− I am here and I informed you about what happened − don't you trust me? −" She asked angrily − Jace looked at her, embarrassed that he had only just remembered her presence.

He thought with disapproval that he somehow felt sorry for his cousin.

He, though eyeless and with a long scar on his face, was the only one for his wife.

It had always been that way and he knew no other feeling.

How humiliating must it have been when your future husband forgot you existed?

It was only when thinking about it that he reminded himself what he had seen a few days earlier and looked away, grinning mockingly.

He had left the fortress to meet his spies who had come across Larys Strong's trail − it turned out that he had been staying at one of the inns and then moved on to another place, paying everyone lavishly for their silence.

He felt he had him at his fingertips, that he would soon crush his head.

By the time he returned, it was late evening. Walking towards his chamber, he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, tired and discouraged, comforting himself with the thought that his niece was waiting for him in bed, soft, warm and wet, that he would sink deep between her thighs and find relief in her loving arms.

He did not understand how married couples could sleep in separate chambers.

He would go mad if his wife spent her nights in quarters other than his.

He stopped, snapped out of his reverie by hearing sounds he knew well − he furrowed his brow, thinking with rage that some guard had just fucked a servant girl in an empty chamber, instead of doing his duty and keeping an eye on his wife's safety.

He burst in like a thunderstorm, the loud moans, panting and slapping of skin against skin continuing for a moment before Baela's eyes lying under the broad, muscular man found his in the darkness.

Something akin to a squeal of fear broke from her lips, her palms tightening on the man's back as he turned over his shoulder and turned pale at the sight of him.

"− Y-Your Grace − I −"

He turned, shocked, and walked away, looking over his shoulder, hearing them both curse under their breath and snorted, a mocking smirk on his face.

So that's what it looked like, he thought with amusement.

For some reason, what he saw made him feel better − his wife was already asleep when he walked into their chamber. He watched her peaceful face as he undressed and lay down on top of her, her eyelids parted and her body trembled all over in fear that someone had touched her.

"− shhh −" He whispered, pressing her naked body against the bed − he was delighted to see that, in an involuntary, natural response, her thighs spread wide before him, her fingers snuggling him close.

"− yes −" She mumbled, still half asleep, and he forced his way deep into her hot interior with one quiet, slow thrust of his hips.

She moaned and sighed beneath him, delighted that he was sliding into her without haste, clearly more focused on feeling her well than on experiencing fulfilment as quickly as possible.

He had long since learned what it meant to truly enjoy her body.

He thought as he threw her legs over his shoulders, as he leaned down and locked her breasts between his fingers, listening to the way his cock opened her sweet cunt with the loud clicks of her wetness, that he had something that neither Baela nor Jace had.

He loved and was loved.

That realisation spread through his body like a warm, wonderful wave, his lips, swollen with desire, joined hers, her fingers tightened in his hair. He quickened his pace, slamming into her with ever louder moans of pleasure, knowing exactly what he was doing to her and what was about to happen.

"− n-no − no, it's fresh bedding −" She mumbled, simultaneously trying to push him away while he pulled her to himself, her puffy nipples rubbing against his chest with each of his rough pushes.

"− why the fuck should I care −" He sneered, thrusting into her again and again with deep, sticky thrusts of his fat erection, feeling her moist, hot walls squeeze it with pleasure against her pleas.

Her response to his brutal thrusts was her helpless, girlish cry, her lips parted in despair knowing what was coming, her slick cunt beginning to leak from her moisture making him slam into her with loud, sticky splats each time.

"− ah − mghmm − u-uncle −" She mewled, digging her fingers into the skin of his shoulders, tilting her head back, letting go at last, allowing what he wanted to happen to happen.

"− thaaat's it, theere we go − that's my girl −" He breathed out, reaching his peak inside her just as he felt the wave of her moisture run down her buttocks along with her fulfillment.

"− u-uh − no − it's all wet now −" She mumbled out, panting heavily, unsatisfied and unhappy.

"− your husband will take pity on you and let you sleep on his dry part of the bed − hm? −" He muttered with a grin, her hand slapping his chest with regret mixed with amusement.

"− you do it on purpose −"

"− indeed −" He hummed and turned on his side with her, looking with a smirk of satisfaction at the large, colourless stain that had formed where her buttocks had previously lain, tightly covering their bodies with thick furs.

Neither she nor their child could get cold.

"− sleep −" He commanded and snuggled her face into his neck, sighing contentedly.

He thought back to that night, watching as Jace walked up to his betrothed and embraced her, which she reciprocated.

He thought, looking at them, that they were pathetic.

[rosenclaws]

Oh boy! First of all-congratulations!! You're doing such wonderfull job! And I love your work ❤️ I have 2 promts if you don't mind. Just pick the one you like better and feel more comfy to write (boths are fluff couse im sucker for fluff)

1. Leopold Mountbatten “If only you could see yourself the way I see you, because, holy shit, you’d realise how much I’ve fallen for you.” + countryside/fairytale?

2. Wolverine with simply comforting him after really nasty nightmare when he's calling his...mama in his dreams to comfort him? (Idk i always wanna hug this poor baby)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love youuu

Chance || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader (Fairytale AU)

“If only you could see yourself the way I see you, because, holy shit, you’d realize how much I’ve fallen for you.” + Fairytale AU

600 follower drabble masterlist

wc: 1.9k (OOPS)

a/n: Hello!! I love both of these prompts so much I'm gonna write both! This is prompt one! I also got carried away and it turned more into a oneshot oops!

As a child you dreamed of being a princess. Looking up at the big castle from your small bedroom in the attic. Your head was full of silly things. Dreaming that one day you'd be there in a pretty dress with a handsome prince. Growing up you the day dreams would follow you. People found you strange, always catching you humming and singing. You were far too kind, too generous.

Eventually reality had caught up with you. You were a peasant and the cruel children of the nobles made sure you knew it. They treated you like dirt. Like you were nothing, not even worth a second glance. Your dreams were slowly crushed. It was a harsh truth to swallow but then your mother died and you were left to take over the seamstress business as only a 16 year old.

Soon the only remnants of your childhood hopes only existed when you dreamed. They were silly anyways, you told yourself that as you went to work day in and day out. Thankfully work was flourishing.

The announcement of ball in the palace spread like fire. This prince was to be there and he was meant to be married soon. The ball was clearly a chance to meet the prince and impress him. The excitement was clear. Though they treated you poorly even the noblest of people couldn't deny that you were the best seamstress in all of the kingdom.

Orders upon orders flooded your small shop. Beautiful ballgowns that you could never afford in your wildest dreams. You couldn't help but feel the expensive fabric as you worked. Sometimes your mind would drift back to your old fantasies but you snapped yourself out of them. With only weeks away before you were panicking thinking of all the work you had to do.

When the bell of your shop rang one day you were ready to decline whoever had entered. Except when you looked up you were met with a very handsome man. He had a massive tear in his expensive looking coat and a nasty bruise under his eye.

"Sir! Are you alright?" You rushed to his aid. A sweet but pained smile on his face.

"My apologies, My name is Leo." He bowed his head and put his hand to his chest.

"I do not wish to inconvenience you but I am afraid I had no where else to go."

Leopold didn't meant to cause you any trouble. In fact he meant to lay as low as he could. The castle was boring him to death and the pressure of the royal ball was becoming too much for him. He just needed some fresh air. So he snuck out and spent the day in the town. Though he was to be king he was sheltered all his life and he made the mistake of wandering into the wrong part of town.

His clothes made him stick out amongst the crowds. When he saw two men threatening a young shopkeeper he jumped into action. He's skilled with a sword but with his fists he is not as trained. Leaving him with a bruise he wouldn't know how to explain to his father.

Still they left the shopkeeper alone but now he didn't know what to do. Stumbling into your shop by chance. You were, gorgeous. He watched you as you fixed his jacket and took care of his eye. Your hands were gentle and your smile was so sweet. But most shocking was that you had no clue who he was. No special treatment or fake words. He longed for this.

"Please, let me pay you for your services." He offers, though he has no money on him now he will pay you back.

"Nonsense, I'm happy to help." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

"Thank you darling, I promise I will repay your kindness." The bell tower chimes and he knows he's running out of time. He must return home.

"Goodbye." He hurries out of your shop and you watch him go. A small frown on your face as you hope to see him again one day.

To your shock he returned the very next day. With more money than necessary in a fancy pouch. You refused to take any of it. Despite his protests he eventually relented. Instead he asked to help. Leopold wasn't the best with sewing but he would watch his mother do so all the time. The orders were looming over your head and you did need the help.

You grew closer, learning things about Leo as you worked. He was kind, a true gentleman and he loved to draw. While you worked you told him about your life. Smiling through the stories of your mother, through the childhood hardships. When Leo would prick his fingers you would always patch him back up.

The weeks flew by until it was the day before the ball. As you handed our your orders you couldn’t help but be overcome with sadness. Not for the ball but for the worry that Leo would stop coming once your orders were finished. The door chimes and you perk up as you see Leo.

“Hello, I’m afraid I have nothing left to work on.” You tell him sadly.

“That is alright. I did not come for the work.” There's a hint of nervousness in his eyes as he sits on a stool.

“Are you going to the ball?” He asks and you laugh sadly.

“No, The ball is not a place for someone like me.” Leo’s eyes sadden and he moves closer to you.

His hand cupping your face gently. His piercing hazel eyes are enchanting. Like a spell you never want to wake up from. You were falling in love with him.

"You could accompany me." He offers. Biting his lip as he prays you say yes.

This is what he wants, not someone who only wants him for his title or because he's the prince. He wants something real, something meaningful and that's what he has with you. At least he prays you feel the same way.

“Leo I-“

“My prince! What on earth are you doing here?” A royal guard barges through the doors and you take a step back. Eyes wide in shock as you process what you’ve just heard.

“Prince?” Leopold looks guilty as he tries to stammer out an explanation. They must have followed him. He hadn't been subtle with his adventures and it looks like they finally found him.

“Darling I apologize I-“ The guard grabs him by the shoulder, forcing him out of the shop despite Leo’s protests. He's calling your name, trying to fight the guards but to no avail.

You’re stunned to silence as you watch him leave. The prince? This whole time he was the prince. You closed your shop and spent the rest of the night upstairs. It’s not fair.

You thought you had something special. That you didn’t need the fairytale life when you had Leo but it turns out it was all a lie. Was this simply a game to him? Bored of the castle so he decided to toy with the life of a peasant? You were utterly heartbroken.

The ball passes and you choose to ignore any talk of. Leo doesn’t return and it’s for the best as you reopen your small shop. Business was slow and people went back to treating you like dirt.

It was a rude wakeup call from the last few weeks with Leo but those were in the past now. There’s a loud knock at your door and you choose to ignore it. The shop is closed today.

Still the knocking persists and you become fed up. Such rude behavior! You walk downstairs only to find Leo at the door. You open it and usher him inside before anyone else can see him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask harshly. He seems taken back for a moment.

“I came to see you.”

“Well what can I do for you my prince.” Your voice is void of any emotion as you address him. Even looking at him is painful now and as upset with him as you are he is still your soon to be king.

“Don’t. Don’t call me that please.” He hates it. He is your Leo.

“I am so deeply sorry for not telling you my true identity but I was afraid. You saw me as someone normal and I wanted more.” He tries to explain.

“So what? Was I just a plaything to you? A mirage of normalcy that you were going to drop the second you got bored?” You ask with tears in your eyes, anger flooding your senses.

“No! Never. Please you have to understand it started as an escape but the more I time I spent with you the more I longed to be by your side. You're what I want darling.”

You are the moon and the stars that light his path, the breath of fresh air. Leopold met you by chance but now that he knows you he cannot let you pass him by.

“Do you even know what you’re saying? You are the crowned prince. You will be King. I am nothing compared to your status, your position and to tease me with such a life is cruel!" Leopold can feel his heart breaking at the sight of your tears.

"My love," He cups your face and wipes away the tears.

"Please, do not cry." He presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You close your eyes as you try and commit this moment to memory. What its like to be held by him, to have his lips on yours.

“If only you could see yourself the way I see you, because, you’d realize how much I’ve fallen for you.” He confesses. Your heart leaps, his eyes shine with sincerity as he ghosts his lips over yours again. Silently begging for another kiss.

"Leo..." You want him, you want to give in but there's so much in your path.

"Don't think about it, just focus on me. I love you. Status means nothing to me when all I want is your love. So please, make me the happiest man in the kingdom." He lets go of your face and kneels down. Revealing a box with the prettiest ring you had ever seen. He was serious about this. He wants no one else by his side for the rest of his life.

"Oh Leo, Yes yes yes!" You grab his face and smash your lips to his, Leo groans as the kiss deepens. You're desperate and apart of you is afraid to open your eyes, wondering if he'd disappear when you do. He wraps his arms around you and dips you down. Lips moving in sync as you get lost in each other.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." He whispers as he peppers kisses along your jaw. He's your prince, your childhood dream coming to take you away. He slips the ring onto your finger and you bask in its beauty.

"I love you too Leo." He grins so wide it makes you forget all your worries.

His eyes so full of love and hope that you decide you'd follow him anywhere. Hand in hand he whisks you away, promising to love you forever and you believe him. Your dreams were coming true and you couldn't be happier it's with him.

Your prince, your hope, your love.

[sinon36]

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

As I lay in bed, it's 5 am. My alarm is supposed to ring at 7 am. Insomnia hits again. So here we go! Enjoy the product of my foggy brain!

Warnings: fluff, some mentions of torture, curse words, insomnia, nightmares, threats, stalking but it's good natured, some mistakes ( grammar and spelling), interact at your own discretion.

-

When you first met it happened in the nonstop supermarket at the intersection a couple blocks from his apartment. It was 3 am. You were looking for coloured paper, he was looking for Kentucky burbon.

Both of you couldn't sleep for very different reasons. He just got back from a long mission, unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, not as familiar as the base, always bustling with activity. The house was too quiet. Ears straining to hear something. An understimulated brain makes up sounds, that turn to memories, then night terrors. He was out in search of relief, getting so drunk he'd pass out and get some shut-eye.

You on the other hand were finishing up on materials for your little students. And then you needed coloured paper to finish. You huff and puff, and almost curse out but refrain from doing so, looking at your wristwatch you determine you have a few hours until the school day begins. Do you trudge to the intersection, hopping, begging for mercy and coloured paper.

You were the only ones there besides the half-asleep cashier. Your sound of triumph at having found what you're looking for travels to the liquor aisle. Simon's eyes point in your direction, not really sure he actually heard it or hallucinated it.

At the register, you cut him off not even noticing his dark-clad 6'3 body, whiskey bottle in hand. He let out a 'bloody hell', an almost whisper, but your teacher's instinct kicked in. 'Language' you'd said in a chastised voice eyes darting to fix him with a glare, the same you'd do to the children in class. But instead of a meager 'apologies, miss' you get a grunt out of him. You glare some more and turn away, making a barely audible comment directed at him. Naturally, he confronted you on that and you went on and gave him a lecture on how people like him make your work 10 times harder and how they are a bad example to future generations.

Both him and the cashier look at you like you've grown two heads. Honestly, the young guy behind the cash register, thought you might start a fight with the graveyard shift regular wearing a balaclava and buying alcohol well into the hours of morning.

But you didn't. After having said what you had to say you turned around on your heels, slapped the two packets of coloured paper in front of the young man, and then angrily put the money in his outstretched hand. You left in a flurry of murmurs, not even acknowledging the farewell words.

'feisty' he had commented eyes trailing on your departing figure. He chuckled at your interaction. That day he drank himself into unconsciousness thinking of you, and your plush lips spewing insults in his face, eyes alight with passion, face scrunched in barely contained annoyance.

You were a primary school teacher, that much he has gathered from your discourse. He wanted to see you again, and walking around aimlessly he came across the nearest school in the neighborhood. He started searching for your face behind closed windows. He had found you and waited for you, like the stalker that he'd turned into. He hoped you wouldn't call the cops on him.

As you near the gates, two rows of 3rd-year students behind you, loudly talking about how much fun they had with you. You laughed at their happy and springy attitude. They were the best students you've had so far.

And then your eyes met brown ones in a staring match. You'd walked closer starting to threaten him to go before you got him removed from the premises. He smiled under his balaclava, eyes watching in admiration. 'let's grab dinner...' he interrupted you. 'huh?' that was the most articulate answer you could muster. 'I owe you a proper apology. So dinner on me.' He explained in chopped sentences the voice deep and laced with a Manchester accent.

You forgot what you were saying and blushed hard, a cute smile plastered to your face. You were so easily swooned by this stranger and his interest in you. He could have been a killer or kidnapper. You threw caution to the wind. You said yes.

And now, now you were happily married, a couple years into it, actually. The house you bought is small but cosy. The living room table is always full of clippings of coloured paper and half finished materials strewn about. It's home for Simon.

He knows you're busy with schoolwork when he's deployed, so he doesn't worry about you missing him too much. But you do, and he misses you tenfold. So you make something for him, a little couloured origami frame that contains a picture of the two of you, for him to have. He carries it in his chest pocket, but only on base, where he knows it's safe to do so. Being captured with personal things like this in his possession could give the enemy leverage over him. He knows that, he's an expert in interrogation techniques. But he doesn't tell you all this, he knows you're sensitive to violence. So he instead promises that he will keep it close to his heart, all the time. His lucky charm. You're enamoured with him and he basks in your love without shame.

To be continued...

[oriistar]

Googly Eyes

Sun x GN! Reader

Summary: A slow day at the plex leads to a lot of things and finding ways to entertain Sun was one of them.

Warnings: Just Fluff!

Today was an unusually quiet day throughout the Pizzaplex. The hallways and open rooms that were usually teeming with activity were early silent with only the sound of heavy rain hitting skylights and muffled thunder off in the distance. There was a freak storm passing through the city that had left streets flooded and electrical wires down. Every time you checked your phone you were met with news article warnings to seek shelter and refrain from traveling anywhere until the storm passed. Faz Co was an incredibly shitty and greedy corporation though, and had sent out emails to its human staff detailing the fact that no employee was permitted to miss any amount of work during the storm. Failure to show up for your assigned shift would lead to immediate termination. You were about 98% sure that you and the other employees could sue for such a claim and as far as you could tell, a very vast amount of your coworkers had in fact skipped out of work for the day and possibly the days after until everything outdoors went back to normal. You were not so fortunate though.

Being a broke college student that was hardly making ends meet as it is didn't give you the luxury of tossing away a decent paying job and honestly? What you were making now as a daycare assistant for the plex was far more than you could earn as a fast food worker and you weren't so keen on simply throwing this job into the gutter on account of some bad weather. Even if that bad weather might have been kind of life threatening. Why the damn place insisted on being open today was beyond your comprehension though. You practically had to swim to the doors to get here this morning and it was already almost noon with no sign of a single customer anywhere. You were glad that no one was stupid enough to even try to bring their children here on today of all days but it did make you question your own sanity a bit. 

All things aside though, it wasn’t too bad being stuck in the plex while a huge storm raged on outside. As cheap as Faz Co was, they didn't skip any corners when constructing the building and you honestly felt like you’d be safer here than at your rundown apartment that leaked whenever it rained anyway. At least you were smart enough to bring a few things to keep you occupied for today. And so here you were, lounging across one of the huge bean bag chairs with your old tablet propped up in your lap and playing Gordon Ramsey’s ‘Kitchen Nightmares’ at full blast since there weren't any children around to hear it anyway. Your coworker; however, was not so happy about the show choice as he leaned his large circular head over your shoulder so he could watch as well. 

Sun was very noticeably bored today. Usually he’d have so much to do but with the daycare empty for the day he just didn't know what to do with himself. He had been pacing back and forth before he decided to lay on the floor beside you and now he was making comments about the show. “He’s just so mean!” Sun exclaimed as he leaned closer, one of his firm silicone rays pressing against your cheek. “I don’t know how you enjoy watching this…” The animatronic gave another heavy sigh as he flopped fully onto the padded floor beside you. You just shrugged in response, too absorbed in watching Gordon yell at some incompetent manager to worry about Sun dying of boredom. 

He huffed again before he rolled a few times and sprung up to his feet. You glanced up from your tablet as you shoved a chip in your mouth and watched as he took long strides over to the craft nook of the daycare. Deciding he wasn’t doing anything he wasn't supposed to, you went back to watching your show. You heard the jingle of his bells as he approached and were vaguely aware of him sitting beside you and messing with something but you didn't really mind as long as he wasn't whining in your ear again about the foul language that often came from the show you were watching. Sun began to hum along to the daycare theme that was playing quietly in the background and you could feel his hands brushing against the sleeves of your Superstar Daycare branded hoodie. You relaxed a bit further into the beanbag chair and let him do whatever he wanted, finding no harm in him fiddling with your clothing and soon he had drifted from your sleeve, to your shoulder, and even around the back of the beanbag chair. 

After the episode ended, you turned your head to see what Sun was up to only to jump in surprise as you sat up and realized that he had been sticking fucking googly eyes to you this whole time. “Sun, what the fu- heck are you doing?” You questioned, catching the curse before it could slip out. Sun just hummed in response as he grinned mischievously, sitting with his legs crossed and a half empty sheet of adhesive googly eyes in his hand. “Well, you weren't giving me enough attention Starlight..” Sun said, his rays spinning from side to side as he watched you, “So I figured, if you had more eyes then you’d be looking at me all the time!” He laughed, falling onto his back as he kicked his feet and giggled as if his joke was the funniest thing in the world. You were not so easily impressed. 

“You are one weird clown.” You said with a sigh but your expression cracked a little as you smiled at him. Sun didn't seem at all offended by your words as he pushed himself up and quickly crawled over to you. He shoved your tablet aside and flopped himself across your lap in its place, nudging his head up against your hand just like a cat. You rolled your eyes and began to stroke his rays in the way you knew he liked and he sighed happily in response. “You’re just a huge baby, you know that right?” You asked him and he tilted his head a little in your lap, his rays retracting where his faceplate met your thighs. “Yeah, but I'm your baby aren’t I?” He asked innocently and you felt your face warm in response. You scoffed and shoved him off your lap as he started up his giggles again. 

“Okay, whatever weirdo. You better help me get these googly eyes off or else i'll take all the glitter glue home with me tonight.” Sun gasped at your threat and jumped back up immediately, removing the googly eyes from both you and the beanbag chair while pleading with you not to take his precious supply of glitter glue. You were pretty sure he ate it when everyone was gone but hey, everyone has some freaky habit so you couldn't really judge him too hard. You just laughed as you let him pluck the sticky eyes off of you.

All of my writing is original work created by me. Please do not repost, translate, or alter them in any way.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

headcanon that the thing that draws killer to color first is color's six souls situation. he wants to experiment on them so badly, but can never get to beat color so he goes plan b: pretend to befriend color then backstab him later. fortunately the plan backfires and the rest is history :)

also, i do wonder if killer has ever offered color to absorb his red soul. like, is killer's soul human enough? would color become a god after absorbing killer's soul? i think that would be a conversation color has to steer away, but killer can't stop his curiosity and self-destructive hypothesizing. color can become a god. color will be invincible. color can finally be safe like that. and like, maybe if color absorbs killer's soul, killer can finally communicate with the six souls and realize the horrors of raising six semi-children in your head as a single parent.

~ crowshipping anon

crow, how I’ve missed you. you and delta anon are the backbones of this blog btw.

And I absolutely adore the idea of how it started being that killer wanted to experiment on him lmao. Especially if its like “if this guys gonna keep lingering around, might as well make him useful,” and then he just keeps getting his ass beat over and over.

And then he decides to just go the friend route, play along and pretend he’s listening to the “bullshit” Color’s spewing, but color’s actually being genuinely nice. like, genuinely? hes not even trying to make killer stop or change, just firmly setting boundaries and redirecting killer’s curiosity on to something less destructive. and now, oh no, he likes him. hes fascinating.

and i think killer proposing the idea of color absorbing his soul even once is interesting, even if indirectly and possibly during one of his more self destructive or paranoid moments. perhaps if something happens that threatened colors life or somehow caused him to be hurt, or if something is just making killer think about them being separated. perhaps stage 1’s insecurity or just nightmares.

probably proposed it something like, “what if we became one” and color makes a light joke like “that would be awful, this heads already so full, dont you dislike children?” and then killer keeps going on with his line of thought. how color would be a god basically, how they’d be together, how maybe killers soul could help be a source of further power for color.

how hed be safe. killers soul is strong enough to rewrite entire timelines. color wouldn’t even have to worry about death.

of course killer may phrase it as something along the lines of how itd make color more powerful whenever he voices it, but color doesn’t care for more power and they both know that and color knows that he knows. color can read between the lines and killer knows that, too.

maybe this is even just killers way of expressing or wondering about how much closer they could get it, how much more there is to understand.

maybe killer less wants to know about colors souls now and more that he wants to know the souls because he wants to know color. maybe he wants to know everything he can learn about him; learn everything he can.

idk just the idea of killer being so intensely fascinated with and curious about color tickles me—something about it becomes less like scientific curiosity and more now that extremely rare desire to connect with someone. because color makes him feel understood and for the first time he feels safe being understood.

and perhaps if/when he becomes more aware of that, the intensity, is enough to cause killer to withdraw emotionally from color for a bit; even if he can’t stop mulling it over in his mind. maybe he even thinks if color absorbs his soul, then he’ll never lose access to that hope and happiness again. theres no threat of it. perhaps becoming a little lost in his fantasy for a bit.

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. (prologue)

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings (future): harsh language; heavy violence; gore; torture; heavy themes of murder; infanticide; social injustice; class discrimination; brief mention of suicidal thoughts; angst; character death; eventual smut; enemies to lovers

notes: this is inspired by the Hunger Games (no 1) and takes place in the universe; if topics such as violence murder infanticide etc trigger you, skip this series; the reader is said to be a Career Tribute

Chloe talks: posting a my prologue for my new Leon Hunger Games series before the next strike tomorrow! please enjoy, I’m convinced this will be my magnum opus :)

word count: 768 (it’s a prologue, so it’s short)

now playing: can’t catch me now ; olivia rodrigo

how you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸

Images of dark alleys, of scorching hot deserts, of raging icy tundras, of sickly beautiful yet dangerous forests haunted each child’s dreams. Not for any reason in particular other than the fact that the images were fed to them since birth. Spoon fed into their heads — the showings of each years annual Hunger Games.

Decades upon decades ago, the ocean swallowed nearly half the continent in a devastating and unprecedented tsunami. States and even smaller countries were lost to the depths of the sea, leaving the remaining forty percent of the country overflowed with a surplus of population.

Women, men, and children with nowhere to go, now crowded the north part of what once was the United States. Now twenty of the fifty states remained, thousands upon thousands of casualties, leaving too many for the forty percent of the country to support.

The government handled it with the worst of ideas, their support was lost, their lack of understanding and empathy led to an inevitable uprising. People stormed the gates of the White House, threatened to kill — and did kill — senators, and representatives, and judges, and even their families.

This uprising nearly destroyed the country as a whole. Thousands were slaughtered, bloodlines were destroyed, families killed by the rebels. Until a group of unknown power that had been hiding behind the scenes for decades stepped forward, taking control of the people. This led to a bloodbath of violence, political control, and the people finally were forced to accept their defeat.

From then, the country was divided into thirteen Districts, each with its own purpose of serving the new country’s Capitol. This new country — Panem — was run with a ruthless government, a controlling President with no mercy and a clever mind. He was cruel, and heartless, and as dangerous as he was calm.

No one dared to object him, no one dared to take his power for fear of the consequences. So, for decades, President Ozwell E. Spencer ran the country. His company — one he started long before he was elected as President — Umbrella was the sole sponsor and creator of the annual Hunger Games.

Where each spring, twenty four children between the ages of twelve and nineteen were picked at random by pairs to represent their District in a fight to the death.

One boy, one girl from each District, chosen by random to be plucked, and bathed, and painted, and paraded, and eventually murdered for the sake of entertainment. Once, these Games were a reminder of what revolution could do, how it could crumble a nation. But that notion was long gone, all that now remained was the entertainment value of their deaths. Deaths none of them deserved. Deaths you never imagined you’d actually witness, much less cause yourself.

The intricacies of these Games were lost upon you, all you knew was to survive. Despite being a so called ‘Career’ and had as close to luxury as you could for someone from one of the Districts, you hardly had the stomach to commit things such as murder. Much less upon other children, people your age.

District One, luxury items, riches, and favor of the Capitol itself. Careers, the title of the Tributes that were put into the Games each year. These Tributes were raised with advantage, raised with early training available to them. Available to you.

For the majority of your life, since you were able to understand what the Games meant, you’d been trained by Victors, the Redfield siblings. Chris and his sister, Claire, were once Tributes themselves, in consecutive years.

Chris Redfield won at nineteen with pure brutality, physical strength and power, partaking in the bloodbath and taking out a good majority of the other Tributes in the beginning. Chris’s Games lasted a mere week.

While Claire Redfield managed to outsmart each and every other Tribute in her arena, successfully becoming the Victor by simply waiting for them all to die by natural causes, or killing themselves with their own stupidity. Her Games lasted three, the ending of said Games pushed quickly to be brought to a conclusion. Leading the girl to become Victor at a mere thirteen.

So, despite the fact that you weren’t technically supposed to be trained by Mentors unless Reaped, the Redfield siblings trained you behind the curtain. They prepared you for the possibility of you being Reaped, of being subjected to the horrors they’d seen. To the murder they had to commit to stay alive. They wanted you to win, to have a chance of survival.

But, maybe they should have just let you die. Maybe they shouldn’t have taken you under their wing when they found you shivering in the rain after a school bully had taken your pack and shoes and jacket.

Maybe they should have just let you be killed. Then you wouldn’t have to live with the memory of him.

[borbygorlinbbqworld]

I loved the boss story. Would be cool to expand a part 2 with the reader and Nolan 👀

Please find Part 1 on my page!

---

Thanks, Boss! 2

The wedding reception had been wonderful. Kate's coworker had written an amazing, romantic speech about his bride to be that had admittedly brought her to tears. She blamed the hormones from recently having her quadruplets, but a part of her suspected it was a bit more than that.

Her boyfriend, Chris, had abandoned her at the dinner table to keep doing shots at the bar. Not that unusual from every night he was home with her, honestly.

"Mind if I take a seat?"

Kate looked up to see her attractive boss, Nolan. His broad shoulders filled out his suit nicely, but it was his warm smile that did it for her. She moved her purse from the chair next to her. "Not at all, please."

"I don't mean to sound inappropriate at all, being your boss and all. But you look absolutely stunning tonight, Kate."

Her cheeks heated.

She didn't have the heart to tell him what a nightmare it was trying to find a dress to contain her massive breasts; breastfeeding quadruplets had left her popping out of an M Cup on a good day, and the dress she wore tonight was barely hanging on. Even the nursing bra she wore underneath creaked, as if threatening to tear.

Worst off, she had pumped not long before getting to the wedding, but her breasts felt fuller by the minute.

Yet she never felt embarrassed about any of that when she was with him. Nolan had a calming and understanding presence about him that was genuine and made her feel safe.

The way a man ought to make his woman feel.

"Chris is a very lucky man." The comment sent a heat through Kate, and her breasts throbbed with fullness. Nolan tilted his head to the side. "Where is he, anyway?"

"At the bar, getting shots." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "He doesn't seem to think he's so lucky. Tied down to a woman with four children, after all."

"His children."

Kate shrugged. "He doesn't care."

Nolan shook his head and raised his glass of pinot, gesturing for her to do the same. "Well, cheers to his knockout of a wife that he doesn't deserve."

She couldn't help but snicker. She cheered him with her own wine, and they both took a sip.

"He really doesn't know how damn lucky he is."

Kate looked back at her boss. His large brown eyes were deep, soulful, and a slight rouge glazed his cheeks. No wonder he was being so forward; he was a little intoxicated.

"He's not that lucky, Nolan..."

He shook his head. "I disagree."

Kate snorted and put her hands on her hips. The action jostled her breasts, and for the first time, she noticed her stoic, super polite boss stare down at them. Yet unlike when other men stared, she didn't want him to stop. His pupils dilated, which made her nipples harden with arousal, something she knew he could see through her thin nursing bra.

The longer he stared, the more she noticed how wet she was getting. She remembered just how much milk he had drank from the bottles in his office; would it be too much to want him to grab her breasts and feed right from the source? To want him to fill her with children?

Holy hell, she was horny for her boss!

Blushing, she tried to turn the thoughts by looking away. Still, his gaze was warm and inviting, and it felt awfully nice to be wanted by someone like him.

"How do you figure Chris is lucky?"

Nolan took a gentle sip from his glass. "For starters, his girlfriend has what have to be the most perfect breasts in the world. Massive pillows of comfort with enough milk in her to feed her family and an entire orphanage."

Kate couldn't help but feign offense. "An orphanage?!"

He was right of course; as it was, she could feel the nursing bra she was wearing digging tighter and tighter as she filled up with more and more milk. Blue veins pulsed the surface, begging her to nurse or pump, or else the tight red dress she was in was going to be dripping. Yet she couldn't help but stare back as Nolan continued.

"You donate your excess milk to children in need at hospitals because you adore kids. If the hormones you give off all the time are to be trusted, you want a hell of a lot more of them, too."

Right again. Her cheeks flushed. "I want to have like... eight..."

A playful, almost naughty smile played upon his lips. "Eight kids, or eight more kids?"

Good God, with how lusty his voice was, she didn't know anymore.

"If it were me," Nolan continued, "I wouldn't have made my girlfriend who just gave birth to quadruplets go back to work unless she wanted to. I would have made sure she and our kids had everything they needed while we continued to build our family with plenty of breastfed children. And, as long as she was okay with it, I would make sure she was always pregnant."

Oh fuck. Kate tried crossing her legs to hide the fact that her panties were soaked as she stifled a moan. Her breasts felt so incredibly tight in the bra and dress, it was hard to breathe.

"I can't lie, seeing you pregnant at work was a massive distraction for me, Kate. You're like a fertility goddess tantalizing me, because I know I can't have you anywhere close to how much I want you."

Suddenly, with the sound of two snaps and a slight tearing sound, Kate lurched forward under the weight of her breasts as she let out a moan.

Looking down at them, she realized the clasps on her nursing bra must have broken completely under all the extra weight of her engorged breasts. And when they did, her cleavage came spilling out, and her dress had ripped to make more space for her massive mammaries.

But she didn't care. Her nipples were hard from arousal, and the dark pink meat from her areolas were spilling out from the dress. Everything Nolan had said excited her, and her body was ready.

"I knew you were looking a little full." He smirked, but stared down at her breasts affectionately. "Do you want my jacket to cover up?"

She shook her head and got to her feet, her freed breasts jostling and audibly sloshing around the milk. She took his hand and pulled, leading him away from the table, ignoring the stares she got from others who had noticed her dress mishap.

"Everything okay?"Nolan asked once they had gotten to the parking lot.

Kate nodded, the action finally making one of her nipples pop out. Cherry red and dripping, she knew her boss would stare, and she was right.

"I choose you."

"Hmm?"

"I am so horny, Nolan. For you, for that life that you want. I need you to get me pregnant. I need you to keep getting me pregnant, even if it means twenty or thirty kids." There was no room for embarrassment anymore. She pressed her massive leaking breasts against his chest and looked up at him pleadingly. "Please?"

He took her engorged mammaries in his hands and gently massaged them. Each time his fingers hit a gland, a spurt of milk dampened his shirt until he was near soaked.

"Poor thing, you're so full..." He leaned down and lapped at the small river her breast had made as Kate let out a load moan. "Did you need me to nurse on them while I fuck you in the car?"

----

🐮❤️

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hello!! What about the M6 with an Mc who still sleep with stuffed animals?? I still need to lol

The Arcana HCs: When MC sleeps with plushies

~ I hope you're ready for some lighthearted, tooth-rotting fluff anon! this one's dedicated to Pooh-boo, my loyal dream guardian of 22 years, and his many friends. thanks for the lovely prompt! - brainrot ~

Julian

Hey, you do you! If it helps you with stress or sleep then he's not one to judge

Seriously though, does it actually help with sleep? What about nightmares, does it help with nightmares? It does? Good to know, good to know ...

He will ask you if they have names and personalities and then suggest you introduce them to him. He will also jokingly introduce himself to them and thank them for their service

He now refers to them as "the children"

If you have any kind of discussion or lighthearted disagreement he will bring up "the children" and tell you that they're on his side

No really, they think he should stay up a few more hours too! They're so invested in seeing how this study turns out, you wouldn't deprive the children of that, now would you MC?

You should really join him at the Rowdy Raven tonight, MC! The children will be fine for a few hours, they think it would do you good as well. Malak can babysit them!

Speaking of Malak, if you get a raven plushie at any point in time it's Julian's favorite child

He will threaten to replace Malak with it if he doesn't behave

He doesn't mind you bringing the plushies to bed as long as he's still the main thing you're snuggling with. He has been known to wake up holding one with no idea how it got there

Asra

They think it's the most adorable thing they've ever witnessed, please never stop, it'll make them so sad not to see you all cuddled up and cute like that

Will snuggle them with you if you're okay with it

Makes a habit of bringing one back from every trip, in all the colors of the rainbow. Sometimes he'll name them in advance and concoct a ridiculous backstory for when he introduces them to you

Back when you were still recovering, they would sometimes leave a dab of their perfume on one of them so you wouldn't miss them too much at night

When you realized that he missed you on his trips too, you went out and got him a small one to fit in his bag and keep him company

They cried a little after you gave it to them (without letting you see)

It really helped him cope with your memory loss to know that you still wanted to be a part of his life, even when your condition and his isolating habits made it difficult

They have a favorite of your plushies and will cuddle it in front of you before they leave so it's charged full of all their snuggles to share with you while they're gone

Faust likes hiding in the pile of them and playing peek-a-boo, popping her little head out at random intervals

She refers to all of them as comfy friend and will threaten anyone who laughs at them

Nadia

Very, very surprised when she finds out, to the point of being momentarily speechless

She's not judging you at all. She just figures that it's a specifically MC thing that you like to do, even if she doesn't understand the appeal

When you start sharing her chambers with her she's initially a little put off by having them in her space

Not because she dislikes them, but because they're seen as childish and she's spent the last thirty years at least doing her best to distance herself from any and all childishness possible

She still likes to spoil you though, so she will regularly purchase new ones for you until you have enough to bury yourself in them

You notice she tends to get owl-themed ones, especially when they're made of similar material to her comfier clothes

She does grow to like them eventually

There's even a few well-founded rumors that she was spotted talking to them when you weren't around for her to verbally process her thoughts

Looking at them becomes almost as soothing as meditating

She will never admit to any of these things

Funnily enough, she does feel the need to be in a different room from them whenever she wants to heat things up with you a little. Something about their innocent little gaze freaks her out

Muriel

He doesn't say anything the first time he sees you hunker down with one, but his face and his mind are both screaming "What."

Genuinely did not know that anyone past the age of five could do that

Assumes that it's because you don't have a familiar yet and this is your way of coping. He knows he sleeps much better with Inanna around

He suddenly decides that he likes your habit when Morga makes several negative comments about it on your trip South. He'll quietly suggest you put it between the two of you so it doesn't roll out

He knows they're important to you, so he makes sure to have a good spot for them in the hut when you move in

Ideally somewhere out of Inanna's reach. You both know she probably doesn't care that much but neither of you wants to find out how quickly she could rip one to shreds if she felt like playing

He does find that they're very soothing to hold and squeeze sometimes, especially after a taxing day

He'll come inside and carefully wash his hands before sitting by the fire with one, idly smoothing his massive fingers over it if he accidentally squeezes too hard

If you charge one full of your cuddles and hand it to him to keep him company while you're gone, he'll turn bright red and sweat

He will keep it nearby and safe until you return though

Portia

She laughs when she finds out

Not the mean kind of laugh, the friendly kind of laugh that thinks it's a little silly but in a good way and very endearing

She loves how cozy they make the cottage feel. Don't just keep them in a heap, put some on the couch! On the chairs to hold a place for unexpected guests! By the fire, but not too close!

She never sleeps with them herself, but she doesn't mind them joining you at all

She does like playing with them though

Most of the time it's just to tease you. She'll hold one in front of her face and wake you up with a silly voice

Other times, if she's bored and in a very specific mood, she'll go full storyteller mode and use them to act out entire epics

The last novel she read? It's being dramatically reenacted on your stomach, complete with little red ribbons for the backstabbing scene:

"Blood! Blood! Blood! And ... DEATH."

You will never be able to read Hamlet the same way again

You were worried that Pepi might try to test out her claws on them but it turns out that she likes to nap in them instead. Which makes her hard to spot, because she is also very small and fluffy and cute

Portia once used an old skirt of hers to make you one for when she took an ambassador trip without you. It's your favorite

Lucio

When he first saw you holding one as a ghost he laughed so hard it made you jump

Gave you so much grief for it at first that Asra finally snapped and threatened to shove one up his -

- you know what, that would be too cruel to the plushie in question

He didn't comment on it again, and later apologized quietly once he had more practice acknowledging his mistakes

He still secretly thinks it's babyish until you ask him to hold one for you while you're juggling your traveling pack

It's so ... soft. And oddly comforting

Tries to hide the fact that he's reluctant to give it back when you're ready to hold it again

But now he reminds you to bring it to bed every night, because you sleep better with it, right? Yeah, no other reason

Except that you keep waking up with it missing, only to find it snuggled under his chin

He claims every time that it just got there because he was cuddling you, and doesn't say anything when you start bringing at least two to bed instead

Throws a fit when you get him one of his own because he's scared that his gauntlet might tear it. He names it five minutes later and now they're inseparable

He got one each for Mercedes and Melchior so they aren't tempted to chew on any of yours. Or his