#foul🖤blood

[rei-dragoness]

🌼 anon here, and because of the Kal'tst post, I have some weird ideas-

Warning: monster fucking, drugs/pills using, sex toys, double penetrate

Like she is a doctor right? So she probably has... some pills that definitely won't make you unable to cum unless she is satisfied.

" What's wrong, Dokutah? I was just playing with you for one hour only, cumming? Maybe three more hours, maybe "

She definitely said that while you continue to double penetrate your pussy and ass with Monst3r, Did I mention that she would put a strap inside your mouth while she did this act? Well, she owns plenty of it in plenty of sizes. If she were in a good mood, maybe she would even let you sucking Monst3r dick. After rough sex, she would continue to act like nothing happened. You may think that you are dreaming if not for the hickeys all over your body and scratches on your hip area.

[FYI for if anyone wants to follow me after seeing this post, im no longer in the ark fandom]

Hnnnnff Kal'tsit is so mean I just love it, she would probably make you beg and cry for her to let you cum, edging or overstimulating you until you almost pass out, and as a doctor, she probably has so many drugs and aphrodisiacs she can inject you with

The sheer cruelty of being led on by her, being used by her only to never be loved, just used for your body drives me INSANE, even if i dont play Ark anymore, i still adore her.

[venus-haze]

Damned If You Do (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You're almost certain Bo's getting tired of you. You're not so sure how much longer you can prevent the inevitable, but a slip of the tongue in a moment of desperation proves to be your salvation.

Note: Female reader but no other descriptors are used. I missed writing for Bo! I might be kinda rusty, but I hope y’all like it🖤 Please read the warnings before reading. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Canon typical violence. Prolonged captivity and isolation. Stockholm syndrome (some basement wife elements). Mentions of past torture. Extremely dubious consent. Sexually explicit content involving vaginal fingering, sadism, degradation, choking, knife play.

You were sure Ambrose was gonna kill you if he didn’t first. The damp, dead air permeated the basement walls, filtered in thick through the vent in the ceiling and filled your lungs with each breath. It would choke you once summer settled in, foul and unforgiving. Almost as unforgiving as him, whose presence inspired fear and loathing in you. Lately, however, the lack of it brought a foreboding sense of dread over you as your isolated mind raced to its logical conclusion.

Bo was getting tired of you.

One cursory glance at the state of your body made you panic—bruises fading, cuts and cigarette burns scarring over without fresh marks to replace them. For the first week or so you were there, every part of your body pulsed with pain. He found your limits with the efficacy of a bloodhound and brutally forced you past each one. 

All you felt then was dull aching, kinda hungry, too. Didn’t bode well for your long-term survival.

You shifted on the old, lumpy mattress on the floor, stained with blood, sweat, and cum that reeked with the breakdown of others’ bodily fluids. Probably the girls in the Polaroids all over the walls. He’d taken a few of you since you’d been down there. Hadn’t done that recently, either. Mostly came down there to feed you, take you upstairs to use the gas station bathroom, bring you back downstairs to throw you around a little and fuck you, and then leave. Shit. You were becoming a chore.

Bo had plenty of chores around Ambrose already. Would grumble about them to you, the closest he ever got to pillowtalk. The movie theater, the church, even the houses were his responsibility. You weren’t quite sure why, less able to clearly picture the town you’d driven into the longer you spent as Bo’s captive. There weren’t any immediate red flags that popped out at you. After all, you’d driven straight to the gas station on your blown out tire. Didn’t take the time to do any sight-seeing. He made sure of that. From what you’d gathered from Bo, the only living souls in town were he and Vincent, with the recent and temporary addition of yourself.

The floor creaked above you, and you pulled your knees to your chest, anticipating his arrival downstairs. It was almost impossible to tell what mood he’d be in whenever he’d pay you a visit. Tried listening for the sound of his footsteps, the way his boots pounded against the linoleum above to the cement stairs to where you waited for him, as if you could do much else. There was the TV, but the glimpse into the outside world left you feeling especially helpless when your own face flashed across the screen on the 6 o’clock news not long after you became captive in Ambrose. Then after a week or so, all mention of you stopped. Seven days for you to be rotated out of the news cycle. They’d gotten tired of you long before Bo did.

You screwed your eyes shut, as he ambled down the stairs, racking your brain for what to do. Opened them just as quickly to give him your undivided attention, just how he liked. Panicked and hopeless, you blurted out upon seeing his face, “You’re gonna kill me soon, aren’t you?”

He set the bottle of soda he’d undoubtedly brought down for you and smiled. Charming, disarming, like the one he first gave you when you naively drove into town on the roadkill guy’s advice—Lester. His name was Lester. Could he have known? Was he in on the whole thing? You hadn’t seen anyone but Bo for weeks, and he only made mention of Vincent, his brother, who you were certain had no interest in rescuing you from your plight.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

‘Tire blew out,�� you had told Bo, feeling silly and self-conscious when he laughed. ‘I can see that.’ Threw a wink your way and assured you he’d have you back on the road before it got dark. You trusted him because he was handsome and laid on the compliments thick. Made you think maybe driving over that broken bottle in the road wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Within an hour he had you in that fucking basement.

“You—you’re bored of me,” you said. “You don’t come down here as often as you used to.”

“Aw, you miss me? Is that it?” he mocked.

Maybe. Maybe it was the security of knowing you were wanted, that the longer you kept his interest, the longer you’d be alive. Maybe even earn his trust enough to get a chance to escape back into the world that’d forgotten about you. But Bo wouldn’t forget. He’d keep you immortalized on those cinder block walls with all the others. Disgustingly sentimental. Part of you preferred being part of his shrine to his own depravity than a black and white photo people carelessly flipped past in the local paper.

“How are you gonna do it? Tell me,” you begged.

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes at you as a grin spread across his face. “Well, I like to get that shit over with quick, but you might be worth slowing things down for.”

“Like—like how?”

As soon as he made his way toward you, regret filled your gut. You crawled backward on your hands, trying to put some distance between you until your back hit the wall. His hands were around your neck, his hungry eyes drinking in your distress.

“If you were most girls, I would just keep squeezing until you stop breathing,” he said, squeezing harder. “Pretty clean.” Black spots filled your vision as you fruitlessly tried clawing at his hands. “Makes it easier for Vincent to get to work on you that way.” He released your throat, and you fought through the coughing fit that burned in your chest as you gasped for air. Tears streamed down your face, and you wanted to smack the smug expression off of his.

“But that ain’t always fun,” he said.

Bo stood up and kicked your legs apart with his boots. Grabbed something from the nearby tool cart. The fucking knife. You swore he kept the blade dull on purpose just so it’d hurt more, leave nastier scars behind in its wake whenever he dug it into your skin, dragging it through your flesh with horrifying precision that only came from experience, because you never needed stitches.

“For you, I think I’d be a little more personal.”

He straddled you, sitting on your legs so you couldn’t possibly move them in an attempt to escape or defend yourself. You could feel his hard-on straining against his jeans, pressing into your bare pussy as he leaned over you, knife shining menacingly in the buzzing fluorescent light overhead. He made rags of your clothes not long after you became his and never offered any replacement.

The blade pressed against the middle of your chest, right between your breasts, making you shudder. He licked his lips. “I could shove this knife on in there, open you up all the way down to your cunt.” His fingers brushed your clit. “‘Beauty’s only skin deep’, that’s what my mama used to say. But sluts like you all look the same on the inside. Crack open your ribcage, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you from all the rest.”

You whimpered as he dragged the blade down your abdomen with a deceptive gentleness, his fingers still working your clit, making it hard for you not to jerk your hips, risking a slip of the knife directly into your belly. 

When he lifted the knife, you couldn’t even let yourself feel relief as your eyes followed it to one of your wrists. 

“Could take it nice and slow. Let you bleed out,” he pressed it against your skin, dangerously close to a vein. “It’d take hours for you to die, then. Messy as hell, too, but we could get up to some fun, you and me. A good fuck for ol’ times’ sake, then I can sit back with some popcorn while I watch the lights go out in those pretty eyes of yours.”

You let out a shaky breath, fear and arousal mixing with your lingering lack of oxygen so you could only half-grasp what exactly he was saying, just that he had a knife to your wrist, and he was enough of a homicidal monster to kill you that way. He slid his fingers inside you, and you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you, your head heavy and fuzzy as he kept going. 

“But if we’re talking easy and personal, then I’d just—” He brought the blade up to your throat until you could feel your rapid pulse beating against it. 

Bo curled his fingers, pleasure tearing through you as you jolted in place, feeling the cool metal superficially pierce your skin. 

Your voice came out as a strangled sob. “Please, Bo. Please don’t—” 

He kissed you, an undertone of fondness in the gesture that filled you with relief and terror. “You won’t have to worry about any of that for a long while,” he said, his voice low, reverberating through your aching bones. “I’m not finished with you yet. Not even close.”

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 2

An AU Elvis fic

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis�� full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, voyeurism, masturbation, blood/gore

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.4K

A/N: Hello everyone!

I hope you like this fic so far! I'm having fun writing it and it's getting more spicy 🤭 Reader is going through it and I'm loving the tension between these two. Please let me know what you think in the comments or send me a message!

Thank you again!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes and overall goofs. 🖤

Your alarm clock seems to be louder than usual and the instant feeling of anxiety fills your body when you open your eyes. You dreaded going to work today and wished you could just call out sick. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were going to get called into the office today and get scolded, and maybe possibly fired. How did you fuck up the most simple of tasks?! Clean and get out. But no, you had to become a nervous wreck around Elvis and shatter a champagne bottle in your hands, making more of a mess and bleed all over his suite. 

You muster up the courage to get ready and take a shower. Removing the bandages from your hands, you inspect the damage you caused. The cuts didn’t look as bad as yesterday but hurt when stretched your fingers out and flexed your hands. You decided to wrap them back up to keep the wounds dry and clean. 

Looking at the clock, you decide to get to work a bit early incase management needed to talk to you. Might as well prepare for the worse. The drive to the hotel made your stomach turn, the way the air smelled made you sick the closer you got to the parking garage. 

You get to the locker room at noon and it’s buzzing with everyone about to head to lunch. You take a few more steps into the room and everyone grows quiet, throwing disgruntled looks to you. You have no idea what everyone’s problem is but you quickly make it to your locker and get your things out, trying to act like nothing is bothering you. Your friend, Anna, opens her locker next to you and bumps your shoulder.

“What’s with everyone today?” You mutter, looking over your shoulder and seeing the disgusted stares continuing. 

“Everyone found out about you getting promoted to the penthouse and they’re pissed. Especially the ones that have been here a lot longer than you have.” She whispers. “But I’m happy for you, you work your ass off. You have to tell me, what’s he like?” She says in an excited whisper. 

“Well, he’s a dick. Rudest asshole I’ve ever met,” you snicker. She looks at you with wide eyes and covers her mouth from the the laugh that wants to come out. 

“Really?! What did you say to him? What happened?” She presses. 

“Not much but he was just in a foul mood. He watched my every last move and…” you stop yourself, still very much embarrassed about yesterday’s events. 

“Come on tell me,” Anna says eagerly. 

“I broke a champagne bottle and bled all over his suite, then he kicked me out,” you say with a snicker, the nerves getting the best of you and needing to let out the pent up anxiety. 

She lets out a giggle and picks up your bandaged hands. “Y/n, what the hell. That’s awful! You’re like the biggest perfectionist on earth. What happened?” 

“He made me… so nervous. I don’t know what it was about his presence but it just was so intense. The way he’d look at me gave me chills, I don’t know! I have no explanation other than the nerves got the best of me and it broke me, literally,” you say jokingly as you raise up your bandaged hands. 

Anna laughs at you and you continue to change your clothes. 

“Y/n, get in here,” Tanya’s voice echos loudly from the back office. You stomach drops and you look nervously at Anna. 

“Shit, this can’t be good,” you mutter. 

It feels like a death march, and you try to come up with an excuse for your behavior but nothing is good enough to get you out in the clear. 

You swing open the office door and see Tanya looking down at paperwork. 

“Shut the door please,” she says with the wave of her pen. 

You comply and take a seat in the chair, your leg nervously bouncing up and down. 

“How was your shift yesterday?” She asks, her tone unwavering. 

You swallow harshly and clear your throat before speaking. 

“It went well. Was there any notes Mr. Presley left for me?” You say quietly.

She hands you a piece of paper and you hesitate to take it. 

“He sent this down sometime last night. He was so impressed with you y/n. Left you high praise and that’s really a feat! Not even Laura got such high praise when she worked up there. I’m really impressed too,” she says proudly. 

You exhale a sigh of relief and let out a nervous laugh as you take the paper from her hand. 

“Mr. Presley would like to keep y/n as his permanent housekeeper. She gave wonderful care and service.” -Presley Enterprises

You’re at a loss for words and don’t know how you received such a letter. You could have sworn by the wrath in Elvis’ voice you were going to be fired but the opposite tone was conveyed and now you were his permanent housekeeper?

“Thank you Tanya, I’m glad everything worked out smoothly for him. Was there anything else you needed from me?” You say positively. 

“No that was all. Keep up the good work,” she says cheerfully. 

You excuse yourself and close the door behind you, making a swift jog to the bathroom. How were you able to get such high praise when he made it so clear that he hated you. That you were a complete nuisance to him and had to harshly kick you out! That wasn’t normal and you wanted to ask him what the reason for such crass behavior was. You check your hair in the mirror and slick it back in a tight ponytail.

The locker room clears out and it’s left with you and your wandering thought. The shrill sound of the phone makes you race to grab the phone from the wall. It was too early for Elvis to be calling, it was only 2 o clock, so at least you can take a few more moments to calm yourself down and get ready for your shift.  

“Housekeeping, this is y/n,” you quip. 

“Mr. Presley is requesting your services,” the voice says darkly and hangs up. Your heart races and you scramble to make sure you have everything. You sprint your way to the elevator with your key to get to the penthouse, making sure to not make him wait as long as he did yesterday for you in your nervous state. 

The elevator jolts up and you smooth out your uniform. The doors open and the same man is waiting for you when you step out. You quickly make your way to the door and step inside. 

The decedent smell fills your nose again and you quietly close the door behind you. There’s so much more light in the room today and as you turn around, you realize the curtains are all open, letting in that fresh sunlight. Your eyes dart to the moving figure moving in your peripheral. Elvis stands a few feet away from you in all black again, a white shirt buttoned down to the middle of his torso and his hair perfectly combed back in his signature way. 

Again, you’re heart raced by just the sight of him. You stand there for a second trying not to stare but miserably failing. Nerves rush through you, waiting for him to snap at you for yesterday's mishaps and make you feel incompetent. 

“H-hello, Mr. Presley,” you say intimidated, giving a slight smile at the last second.

“Hello, y/n. I’m glad you’re here,” he says with a grin. He makes his way toward you in a slow, nonchalant manner and raises his hand out in front of him. 

You realize he’s not wearing any sunglasses today and can see how blue his eyes are for the first time. They’re electric, so captivating, and alluring. They’re like clear blue tropical waters, something you’ve only seen in books. No photograph could properly capture this shade of blue and you just wanted to swim in them. This makes your heart beat flutter again and you try to regain focus on what Elvis is saying to you.  

“I’m very sorry for how I acted yesterday. Maybe we can start over. I hope you don’t think I’m a rude asshole,” he suggests with a chuckle. 

You wince and the words he said, the same ones you whispered to Anna a few hours ago, and feel bad that you said it based on your one interaction. But if he admits he was wrong, you’ll take the apology. Looking down at his pale hand, it’s covered in rings that are probably worth more than you make in a year’s salary. You carefully wrap your fingers around his large hand and shake it. He still feels cold like he did yesterday or maybe it was just the coolness of the rings making him feel that way, you couldn’t decipher what was the coldest. You tried not to dwell on it and tried to stop staring at his hands as you noticed the scars and calluses on his long fingers. 

You meet his gaze and smile genuinely for the first time. 

“It’s alright Mr. Presley, I was also a bit nervous yesterday and wasn’t myself.” You assure. You notice he still has your hand in his grasp, rubbing the faintest circle on the back of your hand distracting you from making a coherent thought. Even though his temperature was off from yours, the way his skin felt on yours was obsessional. The way it tingled effortlessly through your body down to your toes and you wanted more. Your heart continues to dance in your chest and you feel his gaze intensify. 

“Are you feeling better Mr. Presley? You were very…cold yesterday,” you say shyly. 

He lets out a small hum before answering, “Never better honey. You definitely brightened up my day,” he says coyly. 

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. How does this man have so much charm in his body that he makes you feel like a love-struck puppy? 

He finally lets go of your hand and you want it back on you, liking his touch more than you should. 

He starts to walk toward the couch, looking over his shoulder at you before sitting down, “please, sit with me. I want to get to know you better,” he coos. Standing there unable to speak, you nervously smile and shake your head at him. 

“No, that’s okay Mr. Presley I don’t sit down in the guest's spaces when I’m on the clock. I really should get started cleaning.” You defer. 

For a second, his eyebrows furrow in confusion, then his eyes grow soft and almost plead for you. “Oh no please, I insist,” He smiles softly. 

“That’s okay Mr. Presley. If you want, you can ask me questions while I clean, I’m okay with that,” you say cheerfully. Turning to your cleaning cart you left here last night, you grab a trash bag and begin to clean up the remnants of last night's party. You quickly glance over at him sitting on the couch, watching you like a hawk with a smirk on his face. 

“What did you want to know about me?” You ask, picking up bottles and throwing plates away. 

Elvis hums softly to himself, trying to find the words to ask, “How old are you?” 

“I’m 30, but I really feel like I’m 16 still,” you quip cutely. You hear a low chuckle come from him. “How old are you,” you throwback to him. 

“Hmm, I guess I’m 38 but sometimes I feel 33, maybe even 21 at times but based on how many times I’ve traveled around the sun, I’m just 38.” He remarks. 

“Okay, I’ll say you’re young at heart,” You say and you hear him chuckle. 

“What do you like to do for fun?” He asks next. 

This actually makes you pause and think because quite frankly, you don’t know. 

“Well, it’s hard to say… I work pretty much all the time so the days I do have off, I just clean up my apartment or go swimming or something. I just don’t have a lot of time for fun,” you say a bit defeated. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, hearing the sadness that is behind those words. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. That’s no way to live,” He noted. You nod in agreement as you tie off the trash bag and reach for another one. 

“Yeah, it’s not the easiest, but I get by and that’s all that matters,” you try to say cheerfully. 

“So do you ever leave the penthouse?” You ask him cheekily. 

He snickers and nods his head, “only when I have to. I just don’t like it. There’s nothing out there for me,” he broods. 

“Ah I see… do you miss being able to walk down the street without being noticed?” 

“Sometimes, but my fans gave me all of this so I can’t complain,” he says stoically. 

There’s a comfortable silence that is built in between you two as you continue to work. He still watches you intensely like he did yesterday, but there was a sense of curiosity embedded in that stare. You move to the next room and he follows closely behind you. This room you assumed could be a guest room since it didn’t seem to have any personal belongings of Elvis’ in there. There were a dozen candle sticks, all in red, lit up making the room feel eerie and ancient almost. You couldn’t pinpoint what that feeling, was but the more you observed the contents in the room, how strange the things he did collect. There were books on death and philosophy. Books on history and myths. It was all very fascinating to you as you carefully move these items out of the way to clean, trying to read the back cover of them. They were all very dusty and old. You had never seen a book made like this. Bound in a light brown cover with red lettering on the front and golden leafed edges on the paper. 

He sits on the edge of the bed as you reach to dust the books and the shelves above the bed, something you didn’t get an opportunity to get to yesterday. His eyes stare at your ass, watching you make the smallest movements as you are focused on getting the job done. You look over your shoulder at him and see where his gaze is directed at. Your cheeks feel on fire being the object this man is looking at lustfully. You haven’t gotten this much attention from a man in years and you can’t lie to yourself, you kind of like it. 

You get off the bed and fix the comforter, fluffing up the pillows as you stare back at him with a similar intensity. 

“Can I ask what you’re staring at?” You jest. 

“Nothing honey don’t worry. You’re just very beautiful that’s all,” he admits with a grin. You can’t help but smile hearing those words come from one of the most handsome people you’ve ever laid eyes on. And even in your drab pale blue uniform that was uncomfortable, he still managed to see your beauty. 

“So you’re married?” He stipulates and the sound of his voice makes you jump after the comfortable silence that was there previously. 

“Huh?” You asked confused. 

“You have a suntan on your ring finger, I assumed it’s because you’re married and don’t wear your ring while you work,” he observes. If you’re not mistaken, you feel like you can hear slight agitation in his voice? His eyes do that thing that makes you want to crumble before him as he expectantly waits for your answer. 

“Oh, well no, I’m not actually married. I’m just engaged and yeah I don’t normally wear the band at work so it doesn’t get damaged… You have good eyes, Mr. Presley,” you say jokingly. 

“Mhmm…how long have you been engaged?” he continues. 

“A couple years,” you say embarrassed. You were the last one out of all your friends to get married and it weighed on your mind. Maybe Daniel didn’t want to marry you after all since he doesn’t even bring up a date or anything. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t wear your ring to not get it dirty or lost, but as time has gone on, something about it didn’t feel right wearing a ring there… 

“Why is that?” He snaps. You shoot your eyes back to him and he’s now standing up, looking at you like he could jump over this bed and attack you. 

“I don’t know… We haven’t gotten around to setting a date or pick a venue or anything. It just isn’t the right time,” you say sheepishly, defeat tainting your voice . 

Elvis walks around the bed toward you, analyzing every inch of your body until he’s right in front of you. 

“You deserve better,” he mumbles, reaching out and touching your cheek with his cold hand, rubbing his thumb softly there, giving your body a shiver. His eyes drink you in as he stands there with your face in his hand, chest beginning to rise and fall quicker. You watch as his chest heaves, inspecting every detail of your face and trailing down to your collarbone to the swell of your breast. Your skin gets chills as he does this and he notices, bringing a smirk to his face. 

“If only you knew…” he mutters. 

You grab his wrist, feeling your breathing increase with his close proximity making the room spin. Your vision gets blurry and you grab onto him tighter. You wanted him to comfort you in way you didn’t quite know about. You just wanted his body close to yours, like that would fix all your problems. A complete shift in thought compared to yesterday when all you wanted to do was say thirty yards away from him. 

“Elvis, I-I -I should get back to work,” you say a little breathlessly. 

His chest continues to rise and fall quickly and he bites his lower lip, nodding his head to you. 

“Of course, I’ll leave you alone. Leave whenever you would like,” he says quickly. Before he turns away, he takes his hands off of your face and gives the back of your bandaged hand a kiss. His lips barely grazed your skin but the way his lips dragged down along fingertips before he left was all too much to handle. The way your body screamed for more was frightening. 

You had never even thought of wanting another man since you’ve been with Daniel. You had convinced yourself that he was all you needed. But the way that Elvis makes you feel… you may need to question some of that. 

But it's Elvis. Everyone wanted him so it wasn’t like it made you any more special that you found him attractive too. You’re pretty sure your mom even finds him attractive. 

All this weird tension he’s given you today sizzles in your body and it takes everything in you to not follow him to the other room. He quietly leaves the room and turns in the direction leading to his bedroom, leaving you standing there unable to think. 

If only you knew…

His voice lingers in your head like a soothing whisper and you realize you were holding your breath thinking about this. You have to get a hold of yourself. You can’t actually think you can get Elvis Presley. He’s the most lust-after man on the planet and you’re just his housekeeper. There’s nothing there. 

Cleaning the rest of the penthouse felt atomically challenging. Your head couldn’t focus on anything in front of you and it took 3 different tries to not leave streaks on the mirrors. Your mind kept replaying that kiss on your hand, the way his lips felt so plush and soft on your skin, and wanted them to kiss more than just your hand. The way his hand felt on yours, looking at those long skilled fingers enveloping your small fragile hand. Those fingers that have had years of callouses from playing guitar so much and would probably feel amazing if they were running along your back. 

Shit, focus. 

You look at yourself I’m the mirror and see how frazzled you look. The burning want in your eyes for this man is so palpable, you’re embarrassed you’ve gotten yourself like this. 

Checking your watch, it’s 8 o clock, way past the time you thought you’d be done but with all these distractions, you moved at a snail's pace today. You finally finish and do a last walk-through of the space, making sure nothing is out of place. 

“Mr. Presley I’m all finished. Did you need anything else?” You announce loudly, unsure of what part of the penthouse he’s in. You don’t hear an answer and continue to check everything over, even checking behind the curtains for any wandering champagne bottles, then shutting the curtains for the night. 

Passing by the door that you assume leads to his bedroom, you hear noises. Moans in fact. The door isn’t closed all the way and the glow of the tv shines through the crack. Everything in you told you not to pry but the mystery of his seclusion when it came to his bedroom quarters had your curiosity reeling. You slowly tip-toe to the doorframe, pressing your forehead to it to peek in. 

There was a large tv set against the wall with a mirror to the right of it. On the tv was a pornography movie playing with a man and woman touching each other and making all these sounds. The man was teasing the woman, squeezing her nipples and she let out a pent up moan. You couldn’t see anything else in the room until you looked in the reflection of the mirror. There you saw Elvis sitting on the edge of his bed in his robe, watching intently what was on the screen. His hair looked like he had just come out of the shower with some strands falling onto his forehead, making him look somehow even better than before. Your eyes go back to the tv and watch the man continue to tease the woman with his dick, rubbing his length in between her folds. She moans and your eyes flash back to Elvis, seeing his mouth slightly open and his intense eyes looking at the scene unfold on the screen. 

He looks so good like this, the lust slowly dripping over his face and the way his eyebrows started to furrow. You watched as his fingers pulled the robe ties loose and open the garment. He opens it letting the thick material fan open to expose his naked body underneath. 

You have to hold your breath when you see him sitting there. You haven’t seen many men naked, but this was as beautiful as they get. His body was toned and perfectly pale white all the way down to his toes. Your eyes can’t help but stop and stare at his length. It was a lot longer than you expected and made this feeling grow inside you. 

Want?

Need?

Lust?

Jealousy?

You weren’t sure what it was but God he looked so good. He brings his hand up to his mouth and he spits in it, wrapping it around his length and he starts to rub it back and forth in his hand. You didn’t care what was on the tv you just wanted to watch him. He focuses on the tip of his cock, rubbing some of his precum along the shaft. There’s a vein that pops from his neck the longer he does this, making you wish you could just bite there. 

The moans escalate from the movie and his hand picks up pace, making his own delicious moans that drown out the others. Standing there you cross your legs, squeezing your thighs together as you realize that you’re starting to get wet from just watching him. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans, soft and sultry. His voice brings you a zing of pleasure straight to your core. It scared you that this is how this man makes you feel but you can’t help but keep watching the scene in front of you. 

Another moan slips from his beautiful mouth and his hand jerks his length harder. Your breathing picks up and that need inside you grows. You feel so naughty, so dirty for even remotely liking this. 

“Mmm, yes… you like that,” his voice dripping in temptation making you shiver. 

His hand stops suddenly and your eyes travel up to see his face. There you see piercing ice blue eyes looking back at you in the mirror. His eyes look dangerous and wild, hungry for attention and you were their prey. Your heart thumped louder than it ever did before and your stomach flipped. You quickly back away from the door and make a run for it. 

You swing open the front door open and pull the cleaning cart through after you, making the heavy door slam loudly. Your heart keeps ringing in your ears and you feel like you could throw up at any second. The guys standing in the hallway stare at you like you’ve gone absolutely crazy. You advert your eyes away from their gazes and slam the elevator button, making the doors open quickly and you rush inside. Pulling the cleaning cart in just in time before they close and you press the basement button. 

The elevator cart lurches down and you crouch over, hugging your knees to your chest and feeling like you’ve just jumped into the biggest trench you’ve ever seen, and its filling up with water fast. You have to gasp for air and felt dizzy with everything that you just saw. 

But he was so distracting, so beautiful, you wanted more of him. You knew it was wrong. You were still very much engaged to another man. To a man that doesn’t even care to ask how your day was. 

There was too many confusing thoughts in your head and you had to get out of this place and clear it. You finally reach the locker room and change, shredding off your uniform and grabbing your purse before running to your car. 

You drove through the city like a wanted criminal. Almost blowing red lights and switching lanes any time you felt that person was going too slow. You just needed to be alone and gather your thoughts and calm down. Pulling into the driveway, you quickly turn off the car and rush to get inside. 

Locking the door behind you, you let out a sigh of relief that you’re alone. 

“What are you doing home so late?” Daniel’s voice booming in the otherwise silent house making you tremble even more. 

“I uh, I had some overtime today, it’s busy season because Elvis is in town,” you say assuredly. It wasn’t a total lie. The hotel would get fully booked every time he was there for his residency and would have to put in some extra time cleaning rooms and washing towels and sheets. 

“Ah yeah, I forgot that bum is in town,” he shrugs. His tone stings at you for whatever reason and you move into the living room to put your purse down, trying not to make a big deal about it and try to calm yourself down. He sits down on the couch to put his shoes on and you see what he’s wearing. He had his three-piece navy blue suit on he always wore to work and he did look very handsome in it. The blue made his eyes stand out. 

“You look nice tonight,” you say softly. He doesn’t look at you and nods his head as he goes to grab his keys, “thanks, I’m off to work see you later,” he says dryly. 

The slam of the door doesn’t make you flinch and you sit there annoyed more than anything. You get up to lock the top bolt and feel the stillness of the house as you turn around. You’re used to the silence but today it felt different. 

Heading into the bedroom, you take off your uniform after a very long and eventful day. Sliding the skirt off your hips, you feel something odd between your legs. You pull your panties down too and see the slick that has gathered at the bottom of them. Your cheeks redden, shocked that he made you that wet by just watching him. 

You haven’t been this aroused in years and it terrified you that Elvis had that much power over you. He barely even touched you and you were a wreck. You couldn’t even imagine how it would feel if he touched you intimately…

You quickly take a shower and let the hot water run down your tired body. Trying to calm yourself down, you take your time and wash your hair. Turning off the faucet, you wrap your towel around you and scurry to the bedroom to get your pajamas. Reaching into the dresser for a pair of panties, you throw them on the bed as well as your matching pajamas. You pat your body dry and sit on the edge of the bed, thankful for the soft plush mattress to soothe your tired body. 

Unwrapping the towel, you grab the pair of panties you got out and start to slip them on. But something catches your eye; the arousal that continued to leak out of you. Your heart thumps loudly and you let out a frustrated groan. The effect this man left on you is dangerous. Your body could not forget the feeling he gave you by just being in his presence. The nervousness, the intrigue, the lust, all of that burned inside you as you feel your clit begin to throb because of him. Your fingers carefully slide down and find your aching bud. You take a sharp breath in as you discover how sensitive it is.

Rubbing it in slow circles, you feel so much relief, so much pleasure instantly that you’re pretty sure it’s not going to take you very long until you come undone. The amount of slick that came out of you was embarrassing but you didn’t care, you kept focusing on yourself.

Suddenly those long calloused fingers flash in your mind and your heart gallops at this salacious thought. You can’t help it, in this very moment, you wanted to have those fingers touch you in places that hasn’t gotten any attention in ages. Your hips involuntarily grind into your finger and a louder airy moan comes out of you. Your index and middle finger glide through your sopping folds and moan more as you rub them on your clit, sending another shock in your body.

“Oh god,” you moan breathlessly, putting more pressure on your bud. 

You feel that coil in your belly tighten and about to snap any second. You let your head fall back and squeeze your eyes closed, working yourself up to orgasm.

His voice echoes in your head, the sound of his gruff voice making you tingle when you thought of how it sounded when he was pleasuring himself.

You like that?... you hear his voice again and you cry out in frustration.

You feel your walls flutter and cry out, feeling the euphoric feeling take over your body.

“Ohmygod,” you moan out, “Oh my god E-Elvis,” you hiss and you gasp at what just came out of your mouth so easily. You sit there shaking, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm reel through your body. You felt horrified you just moaned out his name. What the hell was wrong with you?! This should not be happening. You could not be fantasizing about another man, especially one that is Elvis. 

A dark shadow moves in the corner of your eye and you snap your head in the direction of the bedroom door. There’s nothing there but a huge chill runs down your body and your breathing continues to grow heavy. You were being paranoid and the shame and guilt ran through you. 

It was probably nothing. You were the only one home. Just your imagination running wild and making yourself crazy. You get up and shut the bedroom door and lock it for safe measure.

You get underneath the sheets and focus on your breathing. 

You had to get a hold of yourself. You can’t let this get out of hand. You can’t let yourself succumb to his charm. Go to work and don’t get distracted.

Yeah, good luck.

Tagging 🖤 :

@powerofelvis @plasticfantasticIOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo @loving-elvis

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121 @jacqueline19997 @returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86

[withallthatisleftofmyheart]

ADAR & MAEDHROS!! ADAR & MAEDHROS!! ADAR & MAEDHROS!!

ilu OP for giving this option for drabble request 😭🫂 anything you come up with about these two will be my absolute mostest fav. ❤️‍🔥

Thank you @valar-did-me-wrong 🖤 I've been wanting to write this for weeks so I got this out very quick lol. I could honestly write so much more of this but here's a start.

Adar sneaks off to visit Maedhros on Thangorodrim (at this point in time, there is a ledge beneath Maedhros' feet).

No smut but dub-con hydration (?) and suggestive feeding of salted meat.

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

(One year since Maedhros was first chained)

“Drink,” Adar commanded as he proffered a waterskin to the flame-haired prince.

Maedhros slapped the waterskin from his hand. Adar did not attempt to keep hold of or catch it. If this was how the prisoner was going to behave, so be it. The open waterskin flopped onto the stony ledge. Adar’s lips pressed into a thin line. He thought of how freely he had accepted Mairon’s ‘gift’ of wine. A sharp exhale huffed through his nose. 

Maedhros swallowed as he watched the water trickle over the edge and down the mountainside. Adar noticed a slight wince as he did so. He thought the prince’s throat must be raw as flayed hide.

“I was not permitted to bring that to you,” Adar said, brow furrowed “I offered you a kindness at great risk to myself.”

“You are not capable of kindness,” Maedhros rasped, “Begone, foul beast.” 

Adar sighed. “Very well.” 

He bent down to retrieve the waterskin and had to roll out of the way of a ferocious kick that Maedhros aimed in his direction. There was not much room on the rocky ledge. He landed perilously close to the drop. Adar wobbled slightly but quickly regained his balance and got to his feet. 

“You were not so bold with Melkor,” Adar commented. Stomach-churning images of Maedhros’ very public torture flashed through his mind. 

“You are not Morgoth,” Maedhros hissed, “You are a mere underling. A snivelling coward. A traitor to your kin.”

Adar raised an eyebrow, rumors had reached Angband of what transpired at Alqualondë.

Maedhros turned his face away. 

“So it is true,” Adar muttered, “It would seem you and I more similar than you’d care to admit.”

“Hold your tongue, wretc-” Maedhros’ retort was cut off by a gravelly coughing fit. 

“I suggest you take advantage of my kindness the next time I visit,” Adar said coldly, before leaving to climb back down the mountain.

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

(3 years since Maedhros was first chained)

Adar sat watching the prince from a safe distance. On his belt hung a waterskin and a pouch containing a strip of salted meat. Maedhros looked weaker than he had two years ago. The prince leaned against the cliff face with one arm hanging above him. His eyes were closed, and his knees bent as far as his shackle would allow.

When the prince first arrived, he had been draped in a red cloak made from the finest fabric Adar had ever seen. It was ever so light and delicate, giving the effect of a waterfall of blood plunging down around his shoulders. His long blaze of hair was knotted into intricate braids that dripped with jewels. His skin had a lustre to it that was different to the elves Adar had once lived amongst. Adar found himself instantly fascinated by the Noldor, who had crossed into the West and lived for a time under the light of the two trees, only to forsake paradise and take up arms. 

Cuiviénen was supposed to be a paradise, not as great as Aman, but a haven nonetheless. It had not seemed that way to Adar. Strange shadows had haunted his every step. There were terrible sounds in the woods, piercing horns of hunting and whispers of malice in the thickets. None would believe Adar's fears. At first, they just dismissed him, but after a time they grew suspicious of him. Adar watched others sing and dance, learn skills and crafts, fall in love... Start families. It was maddening how oblivious they were to the threat that surrounded them. 

Maedhros stirred. Adar watched his chest muscles shift beneath his skin. They were smaller now but he still appeared somewhat strong despite three years of starvation. Perhaps it had been four, Adar was unsure if Melkor allowed him to be fed during his year of continuous torture.

One shining silver eye opened and swivelled to Adar.

“Leave me be,” Maehdros croaked. 

Adar got to his feet and approached. He removed the waterskin from his belt, uncorked it, and took a swig. 

“See? It is safe,” he said.

“Poison courses through your veins. I imagine you are immune to its effects,” Maedhros bit back through gritted teeth.

The Noldo’s skin was weather-beaten and dull. His eyes were sunken and darkness hung beneath them. Adar moved in close and reached up to put a hand on the back of Maedhros’ neck. The prince was much taller than him but he was weakened, so it did not take much effort to pull his head down. Adar lifted the waterskin to Maedhros’ cracked and peeling lips. 

“Drink,” Adar urged.

Maedhros beat his free hand against Adar’s chest. It felt like the fist of a child. Adar let him continue his feeble resistance and tilted up the waterskin. Maedhros spluttered and tried to wrench his head away but as soon as the water passed his lips, he stilled and gulped it down greedily. 

“There you go,” Adar muttered as he watched the lump in Maedhros throat bob up and down. It was a satisfying sight.

Once Maedhros drained it, Adar removed the waterskin from his lips, affixed it to his belt, and stepped back. 

“What now?” the prince panted as he swayed on his chained arm. Water dribbled down his chin. Adar wiped it away with his thumb.

“I brought some meat,” Adar replied.

“No, what will happen to me now?” Maedhros asked, his face compressing into a spiteful glare.

“You will feel better because your thirst has been quenched,” Adar replied, exasperated.

 Maedhrdos just stared at him. 

Adar sighed. “I have been in your position,” he confessed, “I remember how it felt to be consumed by burning thirst. I pity you.” 

Maedhros continued to study Adar’s face. Adar took the opportunity to follow the ripple of the prince’s red hair down as it draped across his bare chest. Dishevelled and feeble as he was, Adar preferred him like this. It was more natural than the pompous finery he had arrived in. Perhaps, beneath their gaudy jewels, the Noldor were not so different from the Uruk.

Maedhros’ expression softened.

“You remind me of my cousin,” Maedros said, “Though his beauty greatly exceeds yours, I see a shadow of him in your features.”

Adar’s brow furrowed. He could not parse meaning from his words. Were they a compliment or a slight?

“You should eat,” Adar held out the salted meat.

“What is it?” Maedhros asked. His tongue slid along his lower lip.

“Warg,” Adar replied.

Meadhros sighed. “Give it to me,” he said, hand outstretched. 

Adar cupped the prince’s cheek in his palm. Maedhros flinched, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. Adar brought the salted meat up to his mouth. The prince tensed for a moment, then lowered his head to allow Adar to feed him. A tense silence hung between them as Maedhros ate. He held Adar’s gaze as he chewed and swallowed, but Adar's eyes drifted down to the prince's lips. A very inappropriate thought came into his mind, unbidden. Adar's hand recoiled from Maedhros' cheek, and he abruptly stepped back. Maedhros scrambled to catch the last morsel before it fell to the floor. He swiftly popped it in his mouth and devoured it.

“You will need all the strength you can muster if you are to survive Thangorodrim,” Adar said in an even tone, brushing over his brief fluster.

“Or you could free me,” Maedhros asserted.

“No,” Adar shook his head, “I will not disobey my master.”

Maedhros raised his brows. “Have you not already?” 

Adar's jaw clenched. He turned to leave.

[enchantedflameandflower]

Glimmer 30/? Billy Butcher!

HI!!! We are so close to Season 4! I'm going to start marking the chapters that have smut, for those looking for a quick smutty romance read so please keep an eye out for that! Please give my little story a chance! 🖤

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter (29)

Notes: Please give my story a chance! Thank you so much!

_____

Chapter 30

The click of Addison sliding the clip into place in her 9MM echoed throughout the empty back stairwell. She lifted her gaze to meet Billy’s, dark and fierce, dangerous, and they shared a knowing look. Billy nodded and she flicked off the safety and released a round into the chamber. 

She met M.M.’s hard stare then, he had insisted on going with them, and then she nodded to the protective operative in swat gear with them rounding out Mallory’s team for this endeavor.  

Taking the lead, Addison started silently up the concrete stairs, Billy right at her shoulder. “Remember our orders?” she tested him as they climbed their way to the fourth, then the fifth, floor. 

“Fuck orders,” he growled in reply. 

Addison stopped, turning to face him and she lifted a gloved hand to his chest. 

“Mallory wants him alive, Butcher,” she whispered.

Flame raged in his eyes and he glanced away. He was wearing a black sweater and black jeans with his duster, and he looked ferocious. Even more so than usual. “Yeah well we don’t always get what we want, eh?”

Addison took a breath. “Let’s at least try.”

M.M. gave her a look from behind Billy’s shoulder that she knew well but she didn’t let it show on her face. Billy’s eyes were all dark brutality. 

Addison blew out her breath and closed her eyes to focus, listening. It wasn’t a huge building but she was still surprised to find very few people, even after a couple sweeps for sound. 

“Our guy’s at the top,” she murmured. “Far corner,” she jerked her head. “Two others…”

“Only two?” Billy asked. 

Addison listened one more time then nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Well that’s a damn shame.”

Addison pursed her lips. He wanted blood, but she trusted him still. She nodded to Billy, shifting to let him lead. 

They went through the door from the staircase onto the top floor silently and Addison paused to listen again. 

Two guards, outside a room. Stillwell inside. She looked at Billy and he nodded back, understanding without having to say a word. 

From around the corner, still out of sight, Addison took a breath and spoke. “Put your guns on the floor and go to the elevator quietly and you can just walk out of here, no harm no foul.”

She heard them both shift, but no reply came. “Count of 5, boys,” she continued out loud to them, then she exchanged glances with Billy and M.M.. Wordlessly they agreed to let Billy make the first move. When he stepped out, he was fired on immediately. He ducked back, unscathed and then took a step out again killing the guard that had shot at him with a single bullet before ducking back. It was only a second before the second guy tossed his gun to the ground with a thud. “Fuck this,” he mumbled and he stepped into the elevator without any hesitation. Addison pinned Billy with a hard stare.

As soon as he was gone they went to the door. Billy kicked it open. 

“Come out here and show your face, ya cunt,” Billy growled from the behind the doorway. 

At first there was no reply and Addison zoomed her senses in on him. He was in there all right, crouching in the corner of the room. His heart rate was elevated but seemed to be from more than just adrenaline. He was on something too. And he was fumbling with a gun…trying to load it but his hands were not steady. 

Addison jerked her head toward the corner of the room he was in and mouthed “GO” at Billy. 

The four of them streamed in, weapons drawn. Billy went in first, kicking the gun out of his hand, while everyone else trained their sights on his chest. 

“I should kill you right there you fuckin’ cunt, right where you’re skulkin’,” Billy growled, towering over him. 

“Billy -“ Addison murmured but she was interrupted. 

“You,” Stillwell snarled back. “You killed my sister you fucking animal. I loved her, my sister. She was everything…”

“Shut up you stupid cunt. I don’t care about any of your fucked up Game of Thrones shit and for the record I ain’t the one that killed her.”

“Ha! That’s rich,” Stillwell said as he stood again. “You’re a monster…you’re not human -“

Billy whipped his gun across his face, splitting his cheek open and making him cry out as he fell to his hands. 

Butcher’s dark eyes were wild with rage. “I didn’t kill her but I’m gonna kill you, as slowly as I can. I’ll break every bone in your body and let you bleed out -“

“Billy!” Addison reached out to touch his arm. “Stop. He can’t hurt me. He never could. He’s a weak piece of shit. He’s nothing. Let Mallory handle him.”

Billy managed to turn to look at Addison, but his eyes were unfocused, his breathing heavy. She could hear his heartbeat without trying, pounding wildly and so hard she thought it might burst through his ribs.

“Billy please…” she curled her fingers around his bicep, as much as she could, glancing at M.M. for a second - his gaze and his gun were thankfully trained on Stillwell where he was dripping blood on the carpet, trying to stay conscious.

“Billy, I’m right here. He’s nothing.”

Finally his eyes focused on hers, and his heart started to slow. He rubbed his hand brusquely over his jaw then nodded once. When he turned back to Stillwell, he slammed his heavy boot into his face, then kicked the gun across the room. “Secure him!” he barked at the operative with them.

As soon as he had his wrists cuffed, they took a step back but stayed on alert. The operative drug Stillwell to his feet, but he seemed barely able to stand so he looped his free arm under his shoulder, pulling him forward.

The next second happened in a blur. Stillwell somehow knocked the operative back and he cut through his plastic restraints. Then he lunged - not for Billy though, but for Addison again. Billy pulled his gun as soon as he saw him move but it was too late.

Stillwell had pulled a knife from somewhere - maybe this had actually been his plan all along - and as he lurched forward with a deranged cackle he buried the knife deep in Addison’s shoulder.

But Addison was a different person now. 

Quick as a whip, she reached back and pulled the blade out and had it in her hand. She swung it through the air in a perfect arc, slicing it across his throat. Blood sprayed across the room, a few drops fell on her but most of the blood splattered all over the poor operative. 

Both Butcher and M.M. turned to her, lifting their brows as Stillwell slumped dead to the ground. 

Addison looked at them. “Oops,” she said, cold as stone. She sheathed the knife in a strap on her thigh after wiping it clean. 

Billy watched her walk out the door. “Fucking diabolical.” He smiled. 

*.*.*.*

As soon as it was all over, Billy took Addison back to the hotel. He was frantic over her injury but she had healed by the time they got there. Still he was clearly upset she had been hurt again because of him but she felt absolutely dead on her feet, exhaustion weighing her down like nothing she’d ever felt in her life. 

When she finally woke late the next day, Billy was gone, but she didn’t think much of it. She knew he’d back in time for bed. So, even though all she really wanted was to eat something and go back to sleep, she made herself change and parked herself on the couch reaching for her cell. 

Billy came in again just as she was finishing the last of three lengthy phone calls. 

“Just have Claire go look,” she said tiredly into the phone. “I just don’t really care, and she knows what I want. Whatever she decides is fine.” She gave Billy a half smile and he sat in the chair across from her. “Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.” She hung up the phone, tossing it aside and took a breath, meeting Billy’s gaze. 

“Who’s Claire?”

Addison sighed, pulling the throw blanket over her lap. “The assistant I hired to work with my financial adviser.”

“What? Just now?” 

“No, I hired her after my father died. Just to…to help me deal with all of it.”

“Is it kind of strange I didn’t know you had an adviser and an assistant?”

“I’m sorry.” Addison shook her head. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“Anything else?” He smiled at her, but she knew his question was serious too. And it was important to her, to share everything with him, there was nothing she wanted to keep from him, even if it was just difficult to think about those demons from the past.

“Well…” she looked out the window. “I also called my broker and my realtor this afternoon. I’m just going to get a new apartment. Not in my name this time. I can use my trust.”

“Sounds like a good idea, but it’s just that easy, eh? Just get a new place in the city?”

“Billy,” Addison swallowed. “I know you know I have money, but I - it’s a lot. It’s a lot of money. When he died, I didn’t want it, but his business manager - well as much of a piece of shit my father was, Mark is actually a good guy. So I donated a lot, but I invested the rest. And I’ve made a lot more since…” 

“When you say a lot, how much are you really talkin’?” 

“If we need to…I can take care of all of us. We can go anywhere you want, all of us, and not have to worry about a thing.”

Billy clasped his hands leaning forward in his chair. “Addi, we wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know…” She met his hazel eyes and the love she saw there refilled her heart again, just like it did every time, but she could not pretend she didn’t see the rest of his uncertainty and the darkness in him swirling there too. 

“Anyway,” she couldn’t talk about it anymore right now. “I’ll get a new place. I want something with a few bedrooms this time in case…in case anyone needs….” She bit her lip. “Um, and security and safer and just you know, all of it. I was telling Mark to just have Claire scout out my options in person. And I’ll hire a company to go in and move everything from my old place. M.M. said he’d go to oversee it when I schedule.” 

Billy nodded again and all she could think was that she would give anything to be able to read his mind but she couldn’t. She didn’t think the money bothered him at all, but he was holding something back. 

They didn’t talk about it anymore though, she only felt exhausted again. Billy ordered room service and when she finished he reached for her hand and took her back to bed. 

When she was settled under the blankets, he undressed then slid into bed with her, wrapping her up so tight in his arms. He felt so so good but she couldn’t help wonder - why was the way he was holding on so tight making her nervous. 

But then he whispered, his breath warm, against the shell of her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

*.*.*.*

“Addison.”

That tone of voice, she’d come to know it so well.

When M.M. had completely lost all patience with her. 

“You have a spectacular new apartment in a fancy fuckin’ high-rise in midtown and yet you’re sitting in this musty old basement with us motherfuckers across the river. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Frenchie spoke up from the kitchen brandishing his spatula at him.

Addison gave a heavy sigh, tilting her head to rest against the back of the couch. There was no point in not saying anything, they’d find out sooner rather than later anyway. 

“I haven’t heard from Billy in three days and I have no idea where he is.”

_____

Please let me know what you think?!

Thank you, love you all! <3

Chapter 31

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Oaths~ Part 3/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 23 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, general Ser Criston Cole hatred

Summary:

Would Lord Corlys turn his back on Rhaenyra, when in doing so meant he severed his relationship with his granddaughters? Moreover, would Princess Rhaenys continue to steadfastly stand by him if he did? The love the typically stoic Targaryen princess held for them was a secret to none.

A/N: Thank you all for reading this past few parts.🖤 I hope you enjoy this one. The next parts will probably be posted close together as well, but may be titled two separate chapters (as opposed to part 1/part 2, etc.). I'm tossing around the idea of "Second Sons" as one of the next chapter names if that's indicative of anything. I hope you all have a great rest of the weekend 🖤

"... It is said that they have been executed.

More hushed whispers ensued.

This was news to Harwin. It was most unfortunate that what Queen Rhaenyra alleged, while foul, was not entirely beyond belief. Particularly not when one considered the likes of Lord Otto Hightower and, Harwin could only assume, his snake of a brother Larys, could have been acting in the Usurper’s interest.

You kept your voice even, but Harwin still felt the shock of the news as it registered within your mind from his place several paces away. “Executed? …At whose command?”

“It is said Lord Otto Hightower has my half-brother’s ear. He has been named as the Usuper’s hand, after all.”

You said nothing, still reeling.

With undisguised disgust lacing her tone, Rhaenyra pressed on. “However, it is rumored that the dowager queen’s sworn shield, Ser Criston Cole, contributed more actively in carrying out Otto Hightower’s decrees.”

Just the mere mention of Ser Criston Cole’s name was enough to get Harwin’s blood burning. However, the implication that Ser Criston Cole was further besmirching the name of the White cloaks, and all knighthood alike, by playing the role of judge, jury, and executioner as he saw fit, and without any repercussions? That was downright infuriating.

A flash of a memory filled Harwin’s mind. The night of what was supposed to be the opening feast celebrating then Princess Rhaenyra’s nuptials to Ser Laenor Velaryon. The rage, pure unbridled anger as Ser Criston Cole pummeled one of the guests to death with his bare hands. How such a horrific act had gone not only unpunished, but rewarded by continued service under Queen Alicent’s protection was beyond Harwin’s ability to comprehend. Ser Criston Cole should have been stripped of his cloak right then and there- if not worse.

The words were out of Harwin’s mouth before he had a mind to stop them.

“It seems Ser Criston Cole’s bloodlust has not diminished, even after all these years.”

As he had not stepped forward, Rhaenyra had to physically turn her body to look at him. When she did, their eyes met with an understanding Harwin had seldom reached with any other. For their own multitude of reasons, the two of them shared a mutual hatred for Ser Criston Cole.

“It would seem so, Lord Strong.”

What Harwin would do to have one more shot at the poor excuse of a man. Perhaps, in time, such an opportunity would present itself... Perhaps Queen Rhaenyra would arrange such an opportunity for him. Needless to say, regardless of how fate provided him with it, Harwin would not squander it.

Rhaenyra opted to forgive his outburst and did not rebuke him for speaking out of turn. When she turned back to the Painted Table to address you and the rest of the group at large, she was reinvigorated with purpose. “Rest assured, Lady Y/N, when I reclaim King’s Landing and ascend the throne, I will have justice for Lord Beesbury, Lord Caswell, and all others who were wrongfully slain for upholding their oaths to me. Rest assured, Lord Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole will be dealt with.”

Harwin wondered whether Lord Otto Hightower would be given a trial. Despite his egregious treachery, the queen’s supporters would likely demand he be given one, if only to put him through public humiliation before his demise. And any supporters of the Usurper would cite the lack of a trial as an example of supposed tyranny on Rhaenyra’s part.

But Harwin did not think Prince Daemon would so willingly pass up the opportunity to feed Lord Otto to Caraxes…

To the room at large, Rhaenyra proclaimed, “As my first official act as queen, I have decided to declare Lord Otto Hightower and Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower as traitors to the realm. They, and all of their supporters, are a danger to the stability of the Seven Kingdoms, and their rebellious acts will be met with justice- the queen’s justice.”

“Hear, hear!” Lord Bartimos Celtigar bellowed, to the audible agreement of many around him.

“And as for the others we have mentioned here today- Ser Criston Cole, Lord Larys Strong, Lord Tyland Lannister, Lord Garrett Redwyne, and any other individual found to be acting in support of the Greens’ cause or otherwise aiding the false rule of my half-brother- it is my will that they be apprehended and made to stand trial, where the extent of their crimes will come to light. May the appointed jurors and the Seven have mercy on their souls.”

“A wise decision, Your Grace,” Lord Gunthor praised, stepping forward and up to the Painted Table once more.

“Agreed!” Lord Bartimos concurred. “An iron fist against against this Hightower treachery is certain to set the tone for your reign.”

Across the Painted Table from him, Lord Rydan stepped forward. “And what of the Usurper, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra’s response to the posed question was not immediate. As she visibly deliberated within her own mind, her entire council watched her expectantly. Finally, she said, “I will not have it be said that the Greens were more generous and willing to prevent needless bloodshed than I. If they wish to offer terms in the hope of a peaceful resolution to this mess, I shall meet them halfway. Maester Gerardys?”

The man in question broke through the remnants of the observing crowd, his chains rattling softly as he stepped forward once more. “Yes, My Queen?”

“Send a raven to King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra commanded him, before pausing. After a moment, she added, “And send a second to Oldtown, addressed to my youngest half-brother. Inform them all that I have declared Lord Otto Hightower and the dowager queen as traitors to the realm. Make very clear my intentions to have everyone else who has aided in the unlawful usurpation of my throne arrested until they may stand trial. As for my half-brothers, Daeron, Aemond, and Aegon, as well as my sweet sister, Helaena… they have all been led astray by the council of evil men. Let my siblings come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask for my forgiveness. I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart. They are my own blood, and I will not be made to be a kinslayer.”

The implications of the queen’s orders took their time resonating within the minds of those in the room. And for several long moments, a silence fell upon the room.

Lord Rydan was the first to break it. He cleared his throat, and raised his eyebrow. Not without caution, he inquired, “Is that wise, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra turned to look at him with mild surprise. “Are you questioning me, Lord Bar Emmon?”

“I would not say so, Your Grace. ‘Tis just, while your inclination to be merciful is admirable, I worry about unforeseen consequences that may arise by leaving these challengers to your throne alive.”

“If my half-brothers renounce their claim to our father’s throne, they will no longer present a challenge.”

“Your Grace, we have already witnessed how little the Greens value their oaths,” Lord Bartimos interjected carefully. “Even if he agreed and bent the knee to you, could the Usurper truly be trusted to keep his vow? And what of the younger two? Rumors persist that Aegon fancies spending his time drinking and gambling, and that he much prefers the company of whores rather than courtiers. But Aemond is said to be studious, cunning even. Who is to say he would not bend the knee to appease you, if only to- perhaps quite literally- stab you in the back the moment you lowered your guard?”

“There is also Daeron to consider,” you chimed in softly, visibly more reluctant in voicing your concern that Lord Celtigar and Lord Rydan had been. “I do not think Daeron would oppose you of his own accord, Your Grace. By all means, he has seldom had a chance to come to know you, let alone grow to despise you. But he is surrounded in Oldtown by those who would whisper poisonous thoughts into his ear. And though he is young, and only a squire, I’ve heard it said that he is quite brave, and bold... Should anything befall Aegon and Aemond, the Greens would not have a difficult time shaping him into the kingly pawn they so clearly desire.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward, placing her palms downward upon the Painted Table as she regarded her advisors through the hoods of her violet eyes. Her next words were spoken with severe conviction. “I will not have Aegon killed, nor any of my other half-brothers for that matter. I will commit no such act by my own hand, nor do I wish to command it of another’s. I will not be a kinslayer.”

“The Usurper is not to be touched,” Harwin insisted, stepping forward as well. “Nor Aemond, nor Daeron.”

He took several strides over, resuming the same place at the Painted Table where he had stood shortly before. You looked up at him as he came to a stop beside you. Beneath the large stone slab, his fingers brushed yours lightly.

“If blood is to be shed, let it be Aegon who bloodies his hands first,” Harwin urged, looking at the surrounding lords and ladies imploringly. “Let our queen’s hands remain clean of that filth. No matter what region or customs we each hail from, I imagine we can all agree that no man, or woman, is as accursed as the kinslayer.”

“If you do not mean to have the Usurper killed, and if he does not agree to bend the knee, where does that leave you, My Queen?” Lord Bartimos countered, now mildly vexed. “What is our next move to dispose of the Green boy and reclaim what is rightfully yours?”

The queen pulled herself up, straightening her back and leveling her shoulders. “That is the reason I have called you all here, My Lord Celtigar. Remaining idle in Dragonstone is no longer an option- time is of the essence. Any reinforcements the Greens plan to send for, or any they have already sent for, will advance close to King’s Landing with every sun set.”

“You need to act,” you insisted seriously, the words slipping from your mouth before you had a moment to question whether to silence them. Respectfully, you added, “And with haste, Your Grace.”

“I agree. But the problem in doing so remains thus- the extent of my allies are, as of yet, mostly unknown. It would be far easier to devise a strategy if all the pieces upon the board were apparent. The majority of those who have already declared their support for me are present in this very room, and yet, as Prince Daemon reminded us all the other day, the amount of swords at our immediate disposal would not be nearly enough to take the city… Still, I am not without hope that a possible solution to my problem merely has not yet come to light.”

“How can we best aid you, Your Grace?” you asked.

“I have called you all here as my counselors in my time of need,” Rhahenyra said simply, looking at the many faces about the room once more. “Council me.”

“I still maintain that a swift, precise show of force would bring this farce to an end.”

Lord Bartimos’ impassioned argument re-commenced for what you thought might have been the fifth time. In all honesty, you had lost count after he had repeated his proposed strategy thrice times over.

Rhaenyra remained at the head of the Painted Table, though instead of standing, she now sat in a chair that had been placed there for her. She fiddled with the armrest absentmindedly as her counsel argued amongst themselves around her. You had also lost recollection of how much time had passed before she had given up on having an active voice in the discussion, when she eventually succumbed to the seemingly undeterred will of the loudest participants in the room.

Still, if she so desired, Rhaenyra could silence them all, and cease what she may have hoped would be fruitful dialogue, but what had ultimately become an unproductive squabble. But Rhaenyra’s mind was elsewhere. Where her thoughts might have laid, you dared not to speculate. Few other of her councilors seemed to even notice her straying attention, save you and Harwin.

Many of the other lords and ladies, though almost all had taken a turn to provide their input at some point or another over the last hour, had resigned themselves to the outskirts of the room once more. Many indulged in wine or engaged in frustrated whisperings with one other as disagreement after disagreement had shifted the tone in the room from one of promise to one of dull despair.

But as for Lord Bartimos Celtigar and Lord Simon Staunton, they had remained standing at the Painted Table. Each insisted the superiority of their own plans of attack loudly before the others in the room, despite the fact that most everyone else was no longer paying them much mind either.

You and Harwin had also remained at the table. Though your intent of support had been declared, neither of you had the resources with which to offer immediate help to remedy the queen’s unfortunate circumstance. Because of this, the pair of you had opted to remain relatively quiet thus far.

But as Lord Bartimos droned on once more, you realized your patience had grown incredibly thin. And as Lord Simon eagerly pointed out a flaw in his proposed plan- again- you finally came to the conclusion that the very least that you and Harwin could do was to try and regain some control of the room while the queen mentally worked to regather her bearings.

“You must use what the gods have gifted your house, Your Grace,” Lord Simon was saying, though Rhaenyra had not looked in his direction for several minutes. “Dragons.”

Lord Bartimos nodded enthusiastically, suddenly amenable to Lord Simon’s proposal. “Use them, Your Grace, and the Usurper will have no choice but to oppose us with his own dragons. Our nine must surely overwhelm his four.”

“And as the dragons clash in the skies above, how many innocent lives shall perish in the flames below?” you demanded, glaring at the two men across from you.

Lord Bartimos and Lord Simon turned to you readily, eager to have yet another challenger present themselves to the forefront of their debate.

Lord Bartimos gave you a small, wry smile, and chuckled dryly. He took the break from his self-imposed ramblings as an opportunity to finish off his goblet. A serving boy stepped forward to refill it with wine.

Lord Simon was not so subtle in his own response. “I would not expect you to know of such matters, Lady Tyrell, given that you are both far younger than I, and of the fairer sex. But this, in all but name, is a matter of war. And in war, people die.”

“The purpose of war is to fill graveyards,” Lord Bartimos added, his freshly refilled goblet of wine swishing around precariously in his wrinkled hand. “And the trick is to put more of their men in the ground than your own.”

With a commanding edge to his voice that he had seldom had use for these days, Harwin argued, “If you rush King’s Landing with dragons now, the majority of casualties will be the citizens of King’s Landing themselves, not Green soldiers, or even our own.”

Your husband’s authoritative tone was rather effective on Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos, who had suddenly lost their smug expressions and had yet to find another. They blinked blankly a few times as Harwin continued.

“We want to rule the city, not burn it to the ground. All of this talk of brute shows of strength is futile; our queen will have ample time for feats such as those later on in her reign. Perhaps the solution to our immediate problem lies in a far more… subtle approach.”

The attention of Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos had already turned to Harwin, but at your husband’s rather curious wording, your interest was piqued as well.

Half-cautiously, half-disbelievingly, Lord Simon requested, “What exactly are you suggesting, Lord Strong?”

Harwin’s eyes fell upon the Painted Table, his hazel hues fixating on King’s Landing. “I am very familiar with the halls of the Red Keep. I know of its integral strengths, and I could speak to more than a few of its weaknesses as well.” He looked up, meeting the hard, questioning glares of Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos in turn. “But I am even more familiar with the inner workings of the city. I have spent many hours and countless nights patrolling its many streets and alleyways. I believe that all we would truly need is one night, and a few good men. We could take the city from the Greens by surprise, not force.”

Lord Bartimos raised an eyebrow. “My Lord, do you know of the queen’s shield, Ser Criston Cole?” It was not a question; the entire room had heard Harwin’s snide remark not but an hour before. “They say has been made Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.”

This was news to you, and as such, you knew it had to have been news to Harwin as well. But Harwin was unphased, and his deadpan reply to Lord Bartimos was delivered with such flippancy, you had to stifle the chuckle that threatened to break your reserved composure.

“All the better, then. Ser Criston’s exorbitant hubris will have undoubtedly created ample opportunities for us to spot the weaknesses in the White Cloaks’ patrols and allow us to capitalize upon them.”

Behind you, Selwin was not so successful in halting a short laugh that slipped out from his lips.

“I believe Lord Harwin’s idea has merit,” Prince Jacaerys announced, joining the conversation.

Like his mother, he too had opted to say little. Unlike his mother, Jacaerys seemed intently focused on the many conversations happening around him, as though he sought to digest all of the information being presented.

“Thank you, My Prince,” Harwin nodded to him graciously.

Jacaerys returned the gesture stiffly before turning back to Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos. “We ought to explore Lord Harwin’s idea further, see if we might be able to devise some sort of plan. If spilling blood can be avoided, especially if it is to be the blood of our subjects, then that is a route that must be pursued at all costs.”

Lord Bartimos looked absolutely tickled at the young prince’s suggestion. “Might I remind you of how your ancestors claimed the Seven Kingdoms, My Prince?”

On the other side of Harwin, Ser Erryk Cargyll suddenly stood to attention, his focus captured by something across the room.

“The Lord of the Tides, Lord Coryls Velaryron, and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

The announcement, quickly followed by the tapping of a cane upon the stone floor, caused the heads of everyone in the room to snap over towards the entryway, including your own.

There, accompanied by Princess Rhaenys at his side, and trailed by his granddaughters, the Ladies Baela and Rhaena, the infamous Sea Snake himself descended down the stairs to fully enter the chamber. He walked step by step with his wife, publicly and proudly displaying to all who were not keen enough to already know that the pair viewed one another as nothing less than equals. The two emitted a sense of authority that no man or woman in their right minds would dare challenge. And when they moved, the rest of the room gave them the respect they had silently commanded, with various nobles bowing their heads as they passed.

Lord Coryls used the support of a cane, and his neck was wrapped in bandages. The true extent of his injuries were never made known to you, but the physical remains of the treatments that had been deemed necessary all but confirmed in your mind that they could have been as fatal as the rumors had suggested. The fact that Lord Coryls was upright, walking, and seemingly of his right mind thus far was incredibly fortunate.

You had not seen Princess Rhaenys since Ser Vaemond Velaryon’s petition in King’s Landing, and that had been some weeks ago. Though she looked much the same, she also looked refreshed, reinvigorated, and positively pleased to be back at her partner’s side.

Lord Coryls had been fighting in the Stepstones for the better part of the last decade. If you were forced to gamble, you would wager that Princess Rhaenys had not seen her husband in all that while. The thought of being separated from Harwin for such a span of time was not a welcome one in the slightest, and it only served to increase the amount of respect you held for Targaryen princess, for the Queen Who Never Was.

“My Lords, and Ladies,” Lord Coryls greeted the room, sounding mildly winded. No one would dare comment upon it.

“Lord Coryls!” Rhaenyra had risen from her seat, watching the every movement her father and mother by law made with earnestness. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

The Sea Snake looked genuinely touched from her words. “I am very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.”

As their elders exchanged greetings, Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena slipped away, weaving through the various lords and ladies in the room to take their chosen places besides their betrothed. You noted, not without amusement, that the faces of the eldest Velaryon princes were visibly enlightened by the ladies’ mere presence.

Lord Coryls looked about the room, as though making a mental record of every face present. “Where is Daemon?”

“There are other concerns which demanded the Prince’s attention,” Rhaenyra replied simply.

Though Lord Coryls looked as though he wished to say more, he let the matter go. Cane in hand, he continued to meander over to the Painted Table, and the lords and ladies who were in his way silently parted to free his path. He looked down at the stone depiction of the Seven Kingdoms appraisingly.

“Your declared allies?” he surmised.

“Yes,” the queen confirmed, crossing a few paces to resume her rightful position at the head of the Table.

Lord Coryls hummed. “Too few to win a war for the throne.”

The reminder, though blatantly apparent to all who had been present in the room for any period of time that morning, was no less disheartening to hear when spoken aloud. But you could tell the gears in Rhaenyra’s mind had once more begun to turn.

“Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses of Arryn, Baratheron, and Stark-”

“Hope is the fool’s ally.”

“Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house, but all of them swore oaths to me.”

“As did House Hightower, if I remember.”

“As did you, Lord Corlys.”

The Sea Snake was a fierce man, one who had never shied away from speaking his mind, or from demanding answers for difficult questions. He had the respect of many throughout the Seven Kingdoms because he had earned it. But Rhaenyra Targaryen was not merely some spoiled princess making frivolous demands, either. You had to admit, it was rather interesting to bear witness to their exchange of dialogue as they attempted to assess one another.

Lord Corlys did not seem interested in granting Rhaenyra’s insinuation a response. Instead, his critical gaze turned upon you and Harwin. “Lord Strong, Lady Tyrell.”

“Lord Velaryon,” you acknowledged, as Harwin bowed his head in greeting beside you.

“The pair of you are a far way from home, are you not?”

“It is most fortunate,” Rhaenyra interceded, “that Lord Harwin and Lady Y/N were already in the midst of traveling to Dragonstone for a much overdue visit. Houses Tyrell and Strong have both reaffirmed their allegiance, Lord Coryls.”

Lord Coryls’s eyebrows raised. “Those would be some significant numbers of men added to your cause, Princess… ‘Tis unfortunate that any mustering of significant force from Highgarden or Harrenhal is likely to take more time than can be afforded.”

“Rest assured, Lord Coryls, if summoned, our men will ride with purpose to aid our queen,” Harwin countered.

This seemed to amuse the Sea Snake. His gaze lowered, his focus settling across the Painted Table. He started with King’s Landing, then moved upwards towards Driftmark, Dragonstone, the Eyrie, and all the way up to the Wall in the North. His attention left the Painted Table then, moving towards his granddaughters, who stood beside their betrothed at the far end of the table.

He, perhaps more than anyone else, save his lady wife, had to see in them what was plainly apparent to almost all others. Baela and Rhaena were each the image of their mother, and by extension, House Velaryron, in their own ways. Though there was little doubt that Baela and Rhaena offered their grandsire the respect that many others did, you could tell by the resolved looks on their faces that little would sway them to abandon their betrotheds’ sides- physically or figuratively.

Would Lord Corlys turn his back on Rhaenyra, when in doing so meant he severed his relationship with his granddaughters? Moreover, would Princess Rhaenys continue to steadfastly stand by him if he did? The love the typically stoic Targaryen princess held for them was a secret to none.

…

Just as Lord Corlys’s silence had begun to cause you apprehension, the Sea Snake looked back towards Rhaenyra once again.

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood, and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet, and house… Your Grace.”

As Lord Coryls bowed his head in respect to his queen, you felt the shock of his words settle into your mind and amongst others in the room.

Pun aside, the Sea Snake’s declaration was truly a change in the tides. With the larger numbers of the combined Lannister and Redwyne fleet already at Aegon’s disposal, the support of the seasoned and battle-tested Velaryon fleet was absolutely essential to Rhaenyra’s cause. And now, it was officially hers.

Though she masked it well, the queen was still wide eyed. “You honor me, Lord Corlys.” Her eyes softened as a thought struck her. She turned behind her, addressing one of the few other Targaryens in the room. “Princess Rhaenys.”

You dared to wonder if the support of the Queen Who Never Was meant more to Rhaenyra than the indomitable naval support she had just been handed. Ever graceful, Princess Rhaenys’s small smile was as unwavering as her strength.

The queen offered a gentle smile of her own, but when she turned back to the Painted Table, it faded just as quickly as it had come. “But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.”

You silently offered up words of praise to the Seven that Rhaenyra had not taken any of Lord Bartimos or Lord Simon’s deadly suggestions to heart- at least not for now.

Lord Coryls looked befuddled by her assertion. “You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast,” Rhaenyra corrected him. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Though the lords and ladies within the room had disagreed with one another on many issues that morning, all were hard-pressed to protest the queen’s reasoning.

Even Lord Corlys accepted her answer without further inquiry, nodding to himself. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he said, “A consequence of my near demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborn travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

You felt goosebumps run the lengths of your arms, sheerly covered with the fabric of your gown. If what the Sea Snake said was true, the Redwyne and Lannister fleets were as of much use to Aegon as the men in and around Highgarden who waited to be roused by you were to Rhaenyra. They could not tilt the scales in the Usurper's favor if they were unable to sail to King’s Landing.

Princess Rhaenys stepped forward. To the queen, she volunteered, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the gullet myself.”

Though Lord Bartimos Celtigar had been a proponent of charging the Red Keep with dragons not but a moment before, the latest developments had caused a major change of mind within him. “When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King’s Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Green surrender.”

Could it be that simple? You narrowed your eyes at King’s Landing in thought. The plan- if successful- had the potential to minimize the overall loss of life, for the citizens of King’s Landing, the soldiers sworn to those in the room, and the very beasts the Targaryens had built their dynasty with.

Though the queen looked somewhat hopeful, she also seemed to restrain herself. “If we are able to completely seal off Green reinforcements from reaching King’s Landing, by land or sea, and if we can strategically make use of our men and dragons at hand, perhaps it could work… But a siege can go on for weeks, months even.”

“The Red Keep would be more than prepared for a siege.”

“It certainly is,” Lord Corlys acquiesced. “But if it is made known to those within that aid will never reach them-”

“Days could feel like weeks, the weeks months,” you realized out loud. “The Greens would grow desperate.”

“Even if the Velaryon fleet could restrict movement of the Redwyne and Lannister fleets in the Narrow Sea, King’s Landing is still accessible by land on all other sides,” Rhaenyra noted, before looking at you expectantly.

“I shall write to my uncle at once, and give the order to start mustering our men,” you avowed. “If we act quickly, and with the right intelligence, the Tyrell army could cut off any Hightower forces marching from Oldtown and up through the Reach.”

Rhaenyra nodded understandingly, the traces of a small, grateful smile lingering on her face. She cleared her throat, looking to others in the room as she did so. “Even if we could deter the main Hightower forces, there is still the possibility that others within the Seven Kingdoms will join the Greens’ cause.”

“Not all of them would be as far away from King’s Landing as Oldtown,” Lord Corlys agreed. “And if they were not, they would pose a more immediate threat to our siege than a Hightower army ever could.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, but out of determination rather than anger. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, and to truly eliminate any chance of the Usurper and the Greens receiving aid, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eerie, and Storm’s End.”Maester Gerardys offered, “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

“We should bear those messages.”

All eyes turned to the eldest Velaryon prince, and now heir to the Iron Throne, who had spoken for the first time in a long while.

Prince Jacaerys, palms facing downward on the Painted Table, did not buckle under the sudden attention his proposal had drawn. “Dragons can fly faster than ravens, and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Lord Coryls did not take care to hire his proud smile as he beheld his grandson. To Rhaenyra, he said, “The prince is right, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra looked at Jacaerys for a moment, then to Lucerys, who stood silently beside his brother. The second Velaryon prince did not look as confident as Jacaerys, but that did not take away from the determination you saw in his brown eyes. You did not doubt for a second that if his mother asked it of him, Lucerys would readily join his elder brother to act as her envoy in an effort to reclaim her throne.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra conceded. “Prince Jacaerys will fly north, first to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell, to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly fourth to Storm’s End, and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon.”

For the first time in hours- or perhaps days- an undeniable sense of hope had fallen over Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra declared, “We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore… And, the cost of breaking them.”

You watched with something akin to glee and fondness as the room erupted into enthusiastic conversation. You had known the truth of it since you were but a girl, when your father traveled to King’s Landing and made the oath before King Viserys himself. But now, witnessing the moments leading up to the truth being made real, and for all in the realm to behold with their own eyes- it was another matter entirely.

The Seven Kingdoms was to finally have its queen.

A/N: 🖤🖤🖤

[epicwalrus]

And with this chapter, Forest of Secrets reaches its end. Thank you so much for reading 🖤

I will be taking a break from Blood and Gold for a few months as I work on my Merfolk AU ready for MerMay and Papa Panzi's next addition in June. But fear not, Blood and Gold will return in July!

Wu Xie, Xiao-Ge and Wang Pangzi have fled Changsha, hiding out deep in the mountains in the original Wushanju. When Xiao-Ge awakens from his coma with no memories, Wu Xie promises to help him recover them. As they pass the winter in hiding, both Wu Xie and the now-amnesiac Xiao-Ge grow closer, Wu Xie resumes his hunt for the Wangs despite the distance between himself and his allies back home, and strangers flit between the trees.

Part 2 of the Blood and Gold series.

Snippet:

Xiao-Ge looked around the courtyard Hei Yanjing had led them to. The pond was dry, its vegetation rotting and billowing its foul, slightly sweet odour across the garden on the breeze. The space itself felt strange as if it had been very purposely arranged not for aesthetics but something else. 

“I’ve never seen a building with a Feng Shui set up like this,” Wu Xie said from where he walked next to him.

“Oh, is our Xiao San-Ye a student?” Hei Yanjing asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Wu Xie shook his head. “Not really, but I majored in ancient architecture at university, so I came across it a lot. Some of it managed to stick with me.”

At the mention of Feng Shui, Xiao-Ge mentally jumped to attention, looking around at the silhouette of the surrounding buildings. He found what he was looking for looming over the buildings to their left, a tower reaching high into the night sky. Xiao-Ge snapped his gaze back to Hei Yanjing and frowned. This was the Qi manor, the home of the long-extinct Qi family.

Read More on Ao3

[cookietastic]

Hello! I need medication for life to prevent my lungs from collapsing, this implies permanent treatment with steroids, oxygen therapy, control of oxygen in the blood and antibiotics to prevent the development of bacteria in the lungs.

I'm afraid I have to insist on this because it may be the only way to get my treatment.

I need medication for life to keep my lungs from collapsing, this costs around $700 per month.

Things are really tough on me,I can’t afford. Please donate🖤

does my forehead say "fucking idiot" on it.

Like my dude you took this from someone's actual gofund me page that's some foul ass shit

[crow-cards]

Hello! I need medication for life to prevent my lungs from collapsing, this implies permanent treatment with steroids, oxygen therapy, control of oxygen in the blood and antibiotics to prevent the development of bacteria in the lungs.

I'm afraid I have to insist on this because it may be the only way to get my treatment.

I need medication for life to keep my lungs from collapsing, this costs around $700 per month.

Things are really tough on me,I can’t afford. Please donate🖤

I haven't been here in a while but I needed to respond to this bc this is SO FUCKKN FUNNY my one of my friends just asked in our discord server abt whether this EXACT PERSON was a scammer and another friend sent a link to someone's profile who calls out/teaches ppl abt scams and THEIR MOST RECENT POST IS ABT THIS PERSON LMAOO

here's the link for anyone who wants to see it I promise I'm not just being an asshole 😭

and u are absolutely not following me girl I do not accept scammers that try to guilt people into giving them their money here BACK foul beast

[oflostinfound]

The acid of the contents of the rodents strays blood stained the air. Marking a desperate hunt in her bloody claws that mangled the dead stray. Sitting beside a trail and litter of smaller animals in the barren city.

Digging into the small pathetic meal to bleed it out and swallow every foul drop. The ache of hunger always crawling and gnawing holes in her stomach. Even the small prey here is simply unsustainable. But she couldn’t stop until the pain in her gut was relieved.

Dropping the limp and dried rat to the floor. Her nose smelt another and the energy and hunger tells her to digg her maw in the nearest bleeding creature. To drive the pain away and feed her till sanity returns. Teeth quick to snap at the small thing's spine.

Meeting its bone and feeling the tear and gore touch her tongue. Its angst screams before utter silence as death meets the small stray die.

Its shape is blurry. That did not matter -can’t remember. Didn’t care. The blood is like ivory when the sun seeks to burn beggars.

Cold water for burns.

A sharp gasp- Red eyes turn quickly to the noise. Another blurry face cannot quite recall.

And the first thought is of death. And murder. For food or fear.

Before another second passes by she jumps.

Hit by the harsh sun. When Jewel finally wakes her ache is far from hungry. She grips her stomach. Quick to part herself so that she could bend her head and vomit whatever upset her gut.

Finally collecting her thoughts and remembering her night beforehand. Jewel notes the smell of a morning shower. Outside the disgusting mess that she made.

She pulls herself up gripping the tree. Coughing due to the lingering stomach acid that didn’t escape her mouth. Her throat burns.

And the knot in her stomach refused to change. Rather Jewel felt nauseous.

And her back felt tense from sleeping underneath a tree.

Sudden shift as the scent of surrounding woods turns muddy with salt as disgusting mucus trails down her nose.

Jewel sniffled. Following a ribbon trail she saw before. And minorly worry if Grimbright knew where she had slept or caught her in that embarrassing mess she made. Well- Honest Jewel didn’t feel well enough to care.

She just followed those little ribbens. Jewel should collect them…

@sparedareitspiecesasitflies

The ribbon trail was recent, left carefully between branches and poking out from leaves in such a way that only a keen eye would notice. Or, the eye of someone who would look for them.

The calling cards do not make the vampire travel far. A short hobble later would lead to a shaded glade, different from the one they would usually meet in, but containing a stump for the daemon to sit upon all the same.

She'd been examining her nails, picking some of the dried blood from under them. A barbed tail swishing low behind her, but at the sight of the hunter of hunters it starts to swish a little higher, more violently- agitated.

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ You look like shit. ❞

Translation: Who did this to you and can I kill them?

Not that she would actually show she cared for this vampire. This... woman who weaseled her way into her mind on days when they didn't see sight of each other. Made a nest in her heart, like unwanted mice in the attic or walls.

But like hell was she going to try to chase her off, this company was good company...

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ You were passed out when I found you. What happened? ❞

@sparedareitspiecesasitflies

[rei-dragoness]

//Yandere, amputation, hostage

Thinking of Yandere!Skk who's super obsessed with Roland and wants to keep him all to themself, and Gray Raven being an accomplice to help them achieve their goals of keeping Roland captive just for them <3

They're an absolute freak who wants to keep him tied up under their thumb, going as far as amputating his legs so he's dependent on them, and Liv being a silent accomplice in it all. She keeps Roland's food and drink laced while you're busy so hes too dazed to think or escape.

[oflostinfound]

Grimbright expected the struggle, which is one of the few reasons why Jewel wasn't sent falling into the branches below. The smell of her blood making him grit his teeth, but now wasn't the time to focus on the budding anger. Instead he adjusts her in his arms, so she was pressed flush to his chest as all eight eyes watch the demon on the ground.

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ Eath's here, yes, she says she has a plan. But we need to find a way to restrain that. ❞

Rarely would he admit it, but seeing what Hax had become was a horrible sight, truly. One of the very few things that actually made his stomach turn.

An Inner Demon, a foul creature, did his ward really think she could subdue them? Return them to the person they were before they died? Surely it was wishful thinking at best.

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ Hm. We'll have to talk about your common sENSE-! ❞

His voice raises a good octave as the bolder flies at the two of them. A beat of his wings and he's out of the way- mostly. The oversized rock hitting his lower left leg with a sickening crack, the incubus crying out and gritting his teeth diving below the treeline to weave out of sight of the transformed guardian.

Landing, with difficulty, among some underbrush. The incubus's wings taking most of the rough landing as they wrapped around both himself and his the vampire.

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ Fucking- Spirits damn it! ❞

He hisses, sitting up once he had rolled the vampire off his person.

In the distance a scream of rage, a bleating of the smaller daemon as she moves between the trees and tries to draw Hax's ire. Seemingly working, but at this distance it was hard to tell just how well it was going for her.

Pulling her arms up to defend herself. Jewel takes the talons to herself. Guarding or trying to protect herself from a serious strike. But it is quick to be thrown. Panicking when she doesn’t hit the floor. 

Jewel slips, unable to grasp Hax. Not predicting the portal behind her and falling into Grims hands. Knocking the wind from her. Struggling against Grims hold at first. Before settling. Swallowing dryly.

Glaring bitterly. “I didn’t predict that I would need to.”

Jewel heard Hax’s monstrous form cry out in frustration. Drawing her to focus on the landscape below. Biting her lip as an unwanted sense of relief at Hax lack of mobility. Ignoring the sting of her bleeding wounds.

She starts to acknowledge Grim’s words. “Eath? Here.”

Trying to gather a sense of position. Worrying about the location of Eath. And what Hax might do. Only to be drawn by the boulder.

The skies are less safe now. Not being on her feet makes her flounder. Only able to hold herself closer to Grim.

[luthien-under-bough]

Daemyra Masterlist🖤🔥❤️

WIPs

i got a bad desire (baby i'm on fire) - rated E, chapters 17/?, ~102,000 words, modern westeros au, in which a one-night stand means Daemon might actually be Rhaenyra's father, dead dove: do not eat

the ghosts that we knew - rated T (for now), chapters 2/?, ~7330 words, modern au where Rhae (Rhaenyra Targaryen, but not THAT Rhaenyra) encounters the ghost of Daemon Targaryen on Dragonstone

we open our throats to sing - rated E, chapters 3/?, ~43,000 words, No Dance canon divergence, where Rhaenyra runs away to Volantis, and Daemon goes to find her

milk teeth - rated E, chapters 5/?, ~32,000 words, No Dance canon divergence, Daemyra early marriage, breastfeeding/lactation kink & character study on Rhaenyra's relationship with motherhood

augurs of spring - rated E, chapters 2/3, ~15,000 words, Old Valyria AU inspired by The Mists of Avalon

give me your ecstasy - rated E, chapters 4/?, ~18,000 words, modern AU with magic, Daemon returns from along deployment with a special gift for Rhaenyra

AUs

won't be satisfied 'til i'm under your skin - rated E, chapters 2/2, 25,367 words, modern AU, role reversal where Rhaenyra is Daemon's aunt

ain't nobody hurt you like i hurt you - rated E, chapters 6/6, ~31k words, modern au, in which Daemon & Rhaenyra cheat on their respective spouses with one another (angst with a happy ending)

something borrowed - rated E, 6353 words, a prequel oneshot to 'ain't nobody hurt you like i hurt you' that takes place on the day of Rhaenyra's wedding to Harwin Strong

better not touch (i want it too much) - rated E, chapters 7/7, ~31k words, modern westeros au, Rhaenyra comes to Dragonstone to stay with Daemon for the summer while her father is away on holiday

fledgling - rated E, 7900 words, King Daemon/Dark Daemon AU, where Daemon inspects Rhaenyra before her bedding ceremony

acquisition - rated E, 6700 words, modern corporate AU where Rhaenyra is CEO, and Daemon is her executive assistant - but outside of work Daemon is her Dom.

mama told me there'll be days like this - rated T, 5600 words, modern AU, Rhaenyra is determined to have a terrible time at her dad's wedding to Alicent, but she can't seem to stay in a foul mood when Uncle Daemon is around

Canon Divergences/Episode Fix-Its

for our blood is restless - rated M, ~1200 words, alt ep 4 where Daemon stays at the brothel

i found some hate for you, just for show - rated T, ~2400 words, alt ep 5 where Rhaenyra leaves the wedding feast with Daemon

down on my knees, with unquenchable thirst - rated E, ~5300 words, post-ep 4 canon divergence where Rhaenyra returns to the brothel

do you feel the hunger? - rated M, ~6400 words, alt ep 3 where Daemon joins the name day hunt

Character Studies

do you really feel alive without me - rated M, 3500 words, two-shot examining events of ep 6 from Daemon's and Rhaenyra's POV

viventes enim - rated M, ~1280 words, Daemon introspection/character study during the events of ep 6-7

the likes of a darkness so deep - rated M, ~3500 words, Major Character Death, Daemon introspection/character study during an alt ep10 where Rhaenyra dies in childbirth (cw: necrophilia)

Shameless Smut

penitent - rated E, ~3400 words, Dom!Daemon finds a new use for the small council orbs

squeeze and bind - rated E, 4625 words, Dom!Daemon ties up Rhaenyra after another small council meeting

kiss me hard before you go - rated E, ~2300 words, Divorced!Daemyra have some hate sex, modern AU

deep tissue - rated E, ~4,000 words, massage therapist Daemon, modern AU

stay wrecked and jealous for this - rated E, 4,315 words, Rhaenyra goes to the Westeros version of the Warped Tour and hooks up with band manager Daemon, modern AU

seven blessings - rated E, 3700 words, CNC roleplay with Rhaenyra dressed as a septa

when you move, i'm moved - rated E, 6600 words, modern AU pegging

Fluff & Humor

farsighted - rated M, 1200 words, modern AU, Daemon confronts the harsh reality of aging and needing glasses

Naked Attraction: The Lost Episode - Not Rated, ~4000 words, crackfic written as an episode transcript for a "lost episode" of the UK dating show Naked Attraction, where Rhaenyra is the contestant

Prompt Fills

>> Events

Summer of Dove Prompt Event - prompt fics written for Fire, Blood & Kink's dead dove event (summer 2023)

Hot[Daemyra] Summer Snippets & Stories - prompt fics written for the HotD Summer Snippets & Stories prompt event (july 2023)

>> Other

BYOM; or, Bring Your Own Mistletoe - rated E, 7725 words, no specific prompt, but a general holiday-themed fluff & smut fic to get me into the Christmas spirit, modern au

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder - rated M, 1000 words, prompt: the song Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley

best laid plans - rated G, 500 words, prompt: flight cancellation

your lips, my lips (apocalypse) - rated M, 500 words, prompt: holiday party hookup

meet me under the mistletoe - rated T, 500 words, prompt: bringing home a fake SO for the holidays + mistletoe

if the fates allow - rated T, 500 words, prompt: “Through the years we all will be together / if the fates allow”

Background Daemyra

like light refracted - rated E, 23,765 words, Daemyra x Aegon II ep8 canon divergence

the comforts of home - rated E, ~4300 words, Daemyra x Baelon (Daemon's father) threesome

nothing so undoing as a daughter - rated T, ~1200 words, Viserys POV after he learns of Daemyra's secret wedding

[e-munson666]

More Than Mean 6

++Peter/Henry/001 x F!Reader++

(Peter puts you in your place after your most recent escape attempt. He let's you know just how hopeless it is to try to deny him anymore)

Warnings ⚠️: 18+ NON CON MENTIONED (towards the very end) Language, manipulation, death, Peter is his own warning. Forced relationship, kidnapping, assault (broken bone, use of Peters powers.) Stockholm syndrome for the reader. A/N: This series is dark. Please only view if you are comfortable. I in no way condone the things written. Fiction is fiction and nothing more.

Taglist: @rayballs66 @myersobsessed @prettysbliss @edb954 @stunnababy2212 @elodieballard @horrificslvt @ibibishiboula @thatlesbosimp @prettysbliss @starfishfaerie @stunnababy2212 @your-local-rockstar-simp @nightless @tox-toxic @little-lily-w

(Master-List)

🖤Lady Hellfire🖤

You were in a foul mood when you finally became lucid, becoming fully aware of your broken and chained state. You glared at Peter as he walked into your room, setting some water on the bedside table.

"What the fuck did you do to me Peter?" You scowled, scooting away from him as he took a seat next to you on the bed.

"Watch your mouth" Peter retorts, shooting you an angry look.

"Peter, you've broke BOTH of my legs.........you have me chained at the throat, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" You yell, fear taking over.

Peter harshly slaps you across the face before speaking, "I SAID, watch your mouth." You begin to sob, the cut on your face from previous assults splitting open once again, causing blood to trickle down your cheek.

Peter scoops you into his lap and gently cleans the blood away before holding you against his chest in a too tight hug. "I warned you, didn't I Bunny" he starts, "I told you what would happen to you if you disobeyed me, and you continue to do so over and over again..." he rocks you back and forth as you sob louder, soaking his white t-shirt in tears.

"Why can you just let me go Peter?" You sob, you are so broken, so scared, you aren't sure how much more of this you can take.

"I've already told you, you stupid little girl, YOU aren't going anywhere. You belong to me now, I took your body, and I will take your heart too. You'll see." Peter nearly whispers, lips pressed against your ear.

His words sting your skin, causing you to cry louder. Peter just holds you, giving you soft shushes and caressing your face. "You will stay chained like this, until can agree to stay with me. To be my wife, to birth my children, and to help cleanse this pitiful world from its own mediocrity."

"Or" Peter adds, gripping your cheeks, forcing you to look in his eyes before he continued, "I can leave you chained here forever, and STILL do all of those things." "Your choice litte Bun."

Your eyes were wide with shock and fear. *He's going to force me to be his wife......he's never gonna let me go* the thought swirled around in your head, making you dizzy.

"So, what's it going to be little girl, the easy way, or the fun way?" He snickered darkly, never breaking eye contact with you as he spoke.

"Th.... th.......the e....easy w...way P...Peter" you respond in shame, voice broken over your sobs.

He let go of your face and smirked, "Good girl" he praises, removing you from his lap to stand up. He reaches into his pocket for the collars key before leaning over you to access the back of your neck. He unlocks and removes the collar, tossing it aside before firmly grabbing your throat, forcing you to lay down on the bed.

"Listen to me very closely, if you step out of line ONE more time, you will never see the outside of this room again, I will lock that collar and destroy this key, do I make myself clear?" He asks sternly.

You are struggling to breath under Peters hold. You open your mouth to speak but can't get any words to come out. You nod up at Peter, eyes burning with tears again.

"Words little girl, use your fucking words" Peter snaps, bringing his other hand down for a hard slap across your already bleeding cheek.

You whimper in pain, "yes, yes Peter, I understand" you choke, eyesight becoming blurred.

"Thats what I thought little Bun, now be a good girl for me and strip" he demands, removing his hand from your throat.

You hesitate for a second, knowing whats coming next, and choke out a pitiful cry.

"Dont make me ask again, I'm not above breaking more bones little girl" he states.

He goes to work removing his pants as you remove your dress, blubbering and pleading with him while you do so.

Peter hovers over top of your naked, shaking body, "you are going to shut your mouth, and you are going to take it, you are my wife now, and it's time to start our family"

You let out a shriek as Peters hand came down hard on your face one more time, splattering blood between his fingers, droplets landing on the bedsheets. He grins wildly at the site, bringing his fingers up to his lips and licking them clean.

You continue to cry as he hovered over you, "cry all you want Bunny, you're so pretty like this" he says, before crashing his lips onto your trembling ones.

*

*

*

A/N: pt7? Its just gonna keep getting darker from here little Bunnies.

[dabisqueen]

Burnt

Dabi x Reader

⇢ rating: 18+

⇢ word count: roughly 5.4K

⇢ plot: you know Dabi from the news as this ruthless villain. He saves you though and keeps showing up at your front door

⇢ warnings: 18+, force, use of fire quirk, a little blood, comfort, a bit of hurt, smoking, drinking, kissing, fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm, cream pie, cum

⇢ NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!

personal note: love soft Dabi in need of some comfort. He deserves fluff 💙🖤

________________________________

It had been a long day, it was dark and late before you were able to leave work. The ride home was topping the whole experience, being long and seemingly endless. You lived in the outskirts of the city, a rundown area known for its higher crime levels. But the rent was cheap and you never experienced anything awkward in the years living there.

The bus was almost empty except for some girls in the front, exchanging the newest celebrity gossip, and a young man in the back, hoodie pulled deep into his face, sunglasses obscuring the rest of his face. Huh. It was night outside. You rolled your eyes. Weird guy.

When it was time to get off, you pressed the button and the bus stopped, doors opened and you stepped outside. The warm air of the summer night was thick with dust and the smell of concrete and tar of the heated streets and buildings. Sauntering off down the street, you pulled out your cell phone and started checking your messages. You never noticed being followed, too immersed in your own thoughts. A dark shadow kept creeping up to you, step by step getting closer.

Just as you paused for a second, tugging away your phone in your purse, you felt a strong grip on your upper arm and were pressed face forward against the wall. Your face hit the cold hard concrete wall and you wailed out as a sharp pain ran through your cheekbones.

"Shut up," your aggressor hissed, as he covered your mouth with his hand, muffling your fearful screams. Your eyes darted up to see a man, face littered with scars, a foul grin on his face as he smirked at you viciously, "Hi there, pretty!"

With that he pulled you in for a tight grip, mouth still covered as he yanked you off towards a small alley between the buildings. He dragged you behind a dumpster and shoved you against the wall. His hand twisted into your hair, hitting your head against the damp stonewall, his body flush against yours, pinning you in place. Momentarily dazed from the impact, stars obscured your vision as panic took over, tears stinging the corner of your eyes. You felt something warm and sticky on your forehead and temple and your heart started racing, eyes wide with fear as you struggled to free yourself. His hand gripped the waistband of your pants, trying to shove them down as all of a sudden a low, fierce voice growled "Hands off her, dipshit."

The man paused but didn’t let go.

"I said to fucking take your hands off her!" That voice grated viciously and the guy finally let go of you, stepping around the dumpster. You dropped to the floor, panting, trying to catch your breath.

"Mind your own business, punk," the guy retorted with a deathly scowl. You finally managed to look up to watch the scene unravel in front of you. A guy stood a few meters away, black hoodie pulled deep over his face, standing almost bored, with his hands in his pockets. It was him. You remembered his sunglasses from the bus drive.

As your offender darted forwards, one of his hands shot up and you had to avert your eyes as bright blue flames suddenly engulfed the scarred man. You winced, feeling a searing heat on your face and body, almost singing your hair and clothes and you covered your face with your arms in a desperate attempt to keep the heat away. Over the thunderous roar of the flames you could hear desperate screams, as the guy was burned alive. Finally, the flames receded, only the sound of something smoldering filled the silence around you.

Your mind numbed, you slowly lowered your arms and watched the scene in front of you in utter disbelief. The smoldering remnants of the aggressor were laying on the floor, blue flames still feeding on the charred flesh. The front of the dumpster next to you was melted. The suffocating stench of hot plastic and burned flesh, hair and bones crept into your nose and your stomach churned. You threw up on the dirty floor, not noticing the steps nearing. The hooded guy pulled your hair back out of your face as you kept vomiting until your stomach was empty.

You rested your sweaty head against the cold concrete wall, a chilling refreshing feeling.

"C'mon doll, let's get ya outta here," his low voice rasped as you felt arms hook under yours and you were helped up as you staggered out of the alley, stepping carefully around the charred remains of the man.

His body was warm against yours, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. It was a soothing sensation and you were glad for any kind of support now. Once you were out on the street he asked you where you were heading to. Your shaking hand pointed down the street as you quietly whispered the address.

His strong arm still tugged around you, he helped you down the street to the building your apartment was located in. You quietly staggered up the first flight of stairs and he unlocked the door for you. Once inside, he helped you on the couch and started rummaging through your small kitchen. He gruffed annoyed and finally looked up at you.

"Got any first aid stuff?" you nodded and nudged your head towards the bathroom, too exhausted to speak.

He disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a bowl of water, a washcloth, and bandages.

He knelt down before you and placed the stuff on the floor finally pulling back his hoodie, revealing messy raven hair. When he took off his sunglasses as well your breath hitched in your throat.

"I- I know you!" you stuttered, scooting backward, pressing yourself into the backrest of the couch as it hit you like a tsunami. His distinct turquoise eyes stood in stark contrast to his jet black hair, and the dark purple patches underneath his eyes and along his jaw made him unrecognizably…

"Dabi… you're Dabi! " your voice almost tipping, being so terrified.

"What if?" he looked at you, voice low and sultry, his cold cerulean eyes burning into yours. Seeing the frightened look on your face he clicked his tongue and grabbed the washcloth, dipped it into the water and started dabbing your forehead with it.

"M’not here to hurt ya, if that's what you think. Let's clean this shit up," another rougher dab had you flinch and you hissed at him.

He gave you an amused grin, winking at you, "Don't want to look like me now, do ya?“

He was so close, you could smell him, could feel his breath on your face. His scent was warm and musky, traces of stale cigarette smoke and hot skin mixed in it. It was intoxicatingly good, lulling your mind, putting your rattled nerves at ease, and helping you relax. Dabi finished washing your face off the blood, cleaned the wound with some disinfectant and stuck suture strips over it. A satisfied look on his face, he stood up and strolled over to the kitchen.

Your eyes followed him as he grabbed two glasses and flitting between the cupboards, looked at you over his shoulders, asking "Got some whiskey, doll?

"Uhm, just Gin,'' you replied, pointing towards a cabinet to his left.

"That'll do," he rasped, and after grabbing the bottle he sauntered back to you. Flopping on the couch next to you, he filled two glasses and handed you one. You gladly accepted.

He leaned back, one arm sprawled along the backrest, sipping his drink, watching you over the rim of his glass with heavy eyes.

After emptying half the glass in almost one go you stopped shaking, your eyes wandering up to meet his.

"Thank you for helping me," your voice merely a whisper. He shrugged, "Can't stand rapists."

You continued drinking. You were still thinking about how one of the most notorious and sought-after villains of the country was sitting next to you. But he didn't seem threatening at all, at least not you. He rather looked tired and worn out, dark shadows falling across his face. To anyone out there, he was nothing but a menace, but to you, he seemed human.

After sitting like this for a while a thought came to your mind and you turned to him, eyebrows raising, "Are you hungry?"

"Sure," was his short answer.

You stood up on weak legs and started preparing some Udon in the kitchen. Filling two bowls, you took them over to the couch and handed him one.

You ate in silence but it wasn't uncomfortable, rather a welcome change to the usual monotony of your lonely evenings. Standing in the kitchen after you put away the dishes, he lit himself a cigarette. Taking a drag and exhaling, smoke obscured his face. Heavy-lidded eyes met yours again, a comforting silence filling the air between you, only broken by the sizzle of the cigarette.

As he finished it and stubbed it out in his used bowl, he stood up and rasped “A'ight, m'going."

You didn't know what to say. You struggled to resist the urge to ask him to stay. His company actually had been short but– pleasant and you wondered if he felt the same. As he trotted off to the door, you muttered another thank you and he disappeared into the hallway, not looking back, closing the door behind him.

You were alone again.

Sleeping that night was needless to say difficult. You tossed and turned, never hitting that really recharging point of deep sleep.

You called in sick for the week, needing time to lessen the bruise and heal your cut. And to forget those burning ocean blue eyes.

________________________________

It was the middle of the week, it had been raining all day, the gusty wind hurling raindrops like pellets against your windows. Dim light flickered off the TV running in the background, emitting soft noises even though you weren't even watching. It brought comfort, made you feel less alone in the apartment.

You suddenly heard a knock at the door. Looking at the time it wasn't usual for visiting, much too late in the evening. Checking your messages to see if one of your friends announced themselves, there was yet another knock, this time a little more impatient.

Hesitantly, you stood up and walked over to the door. A raspy voice spoke outside, “Ya gonna open the door or do I have to kick it in?"

It was Dabi.

You fumbled to unlock it with nervous hands and pulled it open. Without hesitating, he trotted in, soaked to the core, trailing wet footprints behind him.

Closing the door behind you, you turned towards him. He had dropped his coat to the floor and was kicking his boots off. His hair hung in wet strands into his face, water dripping off them. He looked like a mess.

"Wait a sec," you gestured towards the couch and zoomed off to get him some clean dry towels from the bathroom. He looked tired and worn out, his purple patches under his eyes darker than usual, cheeks sunken in. When you came back, he still stood in the middle of the room, seemingly lost. You held out your hand. He looked at you, eyes alert like slithers but slid his hand in yours. It was icy to the touch. You pulled him with you towards the couch and told him to sit. Scoffing, he did as told though. He started drying off his hair while you poured some gin in the kitchen. Grabbing some leftovers from the fridge, you set it all in front of him on the sofa table.

"Uhm, if you want to, I can dry your clothes in my dryer," he shrugged but started to get undressed, while you went to your small bedroom, retrieving an old oversized shirt you liked to sleep in.

When you returned you stopped dead in your tracks. Dabi was stripped down to his boxer briefs, pants and shirt carelessly dropped to the floor. His staples glistened painfully in the soft light of the TV, his scarred and burned patches almost silken, muscles softly playing under his lean body with every move. He noticed your looks, amused, a smug grin forming on his face when he saw your cheeks going ablaze. You tried to avert your eyes as you handed him the shirt.

He pulled it over, way too tight, stretching ridiculously around his slender yet well-toned body, having him chuckle as he slumped down into the couch, picking up the remote and flipping through the channels. He grabbed the drink and food and started eating.

"Ya gonna join me or just keep standing there?" He snarled, his eyes plastered to the screen.

You instantly dropped down next to him.

"Why are you here?" you asked.

"Cause I felt like it,“ his voice raspy and low.

His eyes met yours, bottomless as the ocean itself. You started to lose yourself in them as you sat like this in silence. The dryer was rumbling in the background, the warmth of it steaming up the room. You stood up to open a window when he followed you to light himself a cigarette, glancing outside into the pouring rain. You stood side by side, as he kept darting glances at you, taking drags of his cigarette, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"You're cute," he noticed and you shrunk under his gaze, blushing. His hand slowly came up, as if not to scare you, and tugged a loose strand of hair behind your ear, making you shiver under his touch. Silence engulfed you again as he kept running his fingers through your soft hair, eyes not averting.

Eventually, he flicked the bud out the window and laced his hands into yours, guiding you off to your bedroom. You felt dazed, trapped in between dream and consciousness, not sure if this was real or how you should feel.

He laid you down on the sheets, came down beside you, pulling you in for a tight embrace. His hand found your hair again, his face nestled into your neck, inhaling you, your scent, your warmth. Closing his eyes you felt his heart racing, heat radiating off of his body and you hesitantly ran your hand up and down his back in reassurance, your other stroking his unruly hair. His slender legs tangled with yours as his breathing got regular, his body heavy and he soon fell asleep.

You carefully pulled the blanket over you as not to wake him, observing him. There was something peaceful about him sleeping, so relaxed, tension and sadness gone. You traced your soft fingers over his cheek, his staples, eliciting a soft moan from him. The monotonous murmuring of the TV in the other room and the soft breathing of Dabi next to you, his warm body pressed against yours slowly had your mind drift off and it didn't take long for you to follow him into sleep.

You woke up the next morning to find yourself in an empty bed. He was gone.

Several days passed before you saw him again and it became routine. A knock on the door or him leaning against the light post outside the building, waiting for you to come home from work. He would be gone for days, sometimes weeks. And when he visited after his absence, he was either elated or bleeding, reeking of burned flesh and sweat, his eyes hidden under messy banks, his steps droopy. Those were the nights where you had to patch him up, attending to his wounds.

With time passing, nothing about this seemed unnatural anymore. You liked his witty sneaky ways, the way he chuckled about you when you got upset or even made fun of it. He would always dish up some snarky remark, teasing you until he had you either laughing or swatting his chest.

Other times he was unapproachable, cold and distant, it all felt out of place. Along the periphery of his beautiful cerulean eyes, you could see hurt and sadness battling his anger when he was this mad. Yet he stayed, leaning against you, seeking comfort.

You started keeping whiskey in stock and bought an ashtray so he wouldn't litter your dishes with his buds. He did nonetheless, always a smug grin on his face.

His favorite place while smoking was the sill of your open window, watching the traffic and people passing by - his eyes struggling with the effort of looking anywhere but you. Sometimes your skin brushed against each other, him reaching for a cup on the counter, his breath hot against your ear. Other times he slid his fingers through your hair, feeling the softness of it, while you attended to one of his many injuries.

He never made advances though, not even when he made a habit of falling asleep, curled up beside you, arms and legs wrapped around your body. He was mostly just there, uncomplicated, a natural presence to you. But then again he wasn't, disappearing without saying goodbye - in the mornings or after you returned from a bathroom break - only to find the room deserted and void of his presence.

Something inevitable happened despite all the disappointing inconsistency.

Like the cherry blossom floating to the ground during the Hanami season.

Like the rain falling on a cold stormy autumn day.

Like the fleeting, misty cloud we see when breathing in cold weather.

You inevitably fell for him.

And it was hurting. Not knowing if his feelings were the same. The mornings after hurt, waking up all alone and deserted. It hurt, not knowing when or if at all he would show up, or how long he would be gone. And it hurt when you began to cry yourself into sleep at night, over him.

It had been one of those evenings again, the TV was running in the background and you sat on the couch, trying to hold back more tears. There was a signature knock on the door and you tensed up, breath hitching. Wiping the tears off your face you stepped towards the door but hesitated before grabbing the knob.

There was silence outside followed by a deep sigh, “Doll, I can hear you've been crying. Open up. Don't make me burn down the door… "

“I- I don’t know Dabi,” your voice just a little too thin to be convincing.

You waited, agonizing seconds. You heard a shuffling sound outside and, being aware of the looming danger, you inhaled, straightened up and unlocked the door. Not waiting for him to enter you turned on the spot, stumbling off to the couch. You sank down into the cushions, pulled your knees up and hid your face in a pillow. You heard the rustle of fabric and the click of the door closing behind him.

"What's wrong, doll?" He rasped, the sound of his voice sending shivers up your spine.

You shook your head hidden in the pillow, biting your lower lip to keep it from trembling. Another rustle and the cushions sank in as he sat down next to you. His hand brushed your hair as he spoke again, "I asked you a question."

There was an excruciating silence between you, the heat of disappointment, pent up from the last few months, finally erupting inside you. You pressed your eyes shut, hurtful tears starting to sprout.

"Everything is wrong," you burst out, wailing into the pillow.

"This is wrong!” you raised your head, tears flowing down your cheeks, eyes watery and red, your lips swollen and puffy from all the biting.

"This?" he cocked his head questioningly, looking at you through heavily lidded eyes.

With a sob you jumped up, away from him, and hastened towards the bedroom, banging the door shut behind you. You felt like suffocating, the air too thick, too much of him around you. You stumbled to the window and ripped it open. The air outside was chilly, the light of the full moon dipping everything in an unusual greenish light. Inhaling with deep breaths, the breeze helped keeping back the tears, cooling the heat in your cheeks, giving your shaken heart a moment to slow down.

You hardly noticed the door opening and Dabi entering. There was a silence soft like silk that hung between you, as he stepped beside you and your gazes met.

Moonlight trailed along the angles of his face, tracing the sharp cut of his jaw, the narrow slant of his nose, reflecting in the brilliant turquoise of his eyes. All you could think about was how beautiful he looked in the cold glow from the outside.

He reached out, but you mumbled “Please don't-" your voice cracking and you averted your eyes. It was like you couldn't breathe, his presence too suffocating. There was a trace of hurt in his face as his hand hovered in front of you. Agonizing seconds passed, his eyes resting on your face, waiting for you to look at him, sighing when you didn't.

“Y- you come here - and you leave again, not even saying goodbye. Taking a piece of my heart with you every time” you whispered, gnawing on your lower lip. “I- I don't know if I can do this any longer,” a single tear ran down your cheek.

"Look at me, doll." His voice was low, the pleading tone in it had you melting. Shifting your feet, your gaze went up to meet his cerulean eyes, unreadable, serious in their intensity. His hand unfroze and gently cupped your wet cheek, wiping the remnants of your tears away, his thumb gently brushing over your skin.

“M’sorry. Didn't want this to happen,” his eyes trailed off into the distance, accentuating the next sentence, “Being with me is like playing with fire. And I don’t want you to get burned.”

“It's a little late for that,” you sniffled, leaning into his touch.

He looked at you with a mix of pain and longing.

“Yeah, it is,” he subtly shifted forward, narrowing the space between you. “As it is for me,” he said softly, just a breath against your lips, the tips of your noses brushing.

He tilted his head and angled his mouth above yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his breath across your lips. The molds of dust in the air seemed to freeze mid-air, time came to a halt as he leaned forward, his lips meeting yours with surprising gentleness.

It was like electricity zipping through your body, making you gasp into his kiss. Every hair of your body stood up, goosebumps erupting all over your skin. He moaned into the kiss, a low rumbling through his chest as his hand wandered to the nape of your neck holding you steady. The other wound around your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against his body. His tongue grazed yours, twirling around, exploring the insides of your mouth. The kiss became rougher, his scarred lips dipping in to nibble on your bottom lip, biting it. You squealed and he chuckled lowly. Blooming lust had his teeth clacking against yours, a controlling grip on your neck as he tangled his tongue with yours once more until he eventually pulled back.

You parted, your breaths hot on each other's wet lips. You were floating on air, tingles shooting from your head to your toes. A faint smile crept across his face, making him look so perfect. You stared at him, so close, the heat of his hands on your body, the way his eyes, half-lidded, pupils blown, looked at you.

He suddenly pulled you in for a tight embrace, sinking into you, head buried deep into your neck. His arms wrapped around you so tight, it hitched your breathing. Yet you stayed still. You felt a yearning inside him, so desperate you couldn't, didn't want to pull away.

You slowly detached, his eyes simmered with unrestrained desire and longing, enchanting you with their intensity. You had never seen this expression on his face before, so deep, filled with passion.

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed, stroking your cheek only to dive in for another kiss again. You gasped, as this time the kiss was more passionate, open-mouthed. You moaned desperately against him, aching for him so badly, it almost hurt.

You were being pushed back towards your bed, hands all over each other. As the edge of the bed caught the back of your knees, he gently laid you down, helping you pull your shirt off. You rested back, while he slid his hand behind your back, trailing up to the clasp of your bra only to unhook it with a skillful snap of his fingers. He removed it and savored you laying underneath him, humming satisfied while staring encaptured at your chest.

Hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt he pulled it off, revealing his lean, muscular torso, the white hair trailing down his abs to his pants making your mouth water.

You scooted back a bit so he could kneel between your legs. Placing his hands on your belly, he started stroking it, up around and in between your breasts, never averting his eyes from you. He circled your breast with his calloused hand, giving them a little squeeze, before rolling your buds lightly between two fingers, until they were erect and stiffened. You couldn't help but mewl below him as he latched his warm mouth onto them, tracing little circles with his tongue around them, flicking them. Jolts of pleasure ran through your body and you arched your back, moaning as he kept sucking relentlessly.

"You're fuckin sensitive," his voice low and teasing.

“Please, skip the foreplay.” you writhed beneath him, “Just sleep with me, please.”

“Anything for you, doll” he purred, a smug grin spread across his face as he started humping his clothed cock against your core.

You moaned and whimpered softly “Don't hold back,” as he started to suck slow bruises along your skin.

“I won't,” he chuckled and with one strong move, he shoved your pants down, taking your underwear with them.

He leaned back and just relished the sight before him. Yout lips puckered, pupils blown, sweat sticking to your skin already, making it glisten in the low light of the moonlight streaming in from the open window.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him slide his long, thick fingers along your folds, then dipping in. Curling his dexterous fingers up to graze along that one special bundle of nerves inside you, you moaned every single time he brushed that sensitive spot inside you.

“Fuck. Can’t wait to feel you around me,” he groaned as he watched your glistening juices coat his fingers.

Pulling them out, he tugged his pants down, and his thick, long cock sprang free. You gasped at the sight between his legs, girthy, prominent veins running just along the right places. His thick mauve tip was leaking and you had to hold back not to whimper at the sight.

Your knees willingly fell to the side as he positioned himself between your thighs and bent over you, dipping in for another kiss. You could feel the hot twitching tip of him prodding your entrance, your kiss intensifying as he slowly lowered himself on you. You moaned out, overwhelmed by the feeling of his length sliding in, his girth splitting you apart, the head of it hitting every single nerve on its way in.

"Doing- s’good, doll... almost there,” he huffed, your nails digging into his shoulders as he dropped even further down. It took forever for him to sink fully into you, as he gave you time to adjust to his size. As his hips were finally flush with yours, his eyes roamed across your face, almost glowing in the dark, consuming you with unbridled lust.

He slowly started moving, his large cock dragging against your inner walls, making you feel every single inch of him sliding in and out, the prominent veins causing delicious friction with each roll of his hips. Through all the uncomfortable pain he just rubbed the right spots in your sensitive walls, sending a tingling sensation through your body that rapidly grew into full-blown pleasure. You dipped your hips to meet his thrusts, wanting, needing more of him, trying to pull him closer, desperately wanting him to fill you up. Soft moans spilled from your lips and spurred on by those sweet sounds, he picked up the pace, continuing to kiss you.

He suddenly slipped your butt further up on his lap and began to angle his thrusts at a different spot inside, catching something inside that had you crying out. It had an immense pressure built up inside of you, your moans growing louder with each of his thrusts.

Dabi started panting, sweat dripping down his face, resting his head in the crook of your neck as each rock of his hips caused you both to teeter closer to the edge.

It all started in the peripheral of your body, the tips of your fingers and toes, the top of your head. They began to vibrate and hum, as a new sensation pulsed through your core, chest and thighs. It was such an intense feeling, you started sobbing and squirming deliriously, tears running down your temples. Dabi hovered above you, fervently burrowing his face in your neck, groaning your name. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as his hips relentlessly slammed against yours, pushing you both towards your highs.

“Fuck…” he moaned as your slick walls clenched around his length, each one of his moves having you tighten around him even more. It all crescendoed with a low broken grunt as he spilled over, sputtering thick white loads of his cum inside you as he continued fucking you. His hard thrusts, feeling his cock twitch and fill your insides had your stomach drop, searing pleasure tearing through your nerves and you came, crying out his name, over and over again. Your mind and vision whitened out, you lost all control over your body as your head fell back and you stilled. Your vision blurred and started to darken, stars appearing at the periphery of it. You hovered in the dark until you distantly heard Dabi's deep voice rumble, “Doll… breathe, you need to fucking breathe!" It pulled you out of your stupor and you arched, gasping for air. As you slowly came to, you felt him stroking your face, peppering little kisses along your cheek and jawline.

“Ya almost passed out there,” he gave you a smug grin, “Never had that happen before, kinda cute!” you gave him a weak smile and he rubbed his nose into your neck. “Never had anyone cry before either," he cooed, kissing your tears away.

He was laying on top of you, sweaty skin sticking to each other as you both rested, trying to catch your breaths. You stayed like this, kissing as he started getting soft inside you.

“Ya know, I've had my share but this, this was amazing,” he snickered, still high from the endorphins sweeping through his body. He rolled off, pulling you with him and you eagerly slid into his embrace, burying your face in his chest, breathing him in. You relished the feeling of his warm body beneath you, his long legs tangled with yours. Your whole body still tingled with orgasmic pleasure as you reached up and ran your fingers through his messy sweaty hair. He hummed at your actions and you felt so content, his warm breath brushing over your damp skin as his gentle fingers slowly ran along your side.

"Are you going to stay this time, Dabi?" You asked, peppering kisses on his chest.

“Call me Touya,” his lips curled into a smirk, “And yes, I guess you're stuck with me now.”

“Good," you smiled satisfied before tilting your face up to his.

"And you will come back?” your hopeful eyes met his.

“Every time, I promise,” his eyes met yours with an unceasing sincerity, and he dipped his head to meet you for a tender kiss.

[ink-and-dagger]

EXCERPT - Drink With Me Chapter 18

Dearest Darlings,

Inevitably, this chapter is taking quite a while for me to write for a lot of reasons. It’s coming along slowly but steadily. I’m super grateful for everyone’s patience, and I hope it’ll live up to expectations when it’s ready. I can also confirm that it’s gonna be a long one. Possibly the longest chapter of the whole fic - we’ll see.

For now, I can offer a small, quiet excerpt as thanks for your ongoing support and engagement with the story. 🖤🥃 (big extra love to those who commented on my post earlier, mwah)

Also a big shout out and thanks to @a-gal-with-taste for brainstorming shimmer lore with me, and for letting me use her theory regarding the appearance of shimmer-treated wounds. Lots of platonic tongue kissing for you 💜

[Edits may be made in the final draft]

Pipes rattle in greeting as you switch on the faucet – the tired noise an odd, familiar comfort, and the patter of water against enamel strangely soothing as you’re faced with the cringe-inducing task of peeling off your grime encrusted clothing.

You leave the shirt for last. It’s destroyed enough that you could easily pull it off over your head, but you opt for engaging in the ritualistic undoing of the remaining buttons, one-by-one, and sliding the dark fabric from your shoulders.

You hold the material up and inspect it with a grimace. All the hems are puckered and frayed, and the material is covered with stiff brown stains that reek of iron. The entire lower half is shredded, but it’s easy for you to spot the difference between the messy laceration where the knife entered and the purposeful rips the doctor made.

You could launder it. You’re certain the Undercity is rife with advice on how to remove blood from clothing. You could ask Max to stitch up the tears.

But what would be the purpose? So you can cling to some morbid token of the night you almost died? To continue torturing yourself with sentimental memories, and empty hopes for a future that you’re coming to realise may simply not be meant for you?

The silken shirt billows gracefully as it floats down to land atop the pile of ruined clothing.

You step beneath the faucet, tepid rivulets run over your skin and drag the muck with it, until the liquid which swirls around the drain is soiled to a deep rust. You wrinkle your nose at the foul coloured water.

Fingers trail delicately over your stomach. Watching as the flaking blood dampens and slides away like old paint, uncovering the canvas of your skin and revealing a scar; brand new, despite looking for all the world as though it’s the result of an injury from years past.

A thick, straight line to the left of your belly-button; no longer than two or three inches. An embossing of tissue to serve as a permanent reminder not only of how you nearly died, but of exactly how you survived. What saved you. Because unlike ordinary scars – whose colours run in shades of pinks and browns and silvers – yours is tinted soft lilac, darkening to amethyst at the puckered edges. You suppose it was inevitable. Shimmer always leaves its mark upon the user.

An enquiring press of fingers draws forth only an echo of pain. You aren’t sure how to feel about it. Maybe it’s something you can figure out with time, when your emotions aren’t already tangled up in other matters. For now… you take comfort in the fact that you’ve at least always enjoyed the colour purple.

You scrub at your skin until every inch is glistening raw and stinging beneath the water’s touch. Lathering and rinsing your hair three times before rationally admitting that the lingering traces of smoke and blood are being conjured by your mind. You force yourself to switch off the faucet, and find yourself stuck.

Not ready to face whatever’s next, when you’ve barely had a moment alone to process what’s just passed.

Wet skin squeaks against cold tile as you give in to your paralysis, and sit down upon the shower floor with your arms wrapped around drawn knees. You stare at your towel; hanging up not so far away on the back of the door.

Not so far away.

All you have to do is stand up and get it. Four steps maximum.

Stand up. Get the towel. Dry yourself. And then get on with the rest of your life.

Simple really.

Stand. Towel. Dry. Life.

Your finger taps your arm, keeping unconscious time with the slow, steady drip of the faucet. And you try to understand how your mind can feel so bloated with thoughts at the same time as being deathly, eerily silent. You remain frozen long enough that the need for the towel begins to become obsolete. Your skin is half dry and clammy by the time a gentle rap of knuckles interrupts your trance.

“You okay in there, Honey?”

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

An amused exhale, “Well, when you’re done philosophising, Jinx is back, and she’s brought enough noodles to feed Noxus.”

Your smile is small, pressed against the skin of your knee, “I’ll be there in a minute,” you promise softly.