#i truly loathe interacting with the parents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimcess · 1 month ago

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Nachash || jhs

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Med Student!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count: 21.4k+ Summary: After the loss of both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell their home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place that she has little memories of despite 10 years of living in Harlem. Her world begins to shift, and she starts to lose sight of dreams and reality, and at the center of it all is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her a strange sense of deja vu, but she can’t help but wonder if he is who he says he is and why a strange bar keeps popping up in her nightmares. Warnings: Strong language, bad medical terminology (I tried), Hoseok has a demon side (like physically different), main character (somewhat) death (graphic), graphic violence, reader slowly losing her mind, heavy religious themes in a large chunk of this, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling, hard dom Hoseok, so much blood, low-key a yandere but not really, blood play, blood drinking, begging for life, extreme emotional manipulation, growling, over stimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up), DARK ENDING, dubious consent (mind control/mood control/literally cannot leave Hoseok's presence), reader is severely mentally ill by the end of this, demonic possession, Stockholm syndrome, this is not a cute demon romance, read at your own risk, stopping here since there’s a lot just let me know if I missed anything A/N: After posting a teaser for this fic two years ago, I finally got around to finishing it! I’m still working on my smut skills, so I apologize in advance, but I hope you can get down with my favorite (and extremely evil) demon man. Happy Halloween (or, to my fellow Pagans, Happy Samhain)!

Prologue || Listen to the Playlist || Cross posted on AO3: here

Nachash (noun) "snake; serpent". Derived from the Hebrew root n-ch-sh.

July 1997

"How are you feeling?"

I sighed, pulling open another box. Unpacking was always the worst part of moving, like some cosmic joke designed to break you down piece by piece. Plates stared back at me from the box, and I clenched my jaw. The one on top was chipped—another thing on my growing list of replacements. I pulled it out and set it aside, determined to deal with it later. The rest of the plates went away in the cabinet. The broken one would be tossed.

"I don't know," I confessed. "Mom died. I'm everywhere."

My brother's hum of acknowledgment was all I heard. Miles had always been a quiet, distant sort, barely speaking to our parents. Their deaths hit him hard, but more so with Dad than Mom. Dad had been the stable one, while Mom was a relentless storm—never satisfied, constantly pushing, always demanding. To her, a doctor and a lawyer weren't enough. Miles had always seen her as aggressive, unyielding, and ever discontented. And Dad? Well, his complacency had its own way of grating.

Miles had moved to Oregon right after graduating from FSU, never looking back. We'd made the trek to see him a few times, but he'd never returned the favor. My stint in New York had mended our relationship somewhat. He visited frequently and spent his summers with me, and after Dad passed, he made a point to see Mom at least once a year. I didn't mind the trips to Portland; my Jacksonville home had become his family's vacation spot.

"So am I," he said, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.

They'd been at each other's throats, arguing constantly, with his wife loathing Mom. Yet, I knew Miles held some affection for her despite their tumultuous relationship. He'd never truly made her proud, and that haunted him. I understood, but when I moved back home, the dynamics shifted. Mom used me as a weapon against Miles, making me the favored child, the one who came back. Miles was the ungrateful one who'd married the wrong woman.

Mom always blamed Trinity for Miles' "bad attitude." Dad knew better. I knew better.

"So," Miles shifted gears, "when can we come and visit?"

I smiled, "I'll be out there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So maybe next summer?"

"That's a long wait."

I chuckled, "Well, Rory starts school this year and Trinity's pregnant. You're just as busy as I am."

I'd been the one with the most on my plate for years. Mom, a real estate agent, rarely left home, while Dad ran a plumbing company. When Miles went to college, I was knee-deep in medical school applications. During my residency, Miles was grinding through law school. When I moved back to Florida, I was buried in ICU shifts while he graduated and started his own practice. He met Trinity, and the two became inseparable. Mom despised her, but I saw how they brought out the best in each other. My career-driven life had left me disconnected, and while Mom reveled in it, I resented it.

Kids changed everything for them. Aurora was their miracle baby. Trinity had struggled with fertility for years, and when they finally had a child, it was as if their world had transformed. My brother was spent, and Mom's resentment boiled over. She was always bitter that they hadn't uprooted their lives back to Florida for the grandchild. By then, Miles didn't care. He'd made the trips for Dad but after Mom's cruel comments about Trinity's weight and their daughter being "too pretty" to be her granddaughter, Aurora never set foot in the family home again.

"Aurora is driving me crazy," Miles groaned. "She won't stop talking about the baby."

"As a big sister, I can tell you she's just being a normal kid."

"I know that," I could almost hear his eye roll. "I'm just worried. It's still early, and I don't want her hopes to get too high. Trinity's scared of another miscarriage."

It would be her sixth.

"Try to stay positive, bub," I bit my lip, surveying the cluttered room. I'd never finish today. "If it happens, it happens. But don't go into it expecting the worst."

"Between Mom and this…" He trailed off.

I understood his fear. Trinity was a few years older than me, and her anxiety was palpable. At 38, any pregnancy brought its own set of worries. Last I heard, Trinity was considering getting her tubes tied if this one didn't make it. The heartache was becoming unbearable.

"Hey," I kept my tone gentle, knowing that riling him up wouldn't help. "Keep your head up. Her next appointment is soon. Ensure she's sticking to bedrest, and you'll be fine."

"What if it happens again?"

My heart broke for him. Miles had always been the rock, the one who seemed unshakeable. Seeing him this vulnerable starkly contrasted with the angry kid he'd been in high school. Mom had pushed his buttons mercilessly, and I had vague memories of our squabbles, but they paled compared to the constant battles he faced with her.

I wondered if he ever grasped how I felt. He always thought Mom liked me more, but it was more about her being able to overlook me. While he fought for her attention, nothing I did ever really mattered. It was like a fog followed me, obscuring me from their view. Sometimes, it would lift, and Mom would acknowledge me, but then it would return, and I was forgotten.

"You'll get through it," I assured him.

We chatted a bit more. Aurora was excited about kindergarten and had picked out new uniforms. She was obsessed with Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and her new backpack reflected that. She'd even given her Prince Wednesday stuffed animal to the baby. It was everyday family life, but the emptiness in my chest grew. I longed for laughter and the innocent joy of children in my home.

"Trinity's calling me," Miles said, his voice muffled by distance.

"I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too, sissy."

I smiled faintly, "Later."

He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced around the room, eyes narrowing at the boxes that seemed to taunt me with their mere existence. All of them were my own—mainly books, a few other odds and ends. The sadness that gripped me was relentless. I'd always had the most demanding job, the tightest schedule, and the deepest insecurities. Miles was angry, and I was desperate to be seen, so much so that I followed every command without question. Now, here I was, alone, surrounded by regret.

Dating felt like a cruel joke. My time in New York had alienated me more than anything else. That fog of invisibility from my childhood had returned with a vengeance. Coworkers would barely look at me for over a second; people on the street seemed oblivious to my presence and dates. They always ended badly. They weren't evil men but would forget my name within seconds. It felt like I wasn't real, like I existed on some other plane.

The only person who seemed to remember I existed anymore was my brother and his family. Dad's Alzheimer's had robbed him of any memory of us before he passed. Mom, too incoherent at Hospice, never stayed awake long enough to acknowledge my presence. Sometimes, it felt like Miles would momentarily forget me, only for my name to pop into his mind at predictable intervals—like clockwork, only calling on specific days and times, usually if he was planning a trip. It upset me more than I could recall, but now I wondered why.

"This place won't unpack itself," I muttered aloud.

I'd talked to myself so much it felt almost normal. I knew I needed to make friends, that without connections, I'd end up as lonely as my father, but the idea seemed futile. No one saw me clearly. No one ever had. When I searched my memories for anyone who had seen me, I came up empty. No one had ever really seen me. No one ever would. Instinctively, I knew this despite the facade of normalcy I tried to maintain. I had a job, a family, a house. I wasn't haunted. Or… maybe I was just being childish. I was simply forgettable, unremarkable. This I knew.

"I exist," I whispered, the words reverberating loudly in the stillness of my apartment.

The silence that pervaded my life mocked me with its omnipresence.

"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?"

"It's a lounge, sha," came a voice behind me.

What a peculiar dream. I took a bite of my sandwich, returning to the rude awakening that morning. I rarely remembered my dreams, if I had them at all. But last night had been different. I'd found myself in a dimly lit room with a man I couldn't recall clearly, dressed in white and speaking with an accent I couldn't place. I woke up before anything significant happened. The dream had been woefully uneventful.

The floor was almost eerily quiet tonight. Aside from the constant beeps and monitors scattered around and George Gilmore in room 11 watching football, no one spoke. The nurses here seemed less lively than I was accustomed to, their faces vacant, their words few. I kept to my small office most of the night, avoiding their station.

We'd had one death so far—a patient with a DNR who suffered a stroke shortly after midnight. Another woman had been pronounced brain-dead an hour ago. We'd wait until tomorrow to pull the plug, so her daughter could say goodbye. I didn't count her in my tally. The night crew had a way of seeing me even less than the others, and I didn't like them much.

"Hello, Doctor."

I jumped, startled. At least he had the decency to look sheepish. My irritation took me by surprise. I wasn't typically agitated; my feelings were either muted or overwhelming. He pushed his hair back, revealing messy chocolate brown locks, and held a clipboard stained with dubious marks.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly under my gaze. I was already weary of his presence. "I was told you were new and thought I should introduce myself before leaving for the night. I'm Damon Glass, one of the anesthesiologists."

"Y/N Y/L/N," I replied, my voice flat and uninviting. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that reminded me of my father's. It was a rare sight among people my age. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me. Dr. Whitlock is on the floor, and I believe Morgan Fletcher is on call."

I nodded, appreciating the information but ready for him to leave. My distaste had faded, but I preferred brevity in conversations, especially with outsiders. I disliked the feeling of interacting with them. It was why I preferred dealing with the nearly dead; they rarely spoke, and when they did, I knew they'd be too medicated to remember much. The families were more accessible to handle than the ones back in Florida.

It was odd how my thoughts could veer into such morbid territories. Almost as morbid as my enjoyment of overseeing dying patients. It was not as macabre as my unbidden glee at my mother's death alongside my brother, but it ranked high on my list of flaws.

"Have a good night," I said, returning to my computer to refresh my emails.

Dr. Glass seemed to take the hint, leaving with an awkward smile and wave.

August 1997

I stood outside the door, the muffled sounds of grief seeping through the walls like a relentless, jagged current. The family's sorrow was palpable, a heavy fog that followed me down the hallway. I hoped to catch them in a better moment, but the cruel truth of this place was that better moments were rare. With a resigned breath, I raised my hand and knocked. The room fell silent, and a strained voice called out, allowing me to enter.

Elizabeth Fraiser had lived a life filled with grace and elegance. Once a dancer whose feet had carried her across Europe's stages, she met her husband in Paris and married him there. They had settled in New York, where her days of ballet had given way to a quieter role as a ballet instructor in Jersey. She had raised a family, and her pride in her children was as evident as her passion for dance. She spoke of them with a joy that contrasted sharply with the emptiness of my own mother's words.

Now, Elizabeth was in the late stages of lung cancer. Her family had clung to the hope of letting her pass away at home, but the relentless pneumonia and ceaseless pain had pushed them to make the difficult decision to admit her here. Her condition had worsened sharply today, and her family was struggling to cope with the harsh reality.

"Good afternoon," I said softly, a gentle murmur in the oppressive silence.

"Nice to see you," Elizabeth's oldest son, Elijah, managed a weak smile. We both knew he wasn't fond of doctors, but he tolerated me because I didn't overstay my welcome. "Mom's been sleeping for a while."

I stifled a sigh. Her body was crumbling, and delivering bad news was never easy. The small comfort was knowing she would soon feel nothing at all. We planned to increase her morphine dosage and withdraw all other medications. Her family would need to agree, but I wasn't too concerned. Mary, her daughter, had debated extending her mother's life with her brothers.

"We're really at the end, aren't we?" Mary's voice was strained, her husband's arm around her for support. Among them, she was the calmest, but the edges of her composure were frayed. Her eyes were red, testimony to her unrelenting tears. "Will she be in pain?"

I explained our focus on alleviating her suffering. She would be less coherent in the coming days but occasionally rouse enough to interact with them between doses. We aimed to ensure she had the utmost comfort and relief in her final days. The youngest Percy took the news hardest and had to excuse himself. I held Mary's hand, appreciating the warmth of human connection. I prided myself on my bedside manner.

"I know home care wasn't ideal for you," I broached delicately, aware of their crowded lives and young children. "But I'm offering it as an option. Respite care is also available, though I understand it was stressful before. It's worth discussing."

Elijah shook his head firmly. Mary hesitated, but her husband's reminder to care for herself and their baby swayed her. Percy's wife raised concerns about her own health, cementing the decision. Elizabeth would remain with us in her final days. It was probably for the best—she was too frail and in too much agony without constant medication.

"Let me know if you need anything," I said, glancing at the family. The nurses are always available, and I'm on call until six. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"Mom needs a bath," Percy reentered the room. A nurse had come by earlier, asking if we were ready to step out. Let them know they could come in."

The rest of my shift dragged on. Other families were terse and uncommunicative, and their responses were minimal. I understood their grief, but it did little to ease my weary spirit. The nurses seemed as disinterested in me as ever. I had long since given up trying to connect with them.

The air outside was crisp, almost biting. I walked to the subway, the city traffic too maddening to endure. I'd trade bumper-to-bumper frustration for the quirks of the subway any day. Last week, a man in a bunny costume rapped at six in the morning. The week before, a man argued with his reflection in the window. Last night, an elderly woman beside me commented on my disheveled appearance, lamenting that men didn't like that and worrying I'd die alone. I barely remember if I responded. I hated talking on the subway; her parting insult had stung me.

Tonight promised to be different. I left the hospital later than usual, after two code blues and an injury report for a nurse. Overdue paperwork and an insurance squabble later, it was past eight when I left. My walk was short, and the wait at the terminal was OK, but the train didn't arrive until 9:30. When I finally boarded, the car was almost empty.

Then a group of men entered. They were rowdy, pushing each other, their drunkenness a stifling cloud. I almost moved when they sat too close, but I didn't want to draw attention. I could feel their eyes on me. I clutched my bag tightly, fingers brushing the can of pepper spray hooked to its strap. I was almost home. Just three more stops.

"Hey," one of the men called out. I ignored him. "Hey, you."

I hated the subway.

"Leave her alone."

That voice caught my attention. I knew it—or thought I did. When I looked up, I was met with a stranger, yet his presence felt oddly familiar. He was striking, with tanned skin and sharp features that made his brown eyes stand out under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took the seat beside mine, and I didn't stop him. The men were back to their raucous laughter, and I was forgotten. I relaxed slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Sorry about them," he said, his warm and soothing voice a gentle tenor that evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Are you OK?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Something about him tugged at the edges of my memory, yet he wasn't a celebrity, and I was sure I'd never met him before. Perhaps we'd crossed paths on the subway? My brain was playing tricks on me.

"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you."

Despite myself, I stole glances at him. I had to remind myself to breathe when I ventured past his neck. He was slender, but there was a subtle strength beneath his clothes. If he noticed my scrutiny, he said nothing. He returned to his book, but I was convinced that his eyes were still on me when I finally looked away.

I jolted awake, my body wracked with shivers despite the suffocating warmth of the blanket. The room was deathly silent, save for the moonlight streaming through the window like a spotlight on a stage set for a performance I never auditioned for. I rolled over, trying to bury myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, but then I heard it—a voice, soft and faint, yet carrying an unsettling authority.

“Oh, Y/N,” the voice crooned, dripping with a sinister allure. “It’s time. Come to me.”

Confusion and dread clawed at my insides as I stumbled out of bed. The room was a far cry from my own—stone walls, thick and oppressive, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent glee. The floor beneath my feet was icy, a stark contrast to the comfort of my bed. My nightgown, white and delicate, felt like a mockery in this alien environment.

This wasn’t my room.

The voice came again, seductive and commanding. “Y/N, come out, come out, now. I’m waiting for you.”

Compelled, I moved to the window. Below, in the moonlit expanse of the lawn, stood the man from the subway. His face was eerily illuminated, his head tilted back as if inviting me to join him in the darkness below. His eyes—glowing a brilliant gold—seemed to reach out to me, promising unspeakable things if only I would take the leap.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent invitation. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. Entranced, my feet moved on their own accord. Barefoot, the cold stone beneath me was a cruel contrast to the warmth I’d just left behind. I wandered through hallways and passages that felt simultaneously foreign and intimately known, descending into the shadows where he waited.

As I emerged onto the lawn, his smile made me shiver. He approached, his fingers brushing the side of my face—teasing, tantalizing, yet never quite touching.

“I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “So very long. And now, now you’re mine.”

A fragment of my mind screamed in protest, shouting that I didn’t belong to him, that I didn’t even know who he was or why I was here. But a deeper, more primal force tugged at me, pulling me closer until I was nearly touching him. His presence was unsettlingly soothing, and I took a breath, feeling the heat of his gaze.

“That’s right, my lamb, come closer,” he coaxed.

An overwhelming longing surged through me—irrational, illogical, yet so profound that I couldn’t resist. I needed him to touch me, to make the connection complete. I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight.

He responded immediately, his fingers trailing along my throat, their cool touch sending shivers through me. I gasped, my body lighting up with each delicate brush.

“More,” I heard myself plead, pressing closer.

“Say it,” he demanded, his arms enveloping me in a possessive embrace. “Who do you belong to?”

“You. I’m yours.”

He cradled my head in his hand, leaning in. His lips were smooth against my skin, but his teeth were sharp as they pierced through flesh. I screamed as he drank deeply.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, my hands clutching at my throat, searching for any sign of injury. The skin was intact, unbroken. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart that felt as though it might burst from my chest.

The lamp flickered on with a click, casting a harsh, unwelcome light that made me squint and shield my eyes. Grabbing my robe and a cup, I shuffled out of the room, the chill of the hallway hitting me like a slap. I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The bathroom, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow, was as deserted as I’d hoped.

I filled my cup halfway with water from one of the sinks, then leaned against the cold, sterile tiles, watching my reflection in the mirror as I took slow, deliberate sips. The dream—the one that had shaken me awake—felt so unnervingly real.

I traced the line of my neck with trembling fingers, the blue vein just beneath the surface. What kind of twisted message was my mind trying to send me with that nightmare? It had been a full-on gothic horror—a relic of some crumbling English manor, not the kind of place I ever imagined myself visiting, unless I was buried in a pile of classic literature.

And him. The monster. Even now, as I closed my eyes, I could still see his face—a blend of dark allure and cruel beauty. His eyes, oh, those eyes. They’d held me in thrall, made me willing to surrender to any demand he made. I could almost feel his cold touch, see his smile that promised both ecstasy and agony.

Wasn’t the whole vampire-mother-stuff supposed to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that’s what my subconscious was trying to shove in my face—sex, or the glaring void where it should have been in my life.

I studied my flushed reflection, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to shake off the nightmare’s grip.

The man sat next to me again. It had been a week since I last saw him, and my body still reacted to his presence. Today, I admired his chiseled jawline and elongated face. He was an exquisite oval with a strong profile. This time, he caught me looking and smiled shyly.

"I'm Hoseok."

The name sent a shiver, stirring something familiar and unsettling. I quickly brushed off the uneasy feeling. It was probably my own insecurity.

"Y/N," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

He resumed reading, and I focused on crocheting a stuffed rabbit for my nephew. Miles had called that morning to update me on Trinity's appointment. The toy wasn't perfect—far from it—but I wanted to give it a try.

"How would you feel about dinner?" Hoseok's voice broke through my thoughts.

I paused my knitting. "I enjoy dinner. Who doesn't?"

He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made me blush. "Cheeky."

I bit my lip, unsure if it was a compliment. I felt a pang of embarrassment, struggling to maintain my composure. The first date I'd been asked on since undergrad, and I was fumbling. Miles would have a field day.

"Would you like dinner with me?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

Hoseok's laughter resonated deeply within me, and I felt a jolt of warmth as he slid closer, his knee brushing against mine. He was impossibly warm. Instinctively, I shifted away, uncomfortable with his proximity. There was something off about him, an unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite place.

But then he smiled, and that soft, disarming grin evaporated all my doubts. He was dazzling. My eyes fluttered shut as his cologne enveloped me, weakening my knees. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was captivating.

"Do you like Italian?" he asked, his voice deeper now.

I nodded, struggling to steady my breath. Panic and embarrassment churned within me, but I couldn't ignore the physical response. My mind was flooded with inappropriate thoughts of Hoseok, vivid and intrusive. I gasped, feeling a flush of heat I hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Does two weeks work?"

Snapping out of my daze, I looked at Hoseok and nodded.

"I'm off on the 27th."

He smiled, and I stared at his teeth longer than necessary. They seemed different—sharper, perhaps, with redder gums. I blinked, reassured that they were just as I remembered. My sleep deprivation must be getting to me.

"Meet you here?"

We agreed to meet at six. I'd catch the 5:30 train to ensure I arrived before him. As the subway pulled into my stop, I waved goodbye and stepped out, only to realize I hadn't asked him where we were going. The thought lingered until the following day.

The voice is louder now, sharper, as if it’s cutting through the fog of my half-sleep. “Y/N? I’m waiting for you. Come to me now.”

I hear it, feel the tug of it dragging me towards him, but fear clamps down on me like a vice. My bare feet are numb on the cold, wet grass as I stumble through the twisting maze of hedges, trying to escape the invisible force that pulls me like iron to a magnet.

My breath hitches, coming fast and uneven, as I sprint around corners, the long white gown tangling around my legs and tripping me up. I’m not sure anymore if I’m searching for a way out or if I’m trying to find him.

I turn another corner, my ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg as I crash into an open space—a small, white fountain sits in the middle, surrounded by benches.

Through the flickering light of the moon dancing on the water, I see him. Not a figment of my imagination, but there he is, standing as he promised, waiting.

Hoseok walks towards me with a slow, deliberate grace. He bends, lifting me effortlessly from the mess of my tangled gown and into his arms. I feel a peculiar sense of completeness as he sits on a bench, cradling me like a precious artifact.

“Were you bringing me your gift? Or were you trying to run from me?” His voice is soft, almost tender, and yet it cuts through me. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes. I’m lost, adrift in confusion.

I’m mesmerized by his flawless beauty. My fingers move of their own accord, reaching towards his face. That smile returns, and I see the satisfaction in his eyes.

“You may touch me.” His lips part slightly, and I press my fingers against them. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around my fingertip and drawing it into his mouth. Before I can react, I feel a sharp bite.

I gasp as he licks the blood that wells up from the small wound. “A small treat,” he murmurs. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

I find myself nodding, helpless under his gaze.

He licks my finger one last time, savoring the taste before swallowing. “They told me you’d be extraordinary, worth every moment of waiting. Yet, your taste is beyond anything I ever dreamed.”

My body reacts to his words and his touch—still innocent but making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight, like I might explode. I let my head fall back, exposing my neck to him as his tongue traces a path up the sensitive skin.

And then he bites.

I bolt awake, heart pounding as if it might burst from my chest. I fumble in the dark, reaching for the light switch, feeling profoundly alone with Rose away for the weekend.

I throw off the covers and stagger to the mirror, desperately checking my neck. There’s nothing there, no sign of the bite.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I grab a blanket and a book, and huddle in the hall lounge, surrounded by the harsh light of every lamp and the incessant flicker of the television, trying to drive away the lingering shadows of the nightmare.

September 1997

I eased into my seat, the familiar weight of my bag pressed to my left side and draped an arm over it as if to claim it for my own. It was the first night off from the relentless grind of being on-call since mid-August and the first real night out in years. I’d never been much for the party scene, and medical school had only sharpened that aversion. The last time I went out for drinks was nearly six years ago, a fleeting memory of bar hopping that I’d abandoned early, too exhausted to keep pace with my friends.

Tonight, however, felt different. There was a nagging sense that I was misremembering that long-ago night, like a foggy half-remembered dream where something vital was missing. My life in New York had become a blur of medical texts and sleepless shifts, the grueling 24-hour days erasing the finer details of my existence. My final year had been a carousel of discomfort, but the specifics eluded me, lost in exhaustion. Perhaps a creep of some sort, some misguided doctor with a name I couldn’t quite grasp—maybe that’s what had soured my memory.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find Hoseok’s contact. The old SeaTAC was still a relic of the past, but I clung to it out of stubborn habit. Despite its age, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to escape the pager’s relentless beeping. I longed for the day when I could toss the landline, but the cost of cell phone minutes constantly reminded me of its importance. With his endless chatter, Miles made sure I burned through those minutes with alarming frequency.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice was silky, a comforting balm after a long stretch of clinical detachment.

“Hey,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just got on.”

“See you soon,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. I could almost picture the smile on his face, and it made me smile in return. His words seemed more benign over the phone, starkly contrasting the intensity of our recent encounters. “Save my spot.”

The car was beginning to fill up, Friday night revelers claiming their space, making it nearly impossible to save a seat. I promised I’d try, even as I felt the crushing inevitability of the crowd. His chuckle was soft, almost intimate.

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

I bit my lip, the endearment both flattering and unsettling. A tiny voice in my head cautioned me, even though Hoseok had never used his terms of affection demeaningly. The voice grew louder when he wasn’t around, whispering warnings I couldn’t entirely dismiss. It was strange, this constant inner debate.

“I’m going to hang up,” Hoseok said, his voice a sensual murmur. I moved the phone away from my ear, puzzled by the seductive undertone. Was he implying something more?

Was I expecting more from tonight?

“I’m running up my minutes,” he laughed, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

“Oh,” I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”

The recurring dreams of him were becoming a distraction. My nights were plagued with vivid, unsettling fantasies, leaving me restless and frazzled. I wiggled in my seat, pressing my thighs together to quell the unsettling arousal. Reality would surely disappoint, no matter how compelling he seemed in my dreams. I resolved to hold off on sex for now. I didn’t want to tarnish his allure with premature intimacy.

“Why did you want to be a doctor?” Hoseok asked, his fingers entwining with mine.

The wine started hitting, and the night air was crisp against my skin. Hoseok was the perfect gentleman; the evening was a beautiful respite from my routine. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and sighed.

“I wish I could say it was for noble reasons,” I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. “In truth, I just wanted my family to notice me. I thought graduating medical school would make them see me, but it never quite worked out that way.”

Hoseok hummed thoughtfully beside me. I turned my gaze away, feeling a strange mix of comfort and sadness.

“None of us are perfect,” he said after a pause, his voice low and contemplative. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, and my choices haven’t always been noble.”

I leaned closer, savoring his warmth and intoxicating scent. Despite my fatigue, the night felt lighter, almost magical. He was mesmerizing, and I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected.

“I have a hard time believing that,” I said with a soft grin, snuggling closer.

“Well,” he said, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You haven’t had me all to yourself yet.”

A shiver ran down my spine, a curious blend of fear and delight. The night had been a rollercoaster of emotions—enchantment and apprehension intertwined. Hoseok’s smile was disarming, melting away my unease, but I made a mental note to reflect on my feelings once I was alone. He seemed almost too perfect, and that nagging pit in my stomach grew again before vanishing.

“I don’t want the night to end,” Hoseok whispered, his breath warm against my ear as we waited for the train. “I’m having such a good time.”

I smiled, “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine longing.

“Soon,” I promised. “I’m getting the next few weekends off now that the other fellowship student is starting. My supervisor is trying to get me off every Saturday.”

“It’s a good thing my boss is flexible,” Hoseok purred, causing my heart to race. “Otherwise, I’d never get to spend time with you.”

I wanted to be annoyed by his clinginess, to remind him I wasn’t his girlfriend, but instead, I found myself grinning. His words made me feel seen and appreciated. Despite the anxiety he sometimes stirred in me, I was eager to be close to him. He looked at me so intently that I was willing to overlook my reservations. Maybe it was just butterflies?

“Where do you work?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts.

Hoseok was a bartender at a speakeasy in Manhattan, where he’d worked since it opened. He had hinted at it throughout the evening, teasing me with its obscurity.

“It’s a smaller place,” he said amusedly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me,” I challenged, my heart pounding strangely.

“Dauphine.”

The name hit me like a jolt. Images of dimly lit corridors and crimson hues flashed in my mind. I was sure I’d never been there, but the name stirred a disquieting sense of déjà vu. The dream from July, the man from my dreams—there was a connection, but it eluded me.

As we stood in the bustling, well-lit area, I edged away slightly, unsettled. Hoseok was a charming gentleman, but the name “Dauphine” had ignited an inexplicable dread. Despite his humor and warmth, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something—or maybe I was just afraid of what I might find.

I stole a furtive glance at him, and it felt as though I’d known him far longer than the scant time we’d spent together. His face was oddly familiar, like a recurring image in a dream half-remembered. I had met him before, somewhere.

“No, you haven’t,” his voice cut through the night like ice. It was cold, detached, far from the warmth he’d shown me all evening. A shiver snaked down my spine, and I forgot to breathe. His grip on me tightened as though sensing my legs would buckle beneath me. “You’ve never known me before.”

The fierce scowl on his face startled me. His eyes, glowing with an eerie golden light, seemed to burn through me. Everything about him felt otherworldly like he was something less than human. A fragmented memory of a man sitting alone at a bar surged up, only to dissolve into nothingness.

“I am Hoseok,” he whispered, his voice weaving a heavy spell over my senses. “I am your boyfriend. We’ve been together a long time, and we’re in love. You just tripped and hit your head.”

A sudden jolt of pain made me wince and try to pull away from him.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was deceptively tender, and I sighed through the pain.

“Yes,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Does it look bad?”

Hoseok’s grin was unsettling, a blend of fake sympathy and amusement.

“You were lucky this time. Just a barely noticeable red mark.”

I chuckled at my own clumsiness. I wasn’t usually this awkward, but my heel caught on a pavement crack. I gingerly rubbed my ankle and was relieved to find it unscathed. Even my heel had survived.

“Jeez,” I said, looping my arm through his. “I completely forgot what we were talking about.”

Hoseok’s smile broadened, clearly enjoying my disoriented state. I rolled my eyes and reached over to gently tap his chest. He responded by sticking out his tongue, which only made me scoff at his childishness.

“We were talking about work,” I said.

I nodded as if on autopilot. “How’s the bar?”

Hoseok worked at a swanky speakeasy in Manhattan, though I was trying to remember its name. Despite being together for what felt like ages, I had never been there. I was never one for bars, while Hoseok reveled in the place’s gothic charm. The name eluded me again as I tried to recall it.

“Tae’s excited,” he chuckled. “With Halloween around the corner, business will pick up.”

I hummed, my thoughts still lingering on the name. I had thought his boss was Tristan, but I must have misremembered. I shrugged off the nagging thought.

“You should stop by the bar,” I heard myself say, sounding oddly mechanical.

“Sounds fun,” he replied, his tone laced with a predatory edge.

Looking back on that night, it’s almost laughable how easily he swayed me. The way he possessed me was undeniable; soon, he would own every inch of me. Those dreams of him were his twisted way of showing love—how much he craved to touch me, to keep me bound to him. It’s sick and vile, and the thought of what we’d become makes me nauseous, yet to him, it’s love.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, his arm wrapping possessively around my shoulders.

I remember leaning into his side, kissing his cheek as if I was floating. His presence was intoxicating. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch and his body's heat. It’s a twisted sort of longing I have for him. This place is cold and dark without him, without his reminders of how much he cares and wants me to scream for him. Here, time stands still, and life continues in a strange loop. I can’t say whether I’m alive or dead, but I know it no longer matters. Once I entered this world, my life ended and began anew. Hoseok made me feel both alive and dead simultaneously.

And as I write this, my heart aches for him. My fingers tremble at the thought of him returning to claim me again. The pain he inflicts makes my heart pound and my stomach clench. I miss him.

It both sickens and excites me.

October 19, 1997

My bones groaned and cracked like ancient floorboards beneath my weight as I fought to catch my breath. Sweat slicked my skin, and I began patting myself down, half-expecting to find something tangible to anchor me to reality. My surroundings slowly came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights above stung my eyes, but their sterile brightness offered an odd comfort. I was at home, cocooned in thick blankets that had twisted themselves around my legs. The bed beneath me creaked with the effort of supporting my restless form. I sighed, flopping back down, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that still clung to me like a shadow.

The dreams had become relentless, evolving from vague echoes of past terrors into something far more insidious. These weren't fueled by mere fear but by an overwhelming, consuming desire that felt dangerously close to swallowing me whole. The weekends were the worst, and after seeing Hoseok, they had turned almost infernal. He was always there in my dreams, his skin smooth and flawless, his deep brown eyes burning into mine with an intensity that left me gasping for air.

Every time I closed my eyes, his image flickered behind my eyelids like a dark, seductive film. The scenes always ended the same way: I would climax, my body convulsing in a fevered rhythm, while I looked up to see his face contorted in ecstasy. His deep, guttural groans would reverberate through me as his grip tightened on my skin. He would finish inside me, and my spent body would collapse beneath him. He would drape himself over me, showering my chest with tender, lingering kisses. The setting varied—my bed, a chilling, unfamiliar void, or a dimly lit lounge—but the conclusion was always the same.

With a sigh, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing the cool surface. An email from Hoseok awaited me, and a smile crept across my face despite the haze of exhaustion. He was the epitome of a perfect gentleman—never pushing beyond my boundaries, never demanding more than I was willing to give, always accommodating his schedule to mine. Even in matters of intimacy, something many men would aggressively pursue, he always respected my pace. In the hectic blur of the past month, we hadn’t had a moment alone. He hadn’t even broached the topic. As I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time we'd been intimate outside of these dreams.

From: Hoseok Jung Subject: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 03:05 To: Y/N Y/L/N Good morning, love, I'm sorry for the early message, especially since this is one of your rare mornings off. I hope I didn't wake you. I'm heading home from work and couldn't stop thinking about you. Taehyung is throwing a simple Halloween party this year, and luckily, it falls on a Friday. Would you like to join me? I think it could be a lot of fun. I love you. Hobi

I grinned and began typing my reply.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: RE: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 04:15 To: Hoseok Jung Hobi, Don't worry, you didn't wake me. I was tangled up in strange dreams and was deep asleep when your email arrived. Sadly, I doubt I'll fall back asleep anytime soon, so I plan on catching up on Buffy or Beyond Belief—whichever's on. Hopefully, I won't get stuck with reruns of Seinfeld, not really my thing. Lucky for me, I'm working mornings this week. I'd love to come to your party. Call me when you wake up. Love you, too. Y/N Y/L/N, M.D. Palliative Care Physician, New York-Presbyterian Hospital

It barely registered that, to my knowledge, I had never said "I love you" to him before. I had never really pondered the oddity of our relationship. My memories of our time together were a disorienting blur, but I never questioned it. It wasn't entirely my fault—he had ensnared me, body and soul, and any unresolved threads might make it harder for him to maintain control. Regardless of our tangled history or how elusive it seemed; I was simply glad he wanted to see me at that moment.

I lay huddled in my bed, my body a coiled spring of anticipation, each nerve ending tingling with the foreboding that had stalked me all day. His voice had been a persistent whisper, a sultry hum that turned my name into a haunting lullaby. It was a melody wrapped in an insatiable longing, a caress of words that promised more than I dared to imagine.

Tonight, I wanted to resist. I tried to muster the strength to ignore the insidious pull, that relentless tug drawing me toward him like a moth to a flame. The very idea of defying him churned my stomach with a nauseous dread. But the threads of his influence were woven so tightly around me, it felt like trying to escape from silken chains.

Then it came, cutting through the murkiness of my thoughts like a scythe. His voice, now sharper, more insistent, shattered the fragile veneer of my resistance.

“Y/N. Come to me now.”

With a sudden jolt, the pretense of defiance evaporated. I threw off the blankets as if they were chains, leaping out of bed and flying through the darkened hallway. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurtled down the stairs, each step propelled by an unrelenting force, dragging me inexorably toward him.

He waited for me in the foyer, bathed in an eerie glow that made him look like an apparition from a fevered dream—or perhaps a nightmare. His smile was both welcoming and chilling, a promise wrapped in malice. When he took my hand, his lips brushed against my fingers with a cool, electric touch that set my entire body aflame.

The intensity of my reaction embarrassed me, but he tilted my face up to meet his gaze, shaking his head with a look of almost pity.

“Your blood knows what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow.”

My face burned with fierce heat, but the compulsion pulling me to him was too overpowering to resist. He guided me through the meticulously manicured gardens to a secluded alcove framed by dense, sculpted hedges. He seated himself on a bench, drawing me onto his lap with a practiced grace that made me feel both cherished and helpless. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, never left mine, promising secrets I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Are you ready, my lamb?”

Without a second thought, I bared my neck to him. The desperate craving for the bliss and torment of his bite had consumed me completely; waiting was no longer an option.

He lingered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path along the delicate skin of my throat. The sensation was almost unbearable, and I found myself begging with a voice that sounded alien, strained.

“Please.”

And then he bit.

I shot awake, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. I had fallen asleep hunched over my desk at the hospital, my neck stiff from the awkward angle. Rubbing away the ache, I cursed the book that had plagued me with such vivid nightmares. I needed to talk to my brother again; this couldn’t be anything but a cruel trick of the mind.

The glowing digits on my alarm clock mocked me with their late hour. I stood up, stretching and feeling my heartbeat slowly return to normal. I changed into a t-shirt and shuffled toward the bed, determined to banish the lingering unease.

As I passed the window, something froze me in place. I looked down into the parking lot and saw him standing under a flickering lamppost, his gaze locked onto mine with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.

It was Hoseok—or at least, it looked like him. But the resemblance was grotesquely twisted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, a sickly luminescence that cut through the night like a malevolent beacon. His skin was peeling away in ragged strips, as if he were shedding himself like a decaying husk. This was no longer my Hoseok. He was a creature of nightmares, a monster forged from my darkest fears.

My fingers clung to the windowsill as I stared, my body paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to run to him, to give in to the magnetic pull of his presence. I watched as his lips moved, shaping a single word that seemed to echo through the chill of the night.

“Soon.”

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vision to vanish. When I opened them again, the parking lot was empty, the lamppost casting its pallid light over a sea of unmoving cars. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, snatched my blanket and pillow, and stumbled back to the on-call room, desperate to escape the sinister call that still haunted the dark corners of my mind.

October 28, 1997

"What should I do?" the nurse asked, her name slipping from my mind like a shadow lost in the night.

"Give them some space," I replied, my gaze fixed resolutely away from the room across the hall. Elizabeth had just passed away, her DNR a cold, ironclad barrier that left no room for last-ditch efforts. Her family needed their final moments with her while we waited for the body to be transported. Mary was still wailing into her husband's chest, and Elijah looked like he'd been dragged through a storm, barely able to stand. Percy stood like a marble statue, his eyes glazed over while his wife clung to him. The sight of Percy’s frozen, unseeing expression twisted my gut in a way I couldn’t ignore. It reminded me too much of what I feared—and I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of grief.

"Should we get them out of the room?" another nurse asked, her thick southern drawl hinting at Memphis. "Seeing her like that can’t be good for their mental well-being."

I shook my head. "Let them have their last moments in peace. Offer condolences and check on them regularly."

I fiddled nervously with my ID card, the familiar unease gnawing at me. My wounds from the day seemed too fresh. Miles surfaced in my thoughts again, and I resolved to call my brother on my way home tonight. Hoseok wasn’t working tonight, so he wouldn’t join me on the subway.

"I'm going to check in with 211," I murmured, watching Percy leave the room, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "I’ll be back in 5-10 minutes to see if the family needs anything. Just make them as comfortable as you can."

"You got it, doc."

The subway ride home was a silent affair. My headache throbbed like a relentless drum, and my stomach churned uneasily. The day had been heavy with more deaths than usual. Elizabeth’s family had eventually calmed down, but their kindness on their way out hadn’t eased the knot in my chest. I knew their pain intimately.

I called my brother as I made my way to the subway. Despite his complicated feelings about our mother, he was always supportive. The conversation ended abruptly when Aurora entered the room, demanding his attention. Miles had never truly understood my emotions; I doubted he ever tried.

The short walk home from the subway was a blessing, though the cold night air bit at my skin. I was grateful for the proximity of my apartment, but the streets were alive with noise—tourists laughing, gang members shouting outside their apartment complexes. I was relieved to escape the chaos, though my street wasn’t entirely free of foot traffic. My old apartment in East Harlem had been more of a hustle, with late-night carpooling with a coworker whose name eluded me. I knew it started with an 'A,' but the memory only worsened my headache. I set the thought aside for another time.

After selling the family home in Florida and vacation properties scattered across the country, I’d managed to buy a house on Astro Row at 100th and 30th Street. It was an old building—too expensive for its size, and initially, it seemed far from beautiful. But over time, it grew on me. I loved the brownstones, the front porches, the grand trees, and the quiet streets. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Even the renovations I’d planned were postponed. The charm of the old place had won me over, and I’d made peace with its quirks. I even got along with my neighbor, a small but welcome relief.

Tonight was quieter than usual, and none of my neighbors seemed awake. I missed the old man at the end of the street who used to sit on his porch, sipping coffee and waiting for dawn. It was nearly 4:30 AM. I shrugged and continued; my mind focused on the comfort of my bed.

Fumbling for my keys, I cursed quietly when my pockets were empty. My purse, a cavernous mess of clutter, swallowed everything. As I dug through it, a sudden burst of laughter behind me made me freeze. Two women strolled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were both stunning, their pale skin glowing under the moonlight. One of them locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing through the darkness. She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew me.

"Hello," she said, her voice as light and tinkling as a bell.

"Hi," I replied, feeling strangely off-balance.

The other woman seemed perplexed. Her beauty was almost ethereal, with blonde hair as pale as her skin and eyes as dark as night. Her gaze swept over me with an unmistakable disdain, her teeth bared in a slight sneer. Yet, despite her apparent coldness, she was undeniably beautiful.

"How are you?" the first woman asked, her voice soothing.

"Fine," I responded, my throat dry. "And you?"

The nagging headache intensified as I tried to make sense of the encounter, a sense of déjà vu wrapping around me like a tightening noose. The women moved on, their laughter fading into the night, leaving me with a lingering unease that clung to me like the shadows of my dreams.

She studied me, her face a shifting canvas of emotions before settling into a look of genuine confusion. I tried to place her but struggled. There was something crucial I needed to remember, something just out of reach, but my mind remained stubbornly blank. A frantic urge to call Hoseok seized me.

The realization hit me like a cold slap. Why did I think I needed him? I tried to convince myself I could handle this alone. But deep down, I knew I needed him here. He could make this headache vanish, soothe the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in my chest. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

“What's your name?” she asked, her smile both disarming and unsettling, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

“Y/N,” I replied, feeling dazed and disconnected.

“Cold night, Y/N,” she purred, her gaze never wavering. “You should get inside.”

I nodded absently, my words failing me as I fumbled with my keys. The blonde woman's giggle, filled with an eerie excitement, made me shiver. I wanted to retreat, to escape this strange encounter. I shoved the key into the lock, eager to shut out the unsettling night.

“Y/N,” the first woman’s voice halted me, her tone chillingly smooth. Neither of them had moved since they stopped. The blonde’s smile remained fixed, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Be careful out here. You never know who’s wandering around.”

I nodded, turning the doorknob, but her voice stopped me again.

“I work at a bar in Midtown,” she said, her words snagging my attention like a hook. I had always known she worked at a bar, but why was it important? “It’s called Dauphine. Ever heard of it?”

Yes, I wanted to say. That place haunted my nightmares, a dark shadow that clung to the edges of my memory. But I couldn’t piece together why. Hoseok would know. He’d make everything better. No, my mind screamed—he’d only make it worse. I couldn’t say how I knew this, but I wanted to listen to the little voice inside me tonight. Something was very wrong.

“You should come by sometime,” she offered. “We’re on 1st and East 54th in the far corner of the Diamond District. If you need anything, just ask for ‘Bootsy.’”

Bootsy…

“Are you okay with cherry liquor?” she asked.

I let go of the doorknob and turned to face them fully. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes. The sensation was all too familiar. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Do you know Hoseok? He’s my boyfriend.”

The blonde hissed sharply. Bootsy gasped, her face a mask of surprise and something darker, more shadowy. It was clear that Hoseok was connected to these people, tangled up with my memories of New York, the root of all my confusion. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

No, I shook my head. Was that what he wanted me to believe? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yes,” Bootsy finally replied. “I’ve known him for many, many years.”

Before I could second-guess myself, I slammed the door shut and locked it. The blonde finally moved, stepping away from Bootsy and muttering something I couldn’t catch. She disappeared down the street, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered through the door, my voice tinged with desperation.

Bootsy’s response came through with a sorrowful edge. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, my headache pounding with such intensity that I could barely keep my eyes open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I remember things but not really, and everything goes blank every time he’s around.”

Bootsy’s eyes, a deep crimson, darted around nervously. They seemed to glow faintly, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, glossy and sleek. Bootsy wasn’t human. What she was, I couldn’t say. But she was somehow tied to the nightmares that plagued me, and Hoseok’s shadow loomed larger than ever.

“He’s a demon,” she whispered hurriedly, her words laced with a fear that seemed almost tangible. “I can’t tell you exactly what he’s done. I’ve never known him to keep someone around for this long, but whatever you’ve done to make him want you seems to have spared your life. You should have died back in ’92 with your friend.”

A friend? Someone else had been involved? Hoseok was a demon? The fragments Bootsy offered were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a reality I could barely grasp. I believed her, though. I had no reason not to. My memories felt like they were being twisted, distorted by Hoseok’s manipulations.

Then I thought of the creature outside of the hospital and felt my knees go numb. I hadn't hallucinated anything. It was real. It was him. Oh my God.

“We can’t talk for long,” she said, a look of pained urgency on her face. “He won’t sleep for much longer.”

“What can I do?” I begged, clutching my head as if I could squeeze out the pain. It was unbearable. “God, it hurts.”

“Nothing,” Bootsy’s voice trembled. “Hoseok wants you, and he’s never lost a game. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do; he will win. Whatever you’ve been doing has kept you alive this long, but I don’t know how much time you have left.”

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I had been a pawn in Hoseok’s twisted game, my life manipulated by his cruel whims. What did he want from me? My body? My soul? The realization was suffocating.

“Go to Dauphine and find Taehyung,” Bootsy instructed, her voice carrying a chilling finality despite its almost maternal tone. “He had a soft spot for you back then. If you’re lucky, he might be able to change you, make you like us. That might be enough to satisfy Hoseok.”

Taehyung. The name cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, easing the throbbing in my head, if only for a moment. He had haunted my dreams, his image vivid: a white button-up shirt, his gentle hands, his voice firm yet tender, saying he didn’t want to share me. He had left me in that bar, but the details were fuzzy—how or why I had ended up there was a blur. All I knew was that I was lost, and he had once been my guide.

She paused, her eyes darkening with a weighty empathy. “You’d be luckier if Taehyung agrees to end your life before the demon does. I wouldn’t wish this half-life on anyone, nor would I be glad to see you die, but those are your choices. I can’t guarantee you’ll make it through this.”

“What happened in ’92?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with desperation.

Bootsy shook her head, her expression darkening with sorrow. “He killed your friend and tried to lure you away. That's all I know, and I don't have time to explain the rest. The sun’s about to rise, and your demon will be waiting for you to fall asleep. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. If he knows you’re aware of him, he might decide to kill you.”

It felt wrong to just let it happen. What would this mean for me in the end? Would knowing about his influence change anything? I couldn’t be sure, but if I wanted to buy myself time, I had no choice but to take the risk. I needed answers, a plan, anything to regain control.

“Y/N,” Bootsy’s urgent voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Your memories won't come back unless he wants them to. Let it go. Either way you'll be dead.”

With those final, haunting words, Bootsy vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders, my impending doom looming like a dark cloud. I stumbled back to the porch, unlocked the front door, and sought refuge in the sanctuary of my bed. Bootsy’s grim mantra echoed in my mind as I tried to push aside my troubling thoughts about Hoseok, grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.

He appeared to me then, in a vision that was both intoxicating and horrifying. His eyes sparkled with a predatory thrill, his touch setting my skin ablaze, igniting waves of pleasure that crashed over me with ruthless intensity. His worship was ceaseless, his lips warm and insistent, as if trying to devour every shred of my resistance. I was swallowed by him, lost in a whirlwind of passion that twisted the love I once felt (at least, I believed I felt) into something darker, more insidious. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

Bootsy’s words had struck me like a death knell, sealing my fate in an irreversible descent. She had unwittingly set my downfall into motion, transforming innocent affection into a ravenous lust that consumed every corner of my mind. When I awoke late in the evening, the decision to call off work for the rest of the week came with a grim resignation. The struggle to stay awake was in vain; it was becoming starkly clear how deeply Hoseok’s control had embedded itself within me. The inevitable was no longer a distant threat—it had already begun to unfold, dragging me into its dark embrace.

October 31, 1997

I tugged nervously at my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the cool night air that should have been a relief. The address that had arrived this morning was burned into my mind, glaring at me from the top of the paper—Dauphine, the bar Bootsy had mentioned. My plans were clear: find Bootsy, get directions, speak with this Taehyung, and figure out my options. But the gnawing truth was unavoidable—no matter what I did, it felt like my life was already slipping through my fingers.

Sleep deprivation had become my relentless tormentor. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by leaden exhaustion, and my attempts to feign illness to dodge work had morphed into a grim reality. It was a battle to stay awake each day, and I feared that simply making it to this bar would be a Herculean task.

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to adjust the wig perched precariously on my head. I’d opted for a lazy Halloween costume—a half-hearted Cher from *Clueless*. The yellow plaid blazer was a thrift store find, the skirt a serendipitous discovery. But the wig made me look more like a grotesque caricature than a character. Frustrated, I yanked it off and tossed it onto the floor. I’d have to go without it.

Yawning, I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse back into bed. My cab was on its way, and I had to be ready. I gathered my essentials—purse, house keys, phone, and a spare outfit—preparing for a night that could very well be my last. I steeled myself for the confrontation, even if it felt like a hopeless, losing battle.

My daily struggle with myself had turned into a monotonous grind. My feigned illness had kept Hoseok at a distance, but it had only given me more time to spiral into despair over his influence. My mind was a battleground, where fragments of my past life clashed with the twisted desires he’d implanted in me. Every morning, I awoke to a gnawing need, a desperate craving for him that left me feeling sullied and repulsed.

I stepped outside and drew a shaky breath of the crisp night air. Calling my brother was both a comfort and a torment. There was a chance this could be the last time I spoke to him, and the thought tightened my chest like a vise. I fought back tears as I dialed his number.

“Hello?” Miles answered, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey,” I forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. “Still out Trick-or-Treating?”

“We just got back,” he said. “Rory wants to talk to you.”

My heart ached at the sound of my niece’s voice. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, her voice sweet as ever. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” I sniffled, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” Aurora’s excitement was a bright spot in my darkness. “I was Katerina, mommy was Miss Elaina, and daddy was Daniel Tiger.”

“That sounds amazing,” I wiped away my tears. “What about your baby brother?”

Aurora’s voice took on a scolding tone. “His name is Corbin, Auntie,” she said as though I should have known better. “He’s still in mommy’s belly, so he wasn’t anything. Mommy’s giving him candy.”

I laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “How’s your mommy?”

“She says ‘Hi,’” Aurora replied. “We got the best candy! A lady was giving out big Starbursts. Daddy’s letting me have all the pink ones because I’m special.”

“You are special, sweet girl.”

A painful thought intruded—would Hoseok make them forget me if I asked him? The idea was almost too agonizing to bear. He’d kept me alive for five years, a perverse form of flattery that I struggled to appreciate. My self-loathing deepened as I thought about the life I was about to leave behind.

“Daddy says I have to go,” Aurora pouted. “Bye, Auntie.”

“Bye, Rory girl,” I choked out, my voice cracking as the tears welled up. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” Aurora’s sweet voice drifted through the line, a beacon of innocence in my storm of dread.

I gasped, the floodgates opening as I fought to keep my composure. “Impossible,” I managed to whisper, my throat tight with sorrow.

“Why?” she giggled, her innocent curiosity slicing through my resolve.

“Because,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I love you more than the world.”

Aurora’s laughter began to fade as she handed the phone back to Miles. The sound of her giggles and her mother’s laughter echoed in the background, a cruel reminder of the life I was about to lose. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of never hearing those sounds again.

“What’s up, sissy?” Miles asked, his tone tinged with concern.

“I was just heading out,” I said, forcing a tremulous cheerfulness into my voice. “Thought I’d call before my cab gets here. I’m leaving a little early.”

There was a heavy pause on the other end, a silence that spoke louder than words.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You sound upset.”

“No, no,” I hurried to reassure him, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “Just tired. You know how it is.”

“You sure?” Miles pressed, his concern palpable. He was always too perceptive for his own good, but he never pushed too hard. I hoped he wouldn’t miss me too much.

“I’m positive, Bubba,” I said, my eyes darting to the cab pulling up to the curb. “My ride’s here. I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Call me later?”

“I’ll try to remember in the morning,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat despite the crushing weight in my chest. “I know it’s late for you guys.”

I closed my phone with shaking hands and stuffed it into my purse, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. The cab driver approached, his face a blur through my tears.

“Where to?” he asked, his voice a lifeline in the growing storm of my fear.

“1st and East 54th in the Diamond District,” I replied, offering a weak, strained smile.

“Dauphine?” The driver’s eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, a hint of something unsettling in his gaze. “Ever been there before?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to steady my breath. “I don’t remember it all that well. Guess I had too much fun last time.”

“Watch yourself,” the driver said, turning on the radio with a slow, deliberate movement. “That place is crawling with freaks.”

“Welcome to New York,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He chuckled, his voice a touch too jovial. “Been here my whole life. My name’s Jimin. Call me if you need a getaway driver.”

The car rumbled with the low hum of R&B, Jimin fiddling with the radio as if trying to mask the creeping anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I mouthed the lyrics, trying to drown out the terror that threatened to consume me.

My thoughts were a twisted mess of fear and longing. The image of Hoseok, tainted by his manipulation, flickered through my mind. The desire to escape him was overpowered by the suffocating grip of my own confusion. Taehyung was my last, desperate hope—a fleeting chance at redemption. But deep down, a gnawing realization settled in I was already damned, teetering on the edge with no way back.

The mantra echoed relentlessly in my head: I miss him, love him, and need him…

I was spiraling, caught in a web of my own making, and the thought of facing what awaited me at Dauphine was almost too much to bear.

“We’re here,” Jimin's voice cut through the thick fog of dread that enveloped me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the cash. I handed him a generous tip, a feeble attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy.

The alleyway stretched before me, a grim path between the upscale buildings of the Diamond District. It looked less menacing than I’d imagined, but its familiarity offered no comfort. Dim street lamps cast weak pools of light that barely touched the encroaching darkness. I hoped—prayed—that Hoseok wasn’t already here. The fading daylight gave me just enough visibility to navigate, and the murmur of voices outside the bar was a small, shaky comfort. I clung to the hope that these voices belonged to ordinary people, potential witnesses if I needed to make a quick escape.

As I approached, the group of people outside fell silent. My stomach churned violently, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face them; their gaze was almost a physical presence, making my skin crawl even though I never looked directly at them. A low, sinister snicker from one of them sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying my fear. I hadn’t even seen their faces, yet their mere presence was enough to make me quake.

The bouncer at the gate eyed me with a scrutinizing glare.

“Password,” he demanded, his voice flat and unyielding.

“I-” I stammered, my mind racing to recall the password Hoseok had given me. “Audubon.”

The gate creaked open, and I slipped past the security guard, my heart pounding like a drum. Despite my nervous bravado, the bouncer’s indifference did little to soothe me. Once inside, I felt a fleeting sense of relief, escaping the unsettling stares.

I gripped my bag tightly, knuckles white, and started searching for the bar. The interior was starkly underwhelming—plush couches and private booths scattered haphazardly, with red neon signs pointing to the restrooms. The oppressive red and black color scheme was heavy, but thankfully devoid of any overtly horrific scenes. I had no desire for strobe lights or dance floors; the thought of walking into a trap was more than enough to keep me on edge.

Navigating through the dimly lit space, I felt like I was moving through a maze. The long hallway ahead seemed to stretch into an abyss, the darkness intensifying with each step. The oppressive gloom and the eerie silence made my nerves jangle. The jazz music that had been softly playing in the background had faded, leaving me in a disquieting void.

At the end of the hall, the emptiness was almost a relief. The silence was oppressive but meant I wasn’t walking into a room full of hostile eyes. Perhaps this was how I’d met Bootsy—wandering aimlessly until she had found me and guided me out.

The bar seemed to stretch on forever, an architectural labyrinth that added to my growing sense of dread. I held my breath as the walls seemed to close in, my anxiety a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The high ceilings and claustrophobic spaces combined to create a sensation of being trapped. My heels clicked sharply against the linoleum, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The place felt more like a mausoleum than a bar. Every step heightened my unease, and the hairs on my neck stood on end as I glanced around, trying to ignore the creeping terror that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling as it cut through the oppressive silence. “Is anybody here?”

The sudden sound of a voice behind me made me jump, my heart racing as I spun around with a gasp that morphed into a shriek. My balance faltered, and I slammed into the wall, scraping my arm against the rough surface. The sharp sting of pain was immediate and searing. I clutched my injured arm, the pain and the shock making my vision blur. I turned to face the figure who had startled me.

He stood there, his white button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the dim surroundings. His tall, lean frame was framed by broad shoulders, and his long fingers seemed to move with an effortless grace. But it was his smile that made my blood run cold—a wide, boxy grin that stretched unnaturally across his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, unsettling light.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I glared at him, struggling to steady my breathing and regain my composure. “It’s fine. It didn’t kill me, did it?”

He chuckled softly; a sound that felt more sinister than soothing. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his gaze dropping to my arm.

I looked down and saw blood seeping through a tear in my blazer. The sight of my own blood was like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. The pain, combined with the sight of my blood, pushed me to the edge. My hands shook as I raised them to my face, tears welling up uncontrollably. The enormity of my situation crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everything felt chaotic; my life had been turned upside down, and the relentless pounding in my head was unbearable. I should have stayed home. At least Hoseok’s presence, while twisted, had been a semblance of comfort.

The despair was suffocating.

“Are you okay, sha?” His voice was soft, but his touch on my arm was disconcertingly gentle.

I laughed, a hollow, despairing sound. “Does it look like it?”

“No, you look upset,” he replied, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and amusement.

“You don’t say?” I snapped, rolling my eyes and jerking my arm away from his touch.

Despite my evident distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his smile lingering like a dark shadow. His pleasure at my discomfort was unsettling, and the aura around him felt eerily similar to the disquieting presence of those outside. His attractiveness was overshadowed by a deeply disturbing quality that made me want to flee. It was as if fear had paralyzed me, pinning me in place.

Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. As I forced myself to examine his face more closely, I recognized him from the shadows of my past. He was strikingly beautiful in a haunting way, like Bootsy. His pale skin was almost luminescent, and his eyes, once hidden in the darkness, now revealed flecks of red that seemed to glow with a menacing, otherworldly light. They were mesmerizing yet horrifying, a dangerous allure that made my skin crawl. The spell he cast was broken as quickly as it had begun, and I struggled to look him in the eye again.

“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a silky whisper that seemed to wrap around me, tightening with a sinister intent.

Embarrassed by my earlier outburst, I nodded slowly. My hope of finding help felt increasingly elusive as the night grew darker and more menacing. All I wanted was to escape, but the hope that things might improve clung stubbornly to me. Taehyung exuded a disorienting blend of warmth and menace, a mix of comfort and dread that left me feeling more lost than ever.

“I’m sorry for being snappy,” I said, my voice quivering as I wiped away a tear. “I don’t remember you all that well.”

Or at all, my mind whispered in the encroaching darkness. The more I looked at him, the more I felt Hoseok’s oppressive influence tugging at my thoughts. Images of Hoseok’s touch, his voice, his eyes—each one flared in my mind with an insidious intensity. He misses you; he loves you, he needs you…

“Requiem was wrong,” Taehyung murmured, his fingers chillingly cold as they cradled my face. “You’re too far gone.”

“Who?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling and my head spinning. His touch was both numbing and intoxicating.

“Bootsy,” he cooed, his breath a mix of cotton and sweet pine needles. “She said you had a chance, but she was mistaken. My friend has already completed the bond.”

“W-what?” I whispered, dazed and confused. The throbbing ache in my head resonated with Taehyung’s presence. “What bond?”

“Maybe not,” he whispered, his proximity making my pulse race.

When his lips met mine, they were like ice, yet the jolt of electricity that surged through me made my knees buckle. His laughter was dark and twisted as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his tongue brushing against my lips. I mewled, clutching his shoulders as the electric sensation overwhelmed me. His groan sent shivers through my entire body, and the echo of Hoseok’s voice in my head was relentless. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you…

Suddenly, I shoved Taehyung away, gasping for air as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my temple. My vision swam, and I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Poor child,” Taehyung crooned, kneeling beside me. His scent, soothing yet oddly comforting, did little to ease the tremors wracking my body. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot help you.”

“I’m going to die,” I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my despair.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “The pain will lessen once you accept it; accept him.”

“What does he want?” I managed to choke out.

“Can’t you see?” Taehyung’s eyes glittered ominously in the dim light. “He believes he’s in love with you. It’s a pity, really. I want nothing more than to keep you, but I can’t risk angering him. He would destroy Requiem for revealing his secrets; she is my most cherished friend. Do you understand?”

Numbly, I nodded. I’m going to die. I miss him. I’m going to die. He loves you. I’m going to die. I need him. I’m going to die. I love him. He needs you. I’m—

“Your eyes look just like his,” Taehyung marveled, his gaze softening. “He’s bound to you in a way I’ve never seen before.”

As I stared at Taehyung, my vision began to blur, and the voices in my head whispered louder in the dark corners of my mind. Their weight pressed down on me, my eyes rolling back until all I could see was a void. When I came to, I was horrified to find vomit splattered across Taehyung’s pristine white shirt. His expression twisted in horror and pain as he watched me unravel.

A dark, malevolent presence loomed near, its acrid stench of soot and kerosene overwhelming my senses. My head throbbed as if it had been cleaved in two, and a grotesque, pecking sensation gnawed at my exposed, vulnerable insides. Taehyung’s icy touch against my rigid form offered little comfort as I lay helpless against his chest, terror seeping in with every passing second.

“There’s my girl!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the haze of despair, and just like that, the pain evaporated.

I exhaled, sinking into Taehyung’s embrace. His body felt like ice against my fevered skin, a chilling contrast that brought an unexpected relief. His cool fingers traced my scalp, their touch a soothing balm amidst the chaos.

“I hope you understand Bootsy’s decision,” Taehyung’s voice was as cold as his touch, carrying a weight of finality. “She thought you were still playing games. But she was wrong.”

A deep, resonant rumble filled the space, and Hoseok’s voice emerged from the darkness like a spectral echo.

“Requiem has every right to her judgment,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth caress laced with menace. “If it were anyone else, I might not care. But Y/N’s suffering is a consequence of her meddling. I had hoped to keep her alive.”

“Why?” I croaked, the question barely escaping my lips.

“You’re my special girl,” Hoseok purred, his voice dripping with a twisted, cruel fondness. “So innocent, so malleable. You’re perfect.”

A strange calm enveloped me as I lay against Taehyung, the tumult of emotions and pain fading to a low murmur. Hoseok’s presence hung over me like a dark, oppressive cloud, his words a cruel mockery of the comfort I desperately sought.

Taehyung’s fingers moved through my hair with a cold, almost clinical precision. “You’ve been chosen,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. “It’s a rare bond that neither Bootsy nor I can undo. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”

My vision blurred, shadows of past anguish swirling around me. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting lullaby that twisted my insides. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how you struggle, you are woven into my essence.”

The room seemed to constrict, the walls inching inward, shadows elongating and darkening. A biting chill settled over the space, the whispers of the damned intertwining with my deepest fears. I could almost see their forms, spectral and menacing, reaching out from the darkness.

I struggled to my feet, the world spinning dizzily around me. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. I stumbled away from Taehyung’s unnervingly composed presence, my eyes darting frantically for any sign of escape or salvation.

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s voice was a dissonant blend of soothing and threatening. “Don’t run from me. You belong here, with me.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming urge to flee battling with a stubborn thread of hope tangled in my despair. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, clinging to the faintest possibility of survival amidst the encroaching darkness.

I turned to Taehyung, my gaze pleading, desperate. “Is there no way out? Is there any hope left?”

Taehyung’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Try to enjoy your final moments.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor, each step deliberate and foreboding. My heart leaped as a figure emerged from the gloom. Bootsy. Her presence was both a flicker of reassurance and a shadow of dread.

“I’m sorry,” Bootsy’s voice was a murmur of regret in the darkness.

I looked at her, then back at Taehyung, and finally at the encroaching shadows that seemed to reach out with a ravenous hunger. The weight of the choice, of my impending doom, pressed heavily on my chest, threatening to crush me under its gravity.

With a shuddering breath, I steeled myself. “I can’t let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t want this.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the darkness thickening. Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the void, a low, mocking sound that sent icy shivers down my spine. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be writhing on the floor if you didn’t.”

The shadows deepened, the walls closing in as if reality itself was warping to ensnare me. A cold grip tightened around my soul, a force dragging me back into the abyss I had fought so hard to escape. An aching chill settled below my diaphragm, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My head spun again, his voice a soft whisper in the recesses of my mind. I miss you. I love you. I need you…

Don’t leave me.

Taehyung’s expression hardened into one of grim resignation. “You’re already bound to him. The bond is too strong.”

As I fought against the invisible chains tightening around me, the futility of my struggle became all too apparent. The darkness swallowed me whole, dragging me back into the depths I had desperately tried to escape.

“Please,” I whispered into the void, but the darkness consumed my plea. “Please, no.”

Hoseok’s voice filled the void, smooth and victorious. “Welcome home, darling.”

The last glimmers of light vanished, leaving me in an eternal night, a prisoner of my own choices and the dark forces that had ensnared me. My mind fractured under the weight of the consuming darkness, and as the final remnants of my resistance crumbled, I faced the harrowing truth.

There was no salvation. No escape. Only the endless, consuming dark.

And in that darkness, I was utterly, irrevocably alone.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in this suffocating darkness—hours, days, months, or maybe even years. Time has become an abstract concept here, slipping through my grasp like the thin veil of reality that separates me from the void. The only link to the world beyond this prison is Hoseok, a ghostly presence who appears with a gleam in his eyes that chills me to the bone. His voice, carrying the weight of a thousand tortured souls, always asks the same haunting question: How are you feeling?

We were never friends. Each passing day has sharpened my memories into a cruel clarity. I don’t know where my physical body is—doubtful it’s anywhere near this place. The ink and paper I use to write materialize out of nowhere whenever I need them, appearing and disappearing like phantoms in my disturbed mind. This place defies all logic and reason.

Initially, I fought Hoseok with every ounce of my being. Each refusal brought excruciating pain that felt like it would tear me apart. My screams echoed back at me from the oppressive void, unanswered and ignored. Hoseok would slip into the darkness with a silent, predatory grace, his hot hands roaming over my shivering body before I even knew he was there. I would scramble away, howling and begging him to take me home, but he always left without a word.

Eventually, I gave up the fight. I accepted that escape was impossible, even though my soul still ached for my old life. The pain eased only when I surrendered, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent. They were filled with idle chatter about his plans for me. I learned he was a demon, and I was destined to become one too. The possession would erase most of who I once was, but when I awoke, we would be forever linked as master and shade. My freedom would only come after I took my first human life, but that day seemed impossibly distant. Hoseok savored every bite of my soul with a mournful delight.

What I felt for Hoseok wasn’t love—it was an obsession, a malignant force that had seeped into every corner of my being. “A natural reaction of a shade to its master,” he said. I was bound to him, and escape was nothing but a cruel illusion.

The first signs of my unraveling appeared when Hoseok vanished for days on end. In the infinite darkness, where time had no meaning, his absence was a torment of its own. Despite his power to bend reality, he chose to leave me here, dependent on his presence for any sign of change. I began talking to myself, my voice the only sound in the oppressive silence. I spoke for hours, my throat raw and hoarse from the effort, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching madness.

I felt like an addict in withdrawal. I don’t recall when hallucinations began, but soon I was conversing with a phantom chorus of voices. Deep down, I knew it was Hoseok orchestrating these illusions, but my fractured mind twisted reality into something I could barely comprehend. My hatred for him only served to cloud my already distorted perception.

As time dragged on, I grew weary. My speech turned into riddles, convinced I was a prophet receiving divine revelations. Raised Catholic, I had long drifted from faith, but the darkness reignited an obsession with God. I clung desperately to fragmented Bible verses. Hoseok, ever the manipulator, provided me with a Bible. If I weren’t so far gone, I might have questioned his uncanny ability to fulfill my twisted needs.

When I told Hoseok about my religious background, he laughed, and the darkness morphed into a cathedral. For the first time, there was something tangible to focus on during his absences. It was both a prison and a gift. The pews were filled with spectral congregants, and every day became Sunday. I feverishly wrote sermons, warning of the apocalypse. Hoseok attended with a devotion bordering on reverence, but he always left too soon.

The withdrawal pangs paralyzed me, but incessant talking kept the crushing loneliness at bay. I remember the first encounter after becoming accustomed to this madness. My body trembled with need, yet my mind remained alert. Each denial of release brought physical agony, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent and prolonged. My breakdown was inevitable.

On the day of my final descent, I felt his presence before I saw him. My struggle had reached its nadir. Despite my lingering hope for escape, Hoseok’s presence shattered my resolve. I became an all-too-willing participant in his dark designs. Even now, as I lie prostrate in my despair, I can’t escape the haunting reality of my existence.

The words of the prayer rolled off my tongue like a ghostly murmur in the dim, solemn church. Each syllable was a desperate plea, a sacrament of my crumbling faith:

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.”

“Body of Christ, save me.”

“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”

This prayer was a twisted sacrament, a litany of sacred pleas that felt increasingly like cries into the void.

“Water from Christ’s side, wash me.”

“Passion of Christ, strengthen me.”

“O good Jesus, hear me.”

I bowed my head, eyes squeezed shut like a child hiding from monsters under the bed. My hands gripped tightly in a futile attempt to hold onto my sanity. I prayed not just for absolution but for a distraction, for him to stay away, for the sinful thoughts to dissipate like smoke in the sun.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, spectral and insistent, urging me to rise, to accept, to finally bend to its will.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the pulpit, my legs trembling. I focused on the Gospel before me, the rhythm of my breath, the rehearsed words of today’s homily. I could hear murmurs of anticipation swelling in the pews, bouncing off the stone walls like echoes of forgotten promises.

Did they know? Did they sense the darkness creeping into my soul?

To be honest, I was unsure if anyone was really there or if my mind was playing tricks on me. This place had a maddening ability to distort my perception. I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, offering a fleeting smile to the choir’s children—figments of my fractured mind. Their eyes, hungry for guidance, believed in my wisdom, though I felt utterly unworthy. Their gaze was a reflection of my own inner torment.

My eyes locked on a figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, as I beheld him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—an irreverent defiance slicing through the sanctity of the church. His gaze was a burning, unholy fire that cut through the darkness with unnerving clarity.

In that moment, the last vestiges of my sanity crumbled, leaving me exposed to the consuming darkness that had become my prison.

I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, and offered a fleeting smile to the choir’s children, who I no longer believed were real. My gaze wandered over the congregation, each face a testament to a faith I felt unworthy of. Their eyes, brimming with expectation, seemed to pierce through me, demanding guidance I could no longer provide. I questioned my own sanity, wondering if anyone in that room could see how profoundly empty I felt.

I once had everything figured out. Before this… before him.

My eyes locked on a single figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat. There he was: jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—a casual defiance that sliced through the church’s sanctity like a blade. His legs were crossed, hands poised by his sides, eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn straight through my composure.

No holy book in his hands, no righteous smile on his lips—just an unspoken, rebellious challenge. His presence was a magnetism that pulled me toward a pit of temptation and sin. I forgot my sermon. I forgot the vows and promises etched into my soul. The solemn pledges made to men of faith and to God. Promises I had written daily to stave off the creeping insanity.

Those promises now felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by him. His eyes, his lips, his rebellious aura—an inferno of forbidden heat that ignited a longing I could no longer contain. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the searing image of him. Abs, legs, an all-consuming heat that seemed to draw me into its vortex.

When I opened my eyes again, the fire remained. A cough from the crowd jolted me back to the present. I tugged at my collar, the symbol of my childhood and a cruel gift from Hoseok. It used to offer comfort, a sign of belonging, but now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

The faces of the congregation were a sea of silent, unspoken questions. Their eyes bored into me, filled with unvoiced suspicions and judgments.

Shit.

My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the pulpit, trying to anchor myself amidst the spiraling chaos. The eyes of the congregation felt like spectral judgments, each one a reminder of my spiraling failure. Hoseok’s presence, fixed in my peripheral vision, was a constant, unsettling pull—a dark promise of chaos just beyond the edge of reason. It pressed heavily on my chest, a suffocating weight threatening to collapse my fragile sanity.

I forced my gaze back to the Gospel, attempting to focus on the familiar lines of scripture, hoping they would restore my fractured resolve. But the words on the page blurred and twisted, tangled in the storm raging inside my head. Each verse felt like wading through molasses, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mingling with the cold sweat already gathering at the base of my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to regain control, but the sound emerged as a strangled rasp.

The whispers grew louder, like rustling wings pressing against the walls of my sanity. My heart pounded like a funeral drum, each beat a reminder of my mounting desperation. I could almost hear the devil’s laughter, mocking my feeble attempts to maintain a façade of righteousness.

Hoseok’s gaze was unwavering, a predator’s gaze that seemed to sear through my composure. His movements were fluid, deliberate—like a hunter preparing to strike. My mind raced, desperately searching for an escape from this hellish vortex. I glanced at the crucifix behind me, its hollow eyes and outstretched arms now a pitifully inadequate shield against the encroaching darkness. The sacred symbol that once offered solace now seemed like a cruel joke, highlighting how far I had strayed from purity.

The murmurs of the congregation grew insistent, a chorus of impatient whispers that echoed like an unholy chant. The church, once a sanctuary, now closed in around me, its weight suffocating. I took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of my willpower. I forced myself to meet Hoseok’s gaze again, confronting the fiery rebellion in his eyes. He offered no sympathy, only a silent taunt that echoed my own guilt.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the microphone. My voice cracked as I began to speak, the words spilling out in a disjointed stream. I struggled to reclaim my authority, but with each passing moment, my grip on sanity slipped further. The congregation’s expressions shifted from curiosity to concern, then to alarm. Their faith faltered under the weight of my unraveling composure.

Hoseok’s gaze remained fixed, a dark star in a sea of light, drawing me inexorably towards his gravitational pull. My voice faltered, becoming increasingly erratic, reflecting the chaos within. The church fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the congregation’s uneasy shifting. I felt every eye on me, their silent judgment a palpable force.

My final words came out as a barely coherent murmur, a defeated whisper lost in the oppressive silence. I stumbled away from the pulpit, my mind a tempest of confusion and dread. As I retreated from the glaring scrutiny of the congregation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stumbling towards some dark, inevitable reckoning. Hoseok’s gaze followed me, a constant, unsettling presence as I fled the sanctuary.

I collapsed into the shadows behind the altar, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed through the oppressive silence of the church. The darkness around me felt like a living entity, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing, threatening to suffocate me. Hoseok's eyes lingered in my mind, their haunting intensity a constant reminder of the sin and torment that had become my existence. The certainty of my spiraling downfall felt inescapable, and every breath I took seemed to deepen my dread.

The pews had emptied in an instant, leaving the room cloaked in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded as I watched Hoseok move toward me. The man before me was no longer the mortal guise he had once worn; his true form emerged, dark and unnervingly compelling. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now burned with a shadowed hunger that quickened my pulse with a mix of terror and something I couldn’t quite name.

“Y/N.” His voice, soft and reverent, seemed to carry a sacramental weight that sent an icy shiver down my spine. There was a truth hidden in those syllables, a meaning only he understood. As his nearness intensified, confusion and fear danced across my features. His calm, deliberate hand cradled my cheek, the touch both tender and overwhelming. The heat of my skin seemed to beckon to him, an invitation that terrified and enthralled me simultaneously.

"You're so lovely," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that barely masked the wild intensity in his eyes. His touch guided me backward with a grace that felt almost otherworldly. The church seemed to dissolve around us, melting away into a space that was unsettlingly familiar—a fragment of my life from New York. The red brick of the two-story house brought a strange, bittersweet comfort, like a fragment of a life I had once known. It calmed my racing heart with its eerie familiarity. He led me to the front door, his touch both comforting and possessive.

The lock yielded effortlessly, and as we crossed the threshold, the gravity of the situation settled like a stone in my stomach. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with a menacing intimacy.

"So perfectly lovely," he murmured again as he closed the door behind us. I stumbled back, my nerves crackling with an unsettling energy. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something darker and more confusing. A part of me ached for normalcy, for escape, while another part was drawn to him with a desperate, confusing need. The line between terror and an inexplicable, forbidden desire blurred beyond recognition. I clung to the last shreds of my sanity, even as I felt myself unraveling under the weight of my own conflicted emotions.

"Why are we here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of breathlessness and an unspoken longing. My heart pounded with a confusing blend of fear and desire. It was as if clarity had returned to me for a fleeting moment, yet I was still tethered to the confusion Hoseok had woven into my days. His promises of relief had begun to erode the pain, even as they wrapped around me like a vice. I remembered the dreams he'd planted in my mind, their seductive whispers blurring my sense of reality.

"I thought you might feel more at ease here," he said softly, his tone smooth and soothing as he followed me through the cluttered living room. Each backward step I took seemed to draw him closer, his presence an inescapable shadow. "Do you like it?"

I hesitated, glancing around at the artifacts of my past—family photos, treasured mementos, relics of a life that now felt so distant. The room was a museum of a future slipping away from me, and Hoseok's eyes seemed intent on taking it all. "Yes, I do," I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. The room, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a stage for his dark play.

"I'd like a drink," I said, placing a hand over my racing heart. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, desperate to maintain some semblance of control. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of my old self. "Is there anything here? Surely you would... like one... as well."

Hoseok, having long since discarded any pretense of humanity, closed the distance between us with unsettling swiftness. His movements were almost too fluid, his presence too intense. His hands, warm and steady, framed my face with a possessive grace, his gaze fixed on the pulse in my neck, the rich, inviting blood beneath my skin.

"Oh, Y/N, my sweet, innocent little lamb." His voice, a velvety murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. His touch, trailing down to my neck, felt both magnetic and maddening. His eyes lingered on my flesh with a hunger that was almost palpable, a craving that seemed to consume him as much as it did me.

I trembled in his embrace, my conflicting desires mirrored in his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, my breath warm and trembling with a heady mix of fear and desire. His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes as he encircled my waist, his touch moving possessively lower, tracing the curve of my hips and thighs. The tension between fight and flight heightened the charged atmosphere, leaving me both desperate and disoriented.

His eyes traced the flush of my lips, a reflection of the flush between my legs. The scent of my arousal mingled with my anxious heartbeat, a call to the beast inside him. His senses seemed overwhelmed by the promise of my warmth, the floral sweetness of my skin, and the earthy musk of my desire.

"You don't want... a drink?" I stammered, struggling to grasp the situation, to find a shred of reason amid the chaos of my emotions.

"Oh yes, Y/N. I very much desire a... drink." His smile was amused, his lips hovering just above mine. The taste of his breath, mingling with his tantalizing scent, sparked a deep, primal hunger within me. I was alive with all these unfulfilled needs, caught between an overwhelming desire and a paralyzing fear.

I inhaled shakily, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. "What... would you like?" The question was a desperate plea for clarity, a tenuous grasp at the last vestiges of control in a world that had become a tumultuous blur of lust and dread.

A low laugh rumbled in Hoseok’s throat as he brushed his lips over mine, savoring the teasing trace of my flavor. "I want you, Y/N. I want to drink you." His honesty was laced with a raw, consuming need, a plea that mirrored the chaotic mix of longing and fear surging through me. It was clear he had no intention of letting me escape—not now. His tongue traced the corners of my mouth, and his body pressed against mine, making his heat seep through every layer of fabric that separated us.

I trembled, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. The scents of my home—the cheap cotton sheets, synthetic pillows, and lingering traces of my perfume—led him with a haunting familiarity. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me with a purposeful stride, and placed me gently at the foot of my bed. The moonlight offered only a weak shield against the encroaching darkness that seemed to swallow us whole.

My heart raced, feeling like a delicate butterfly trapped in a predatory web. As he dropped his coat to the floor and drew me into a deep kiss, my earlier uncertainty dissolved into a raw, electric need. Each touch of his fingers against my body made me shiver, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tightly within me.

The bed was unmade, its disarray a silent testament to my disordered state. His scent lingered in the tangled sheets and blankets as he lowered me onto them. My sweat-dampened palms gripped his hair, my fingers exploring the nape of his neck and shoulders. The buttons on his shirt came undone beneath my trembling hands, my desire growing bolder despite the icy grip of fear that clenched at my chest. His groan as his teeth grazed my throat made me arch my hips, pressing closer, driven by a need I couldn't fully understand.

My clothes fell away under his hands, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His eyes devoured every curve of my body, his gaze as palpable as his touch. His mouth descended on mine, hungry and insatiable, and I was enveloped by him, lost in a swirling tempest of our shared desire. His touch became a language, one that read my body with an intimate knowledge I was helpless to resist.

As he explored my secret places, my soft sighs turned into desperate pleas. His searing touch brought goosebumps to my skin, but I pressed closer, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving me. I was caught between wanting more and the creeping dread of losing myself entirely.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a dark promise. "I want to consume you." His words were a growl, a warning wrapped in seductive desire.

"Yes, I want you to. Do it. Take me," I panted, clutching at his shirt sleeve. My body spoke louder than words, arching upwards in desperate need. I knew I didn't fully understand what I was asking for, but the awareness was drowned out by the intensity of my longing.

His hands covered my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples. I gasped, pushing closer as his mouth found each tip, his low growl sending shivers through me. My heart raced beneath his lips, the rush of blood whispering of more delights to come. I arched again, my body twisting off the bed, craving more.

His mouth sucked at my nipple, his tongue flicking to heighten my pleasure. His thigh pressed between mine, the fabric of his jeans rasping over my nakedness, igniting a desperate heat. I moaned and bucked against him, my fingers digging into his arms as I convulsed beneath him, reaching the peak of my desire. The exhilaration of the moment was punctuated by the fear that clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a persistent reminder that I was teetering on the brink of something both irresistible and terrifying.

The climax left me gasping, trembling, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and overwhelming need. Each wave of pleasure only heightened my fear, and my body’s reaction seemed to betray my mind's desperate protests. His touch, relentless and insistent, found a rhythm that both seduced and terrified me. I cried out, unable to stop the sounds that escaped my lips, but a part of me wanted to resist.

I tried to pull away, my hand grasping his wrist with a frantic intensity. "What... what are you doing to me…?" My voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with a blend of confusion and fear.

He looked at me with a dark, hungry smile, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire. "Y/N, don’t lie to yourself," he said softly, his fingers curling in ways that made my body shudder. "You’re not overwhelmed. Your body is telling me you want this. You’re close to coming again. I can feel it."

My protests dissolved into incoherent moans as his touch stimulated a spot deep within me. The pleasure was a cruel paradox, blurring the line between ecstasy and dread. I could barely think, my mind clouded by the intensity of his actions.

"No, Hoseok, it’s too much," I whimpered, struggling to catch my breath. "I can’t..."

His mouth moved to mine, his lips teasing, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re a beautiful little liar," he murmured. "It’s not too much. You crave this. You know you do. Beg for it."

The force of his command broke through my haze of desire. "Please, Hoseok...," I gasped, my will crumbling under his dominance. My words felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t stop myself from begging. "Please, just... take me."

His satisfaction was palpable, a dangerous hunger in his eyes. His touch grew more urgent, driving me to the brink of madness. I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body’s response only seemed to draw him closer.

The moment of his thrust was jarring, a mix of pain and pleasure that overwhelmed me. My body reacted instinctively, my hips rising to meet him even as my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. The intense pleasure was intermingled with a profound fear, a dread of losing myself completely.

His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as though he were chasing an elusive climax. I was limp in his arms, my breathing ragged, torn between an unbearable desire and an escalating terror.

Despite my growing fear, I clung to him, my hands fumbling for some semblance of control. My kisses were desperate, seeking to anchor myself amidst the chaos. His touch was relentless, and every stroke seemed to heighten the conflict within me.

He pressed closer, his hands exploring with a possessive intensity. My body’s reactions were at odds with my thoughts, creating a tumultuous storm of sensation and fear. My mind raced, grappling with the realization of what was happening, but the pleasure was so consuming that it blurred the line between consent and coercion.

As the moment approached, I felt his breath on my neck, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seductive veneer. The final act was a blur, my fear mingling with an overwhelming rush of sensation.

I was a walking paradox—caught between heaven and hell, life and death, sin and redemption. His presence was a fiery furnace, consuming me with the heat of stolen life he had been deprived of for so long. My body clenched around him, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to drive him to the edge of his sanity. His pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that painted the world in a chaotic blaze of colors.

“Hoseok, please…” I whispered, my voice a fragile breath against the overpowering cacophony of sensations. I wasn’t sure if my plea was for him to stop or to continue, a desperate cry from a place deep within me that I couldn’t fully comprehend. My fear was a gnawing presence, clawing at the edges of my desire, but the confusion of what I wanted and what I was willing to accept blurred together.

His eyes were dark with a twisted satisfaction as he sensed the last of my climax and my blood draining from me. The thought of taking me to the brink of death both exhilarated and haunted him. His grip tightened, and with a guttural snarl, he pulled away from my neck, his fangs retracting with a mixture of frustration and reluctant restraint. The rush of his thirst roared inside him, but he forced himself to temper his need.

I was an indulgence he wouldn’t be denied again, a forbidden pleasure he was determined to claim. He gently laid me back on the disheveled sheets, my heartbeat weak and fluttering. He licked the last drops of blood from my skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Each touch was deliberate, sealing the wounds with a final, lingering caress—a practical necessity for a demon who wanted to savor every part of me.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low, dark promise that vibrated through my core. “You are mine, Y/N. From now until death claims you, until I claim you.” His breath was warm and heavy against my face. My eyelids fluttered, barely able to focus, but his words penetrated my haze. “If any other man dares to touch you, I will tear him apart. Remember this, my beautiful little lamb. Remember who you belong to.”

“Hoseok,” I murmured, my voice a faint echo of surrender. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my obedience and submission. He rose and slipped out of the room, leaving me tangled in sheets and blankets. From across the street, hidden in the shadows, he watched and listened, his gaze a persistent weight on my fragile state.

As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, it painted the room in a sickly, eerie glow. I lay amidst the tangled sheets, each twist revealing new bruises and bite marks—a grotesque map of the night’s events etched into my skin. The aftermath was a haunting blend of pleasure and torment, an unsettling reminder of what had transpired.

Hoseok’s presence lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to lift. The darkness he brought with him clung to the corners, an inescapable reminder of the nightmare I had just lived through. My mind, once a storm of fear and confusion, now spun in a twisted acceptance—a deranged serenity that felt as liberating as it was unsettling.

The door creaked open like the groan of an old house settling into its own despair. Hoseok reappeared, his eyes still gleaming with that predatory glow, but now softened by an unsettling tenderness. He moved towards me with a deliberate grace, each step imbued with a dark reverence that made my heart pound with a blend of fear and reluctant desire.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that slithered across the room. “Do you understand now? You are mine, every inch of you.”

I looked up at him, my smile a grotesque reflection of the twisted contentment that had taken root in me. It was not a smile of joy or freedom but a shadowy acknowledgment of a reality I could no longer escape. My old life had withered into obscurity, replaced by the suffocating reality Hoseok had imposed upon me.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips. “I belong to you.”

The truth of my submission felt like a heavy, warm blanket, pressing down on me with an oppressive weight. Despite the enormity of what I had given up—my freedom, my chance to reclaim any semblance of my old life—there was an undeniable satisfaction in surrendering wholly to him. The pain and loss had twisted into a perverse form of fulfillment, filling the void in my chest with a dark semblance of love.

Hoseok’s smile widened, a dark curve that spoke of unyielding possession. He reached out, his hand caressing my cheek with a gentleness that clashed violently with the ferocity of his claim. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with a palpable tension, as if the very walls bore witness to my surrender.

“You will never leave me,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine with an unbreakable determination. “You are mine, forever.”

I nodded, the movement small and almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a surrender, a relinquishment of my will to the dark force that was Hoseok. He pulled me into his arms, and I felt my resolve melt away, my body becoming a canvas for his power, intermingling with the strange warmth of our shared connection.

As his darkness enveloped me, I felt a disturbing sense of belonging. In the shadows of the night, under his control, my fears and desires tangled together, creating a new reality that was both terrifying and intoxicating. In that moment, I understood there was no turning back. I was his, bound in body and soul by the twisted threads of fate and desire.

Hoseok’s eyes softened as he pulled me close, his cold skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own body. His embrace was a strange sanctuary, a place where I felt both ensnared and cherished. My mind, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, had slipped into a state of blissful madness. In Hoseok’s dark embrace, I discovered a twisted joy that defied all rational thought.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “We are bound now, Y/N. Forever.”

His words were a chilling promise that resonated through the marrow of my bones, a haunting echo that left me trembling uncontrollably. I clung to him, my grip a mix of desperate need and profound terror, as a disturbing form of happiness took root in the darkest corners of my mind. The loss of my old life, the sacrifice of everything I had once held dear, seemed like a fevered dream compared to the unsettling contentment I felt in his arms.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed, I looked at Hoseok with a gaze that was both adoring and disturbingly fractured. The vibrant world I had once known had dissolved into a distant memory, replaced by a nightmarish existence defined by the twisted love and passion we shared. My heart swelled with a love so profound it overshadowed any lingering regret, even as my mind spiraled further into chaos.

Hoseok’s final words were a chilling promise wrapped in disturbing tenderness. “Remember, Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a ghostly caress in the dim light. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.”

As the door creaked shut behind him, the morning light seeping in like a reluctant witness, I was left enveloped in the oppressive embrace of the darkness we had forged together. My smile, twisted and unnatural, reflected the bizarre, unsettling happiness I had found in the abyss. I was forever bound to the night, my soul tangled in the shadows of Hoseok’s dark desires.

The room seemed to breathe with the remnants of his presence, each corner cloaked in an oppressive stillness that mirrored the void he had filled within me. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fragmented thoughts that raged in my mind. Now, there was only the echo of his words, the haunting promise of a future forever intertwined with his darkness.

I lay there, wrapped in the aftermath of our twisted union, my body marked by the evidence of his possession. Each bruise, each bite mark was a grotesque map of the new life I had been forced into. The pain was now a distant echo, overshadowed by the profound and disturbing contentment that gnawed at my chest—a contentment born of both surrender and madness.

As the minutes ticked by and the morning light grew stronger, I found myself replaying his final words in my mind, my thoughts fracturing with each repetition. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.” The truth of those words reverberated through me like a haunting mantra, a binding contract signed with my very essence, even as my grip on reality slipped further away.

There was no turning back, no reclaiming the life I had once known. I was irrevocably his, a willing participant in the dark dance we had begun. The thought brought a grotesque smile to my lips, a smile that spoke of a happiness found in the shadows, a contentment born of surrender and madness.

At least, I wanted to believe it was madness alone that made me forget how afraid I was.

October 31, 2024

The house had become an enigmatic beast, its former guise of normalcy utterly transformed. From the street, it looked like any other home—silent and shadowy against the midnight sky. But within its walls, it was something else entirely. The shutters were clamped shut, keeping out any unwelcome glimmers of daylight. The curtains, heavy with dust, obscured the outside world, making everything inside a surreal, dreamlike blur.

Within this labyrinth of darkness, the house seemed like a twisted echo of a familiar nightmare. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old incense and stale dreams, creating a heavy, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Flickering candlelight cast eerie, jittery shadows that danced and twisted, as if mocking my attempts at normalcy. Silence pressed down on me, almost alive in its oppressive weight.

Days blurred into one another, each indistinguishable from the next in a fog of disorientation. Hoseok’s routines had become my own, though I couldn’t quite remember how or when they had taken over. My existence revolved around small tasks—cooking, cleaning, and performing acts of devotion—that had evolved into a kind of ritualistic pattern. It was as though each action was a silent offering to the enigmatic darkness that had enveloped our lives.

When I glanced in the mirror, the person staring back was a ghostly apparition of my former self. My face, serene to the point of being unsettling, bore a look of eerie contentment. I was a wraith, drifting through my days with a confusing mix of dread and satisfaction.

As night fell, the house came alive with an almost palpable energy. Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming, filling the space with his dark, commanding aura. His arrival was always marked by the ritualistic locking of doors, a subtle reminder of his control. The sensations of pleasure and pain that accompanied his touch had become a surreal symphony, a haunting reminder of the path I had chosen.

One particularly cold night, as the moonlight filtered through the grime-covered windows, Hoseok and I stood together, looking out into the void. The world outside was a distant blur, an irrelevant expanse that felt disconnected from my reality. The sky stretched above us, a vast, unyielding black, reflecting the emptiness of my existence. We were bound together by something primal and deep, though its true nature remained elusive.

Time inside these walls seemed to warp and distort. The house, once a symbol of normalcy, had turned into a crypt of our peculiar existence. The outside world had faded into obscurity, replaced by the certainty of Hoseok’s presence. I had found a strange form of happiness in this eternal night, where the terror of the outside world had been replaced by the dark, enveloping comfort of Hoseok’s embrace.

As I settled into my favorite worn leather chair, the house seemed to pulse with anticipation for Hoseok’s return. My knitting supplies were spread around me, with a scarf for Hoseok in progress. I hummed softly, my heart beating with a sense of calm and eager expectancy, as if I were awaiting a beloved dream to resume.

I replayed our last conversation in my mind, Hoseok’s words lingering like a haunting melody. “An old friend is coming for a visit,” he’d said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “She’s good at dealing with werewolves.”

I couldn’t suppress a bubbling laugh, the sound rising unbidden. “Isn’t she the one Namjoon’s obsessed with?”

His kiss on my temple had been darkly tender, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Clever girl. It will be fun.”

I teased him playfully. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

His laughter resonated through me, sending a thrill down my spine. “When have I ever been nice, lamb?”

“Nice to me,” I’d replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Very, very nice.”

Settling back into the leather chair, the hearth’s flickering light casting long, shifting shadows, I resumed my knitting with a serene focus. Each stitch felt like a small act of devotion, a testament to my growing obsession. I hummed softly, my heart a silent witness to the peace I had found in this twisted, eternal night. The lines between fear and love, sanity and madness, had merged into a strange, intoxicating tapestry that I no longer fully understood.

Hoseok said I was perfect. His praise was a balm to my disoriented soul.

I smiled, pushing away any lingering doubts about my sanity. I was fine. I was perfect.

Pager Codes:

110 307 - Go To Bar

209 - On My Way

08 - OK

420 - You’re in trouble

3011 - Be Careful

221 - Where are you?

419 - I don’t understand

100 - Come Back

130 notes · View notes

onebrainsel · 27 days ago

Text

The Culling

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Child death, su*c*dal ideation, su*c*de attempt, domestic abuse (not from Aegon), suggestive content, terrible parenting from several parties. No use of Y/N.

Summary: A Prince and a Lady learn they have much in common, becoming inseparable when they realize the other might just be their reason to keep going. A story about two broken people healing themselves by healing one another.

Word Count: 14.9K

Chapters: One, two, three.

Author's Notes: I haven't written any Reader works in years; and I'm experimenting with a 3rd person omniscient pov for this. Hopefully it's readable and enjoyable. This story will be a few chapters long, and if the warnings haven't made it clear; it's mostly angst of the hurt/comfort variety. P.S: The warnings encompass the entire work, not just this chapter.

AO3 (I recommend reading it there where it's formatted properly, Tumblr is the bane of my existence when it comes to that.)

Chapter I: My Tongue On Your Pulse, My Finger On Your Wound

She’d been on the Red Keep for three moons. An extended stay arranged by her mother and father. Her mother had brought her along with Lady Selysse, who in turn was a dear friend of one of Queen Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting. It was a roundabout way to have access to court, House Gaunt was near insignificant. Something that was irrefutable, but that should not be said in front of her father. Something he was desperately seeking to change. And that’s why she was there.

With the assistance of her mother, she was to find herself a good match. Bind their House to another in hopes of bolstering their own. The aim was to look for a match with a southern house, preferably ones closer to their own lands, but that possessed considerable sway. Despite being in the Red Keep, where the greatest power in the realm resided, her parents were not planning to attempt to bind her to anyone truly close to the King. Her parents knew their station was well below any of them, and her father would loathe to appear desperate on the eyes of anyone. And thus, finding a Lord with influence, but closer to them in station was the priority. One that she, unfortunately for them, has yet to meet.

At five and ten, she looked as comely as it would be expected of a Lady in her station as her father would tell her. She’d have no trouble catching the eye of the Lords and their sons. That much she found had been true. And she played her part in making acquaintances with many, it would start well, but it would always fall through in the end. Whatever drew them to her not being enough to hold their interest. She could attribute such to her own actions; she’d begin acting like she was expected to, but eventually she’d tire, and she’d let herself be who she is. And her true self, as it turned out, wasn’t captivating for them. Every failed courting attempt made her mother increasingly more disappointed, and while that caused her apprehension, she’d gladly bear her mother’s disappointment if it meant she did not have to marry any of the Lords she’d met thus far. Her miniscule dedication to her parents goals decreased with each passing day, and instead she gravitated towards the princes, as well as princess Helaena. Much closer to you in age, they made your days slightly less dull.

Prince Aegon was the closest to her in age, at four and ten. And he was a thorn at her side. He had approached her once, a couple of days after she had arrived, a cocky smile and a saunter hoping to have you swooning, only to find himself being rebuffed. Something he was unused to, every young Lady in court swooned over the Prince, and she did not. It upset him, and it found him coming back to try again. And she would deny him at every turn.

It entertained her greatly to see him come to her with slightly different approaches, and none of them worked. At some point their interactions started to grow from his failed attempts to conquer and into somewhat short conversations. More often than not they’d end with one or the other proclaiming to be irritated by the other, while still seeking one another out. Some silent agreement that they did not hate each other’s company, but that both refuse to state it so.

Today she was at the courtyard, watching disinterested as the young princes trained with their wooden swords. It was not that she held no interested in the art of swordplay, but that her stay was coming to an end, her return home scheduled by the end of the week, and with no match to show for, that meant her mother would be furious throughout the journey home, and once she was there, all of the polite façade would fade. Her mother would be as she always was, her father would be disappointed, yes, but it’s her mother who’d never let her know peace for ruining such an excellent opportunity for their house.

The building dread kept her from finding any enjoyment in what she watched. Even when she knew that Aegon had spent the entire time she had been there, trying to put on a show for her. He’d wink and bow, and she would see through him. There were a couple other young ladies around who’d giggle at his antics, and he’d look frustrated when he saw that they all reacted as he expected, save her.

But that was also something he had come to expect, what puzzled him wasn’t that her reaction differed from theirs, it was that she was displaying no reaction at all. In the past weeks he had come to learn that she liked their push and pull. And he enjoyed it too, no one else in the Keep could keep up with him. She was the only one to raise to his level and he appreciated that. To see her completely aloof and not partaking in their usual antics had him impatient and curious. With a final well-placed parry against Jacaerys who stumbled and nearly fell to the dirt, Aegon raised his hand to wave him off.

“We’re done for the day, nephew.” He said and walked past him to take the training sword back to it’s place. Criston walked to him, clearly intent on telling him that, no, the training was not over yet. But Aegon looked at him with what he knew was a final look. Cole arched his brow but decided to let him off this time, Aegon was surprised, he didn’t usually get off training so easily. But he would not look a gift horse in the mouth. He stripped of his gambeson and went to the nearby bassinet to wash the sweat off of his face, waiting for the courtyard to clear while he cooled from all the hitting and swinging. When he deems the place empty enough, he walks over to where she stood, coming to a stop on a column beside hers, where he leaned casually, studying her with curious eyes. Noting she looked to be so far away that she had not noticed most people had already left.

“May I help you, my Prince?” She said courtly when she finally noticed him starring.

Aegon smirked. He recognized the barely hidden mock on her tone, one of fake decorum towards him that he had grown accustomed to.

“You may…” He said with a tone that carried a playfulness to it. “I just wondered why is it, that you haven’t spared me a single glance when I’ve been here practicing all day for you?”

“Mayhaps, you weren’t the one I came here to see.” She jabbed at him. She was well aware of Aegon’s reputation and overall attitude by then. It didn’t bother her, in fact, his seemingly unshakable ego was the greatest source of entertainment she had found in court.

Aegon raised a brow at her retort. And there here it was; the hint of the girl he had gotten used to. “Oh really?” Aegon asked, pretending to be offended. “If not me, then who else?” He tilted his head to the side, studying her curiously.

In truth, she had not come to see anyone, having wondered aimlessly until she had stopped in the courtyard. But now that she was there, she saw an opportunity to tease him; and tease him she would. At first she wanted to say Aemond, or Jacaerys, but she knew that wouldn’t be believable. They were both too young still, boyish. And so she found her pick on the other end of that spectrum.

“Ser Criston. An excellent teacher, I’ve noticed.” She said with barely contained amusement.

Aegon chuckled, more out of surprise than anything. She was full of those. “Ser Criston?” He said, feigning jealousy. “Really? Him of all people?”

He took a couple of steps forward, standing a bit too close to her to be considered polite. But Aegon had never cared much for the rules.

“Come now. Surely you find me more handsome than him.” He said, a grin spreading on his face.

“That’s entirely subjective.” She said.

“Is it, really?” Aegon turned to face her fully, looking at her with his usual smugness. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning his weight onto one leg. Despite his cocky demeanor, there was a hint of genuine curiosity visible in his eyes.

“And what do you think, then? Who is the most handsome man in the realm?”

“I’ve not seen all the men in the realm.”

“Fair enough.” Aegon conceded, amused by her. He tilted his head again as he considered her, his gaze taking in her features.

“Well then, let me rephrase: Do you think I am handsome?” He spoke with confidence that he had her in a corner.

“I think you think you are handsome.” She turned to face him, leaning her back against the cold stone pillar.

He was objectively a handsome young man. There was no doubt about it. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing what she thought of his looks.

Aegon huffed and grinned, “Oh, I don’t think, I know.” He said. “And I also know when I’m being evaded. You’re sidestepping the question.” He leaned forward, eyes slightly squinted has he observed her. “Why is that? Are you afraid to admit that you find me attractive?”

She let the question hang in the air for a moment, before she gave him an answer.

“Fine, Aegon. You’re pretty.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

“You’re pretty... like a girl.” She then added, a victorious smirk on her lips.

It wasn’t necessarily supposed to be an offense. But she knew he’d likely take it as such. And she wasn’t entirely wrong.

It took all of Aegon’s discipline — he didn’t have a lot — to not let his smile slip. He’d been called many things; arrogant, careless, irresponsible, but never this.

“Like a girl?” He repeated, his voice laced with indignation. He wasn’t exactly offended, more so surprised, but he decided to play up his reaction to see how she’d respond.

“I assure you, I’m very much a man.” He huffed, taking a step closer.

“I never said you weren't.” Is all she had to say in return.

“Oh?” He said, raising a brow. Aegon took another step, closing the distance between them.

“You think I’m pretty like a girl.” He echoed her words, his voice dropping. “What does that make me, then? A pretty little princess?” He questioned.

“Is that what you want it to mean?” She challenged him.

Aegon’s lips curled into a smirk at her comment. He took yet another step forward, forcing her to press fully against the stone behind her. If they stood any closer they’d meld together with the pillar behind her as some gruesome display of art. His gaze was fixed on her face, searching for any hint of discomfort.

“You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” He said, his voice low and edged with a hint of amusement. “No, I’m not a princess, I’ve never cared for pretty clothes or pretty words.” He leaned in, his face now mere inches away from hers.

“A shame. I think pretty clothes and pretty words would suit you.” She said without a hint of sarcasm.

Ever since she’d met the Prince she had thought something about him asked for softness, gentleness. She came to easily tell that he hid behind his bravado, like most men and boys did. Lest they be seen as weak. And for that very reason she had known he’d take her honest comment for a teasing gesture at least, or an offense at most.

Aegon’s smile faltered, has he studied her face he could not tell whether she mocked him or not. And he hated it. He didn’t like the way he was having trouble reading her, because he felt he didn’t know how to react appropriately because of it. And so, he did what he did best — he put on a mask of aloofness to hide his growing uncertainty. He tilted his head to the side, his gaze flicking over her features, choosing to believe she was still playing their usual game.

“You think so?” He teased, tone carrying a hint of sarcasm. “You’d like to see me in a pretty dress, is that it?”

A smile bloomed on her features at his words. “Though the thought is most enticing... Not quite.” She decided to put the teasing behind. Something in her told her that the time for games were over. That whatever time remained to her, she should use it wisely. And she chose honesty.

“I just meant; you’re pretty. And pretty things should be taken care off.” She began. “You don’t have to dress like a girl, merely care for yourself like a girl would.” She finished. Though she felt like her explanation was lacking she still hoped it would make some sense to him. However she knew he wasn’t likely to take it well.

Aegon’s smirk faded into a scowl at her words. He had expected her to go along with their usual teasing, not to give him what seemed like a serious reply.

“What I’m poorly trying to convey; is that if you put the effort on yourself, you’ll be seen differently. Feel differently.” She added after seeing his expression. But, it seemed as though she still failed to get her message across. For her words were like a stab to his pride, temper flaring in response. It wasn’t only that she implied he didn’t care about himself — he didn’t — it’s that she spoke as though she cared.

“And why, pray tell, would I care about your or anyone else’s opinion of me?” He shot back defensively.

“Because if people want you, really want you. It means that first, you wanted yourself.”

Her words came as a surprise even for her. But she knew why ultimately she had spoken them. She felt as though they were kindred spirits underneath the teasing and the back and forth and the pretending. And to him, her words seemed to have struck a cord. And he hated her for it in that moment. For putting him on the spotlight that way. For seeing how much he actually wanted that; to be wanted. He hated that in that moment he desperately hoped that her understanding meant she wanted him. But admitting so felt too vulnerable, terrifying. And thus he tried to keep his mask of indifference, it was the only thing he knew to do. Having been looked at with disgust by his mother one too many times for displaying anything remotely vulnerable, he learned to hide it as best he could — he often failed, to both his and his mother’s disappointment.

“People want me.” He retorted, jaw clenched. “Girls flock to me wherever I go. I don’t need to make any effort to be wanted.”

“Do they flock over to you, or do they flock over to the Prince?” She tilted her head slightly.

“Those two things go hand in hand.” Aegon fired back, bristling at her comment. He tightened the arms folded across his chest and took a step backwards, putting space between them. He felt cornered, even if he wasn’t the one backed into stone.

“Why does it matter?” He asked. “I have them fawning over me either way, don’t I?”

“Sure, and afterwards you feel just as empty as you started because it’s not real.” She stated. “They don’t want Aegon, they want the Prince.” Aegon clenched his jaw in irritation. The more she spoke, the more she peeled away his veneer of carelessness.

“Careful.” He warned, voice sharp. “You don’t know anything about me.” He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting over her face, trying to figure out what she had to gain by saying these things.

“I know more than you think.” She told him.

“Why do you even care?”

“Maybe because we’re not so different. And you’d know that if you wanted me, not just the prize between my legs.” She hoped he’d see it. That he wanted her just as superficially as they wanted him.

She wasn’t upset that he only wanted to bed her for his own ego. She was used to being seen as a means to an end for long enough that it no longer mattered.

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat, he wanted to immediately rebuff her and deny her words. But he ultimately couldn’t deny that there was truth to her words. His pursuit of her was driven largely by his desire to conquer — to forget, to numb his mind however briefly, to feel loved and wanted even if for a moment — add another conquest to his list. But the way she saw through it with unwavering honesty, was equal parts infuriating and terrifying.

“You’re wrong.” He said through his teeth, eyes shifted into a glare. “You’re not a prize. I just like the chase.” He shrugged, trying to conceal the truths she laid out in front of him.

"You just proved my point." She gave him a half smile. "They want you for what you can give them, not for who you are. And in the end it's all meaningless."

Aegon disliked your smile, he disliked how you pointed out his flaws to him. He disliked how exposed he was. He wanted to flee, to turn around and forget this exchange ever happened. And yet, he stayed. Perhaps it was because he was familiar with being told he was doing things wrong. Well, he was used to have fingers pointed at him, and words yelled to his face condescendingly. But never like this.

“It’s not meaningless.” He insisted in an attempt to convince himself as much as her “It brings me pleasure, then there’s meaning. It doesn’t have to be anything else.”

“Maybe.” She acquiesced. “But they’re fleeting pleasures and little else. They are unfulfilling long-term.”

Aegon scoffed. “Who are you to say what fulfills me?” He retorted. “You think you know me better than I know myself?”

“No. Perhaps I don’t.” She conceded. “But I know myself.” She took a step forward. “And in your eyes, I see the same emptiness that stares back at me in the mirror.”

There was a deep sadness, and an anger that simmered within her. It bubbled just under the surface has she spoke. And when she was done, she realized just how much she admitted to. She did not know why she felt this compelled to bare her soul to him.

Aegon’s smug expression faltered as her words hit him. And there was a brief look on her face that he knew was similar to the one he wore. He knew that look; that loneliness. And just as her own words said: it was the look that stared him back in the mirror. The one he tried to pretend wasn’t there every single time he looked. For a moment, he was at a loss for words. Her own hanging in the air; binding them in some sort of invisible shift. Because both knew they’d never be able to look at one another the same after this. He hadn’t expected her to reveal her own faults like this. To admit that she wasn’t above him. It made his defenses waver a crack in the armor grafted into his very being.

“I can’t fix myself anymore.” She cut through the silence, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, “But maybe… I can mend my own reflection.”

I’m broken beyond repair. You; are not.

Were the words she left unspoken. Instead she gave him a teary-eyed smile and pushed past him to leave the courtyard. She had not meant to bare herself to him that way, and she couldn’t handle his gaze. His judgement. Likely because they were similar. She knew what she saw in herself wasn’t something she liked. Therefore, she expected him to judge her as she did herself.

Aegon stood frozen for a few moments, his heart pounding in his chest. Her touch and her words had seared him raw. He had learned to expect harmless mockery, rejection, and maybe even indifference from her in these past weeks. But he hadn’t expected this. A vulnerability, understanding, a desire to help that was so genuine it made him shiver and cower into himself.

She had crossed almost the entirety of the courtyard by the time he snapped out of his initial daze. He turned around and part of him wanted to reach out, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t know what to say if he did. He stood rooted to the spot where she had left him, watching her leave, feeling lost and bewildered.

She fled from the courtyard as if it were on fire. She had not been in King’s Landing long, but in the short time she’d been there, Aegon caught her eye. Not for the reasons he caught everyone else’s attention, but because something about him felt familiar to her. She felt she had to help him. Because no one had done it for her. There’s something irrevocably shattered within her that is no longer fixable, and thus she hoped to heal him instead. A way to bring balance to things. She’d be going home in four days time, it was not nearly long enough to accomplish anything that mattered, but she hoped, perhaps foolishly, that her honesty did something for him. Because it was all she had to give.

Aegon found himself staring at the spot where she had long vanished to, her words echoed in his mind ceaselessly. He tried to make sense of the maelstrom of emotions that warred in him, but try as he might, he couldn’t pick them apart. She had seen straight through him, laid bare his flaws, and then offered to... help him? It was baffling. Whenever anyone pointed out how lacking he was, it was only to chastise him. There was never compassion in their words, only contempt. As if he was something they had to deal with. As if they wished he was anyone else. He wasn’t used to being seen as someone worth fixing, someone worthy of help. He wasn’t used to be seen as Aegon. He was used to being a failure and a disappointment. His own self never worth knowing.

They don’t see one another until the evening of the next day, when Queen Alicent arranged a supper with all of her guests, the House Gaunt representatives included. When Aegon arrives he is dressed sharply in blacks and golds. His hair had definitely been washed, falling in soft silver-gold waves over his shoulders. Very unlike the clumped together and oily mess he usually had going on.

The young Lady Gaunt smiled proudly from her seat when she spotted him. He never seemed to care enough to properly put himself together for anything, ever. She knew it to be true, for there had been a ball a few days after she came to the city, and she witnessed Queen Alicent chastising him for his carelessness unbefitting of his station. Yet, today he looked different. She still felt raw with shame due to how much she had revealed about hers to him the morning before. But seeing him this way, it had been worth it in her eyes.

As Aegon walked into the dining room, his gaze immediately swept over the gathered guests, searching for her. When his eyes finally settle on her figure, sat alone towards the end of the table, his heart skipped in his chest. A mixture of excitement and nervousness coursing through him. He had spent every hour since he saw her last, thinking about her words. Replaying your conversation in his mind over and over again. And he knew he had to see her talk to her.

His eyes met hers then, and he found himself smiling when he saw her own. For once, he didn’t feel like putting on a grand display for conquest, he just wanted to speak to her, be close to her. And so he walked to her, and it was confidence she saw. Not his usual saunter but something a little different, more natural. Something she could get used to seeing. When he arrived at her chair, she greeted him first. “A fine evening, my Prince. You look well.”

Aegon practically beamed at her words, the compliment making his chest swell with pride. He knew he looked good that night, but hearing it from her made it real to him.

“Thank you, my Lady.” He said, voice tinged with a hint of excitement. “As do you.” He added and took her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips. She flushed slightly at his compliment, and he admired the way the candlelight framed her features.

“Thank you, my Prince.” She said, and he let go of her hand. Both of them immediately missed the warmth of each other’s touch.

“May I sit with you?” He asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside her.

“Since when do you simply ask for things?” She said with an arched brow and a smirk toying in the corner of her lips. Aegon grinned and chuckled quietly, eyes glittering with amusement.

“I suppose you’re right.” He said as he took the seat to her left. Deliberately brushing her shoulder with his. “I usually don’t ask. I just take what I want.”

“Am I still something for you to take, then? ” She asked with a playful tone. He laughed at her question, his eyes never leaving her face. The way she effortlessly could keep up with him made him crave her company in ways he never imagined he’d want for someone.

“Is that what you want to be?” He chuckled, resting his chin on his palm as he tilted his head. It wasn’t lost to either of them how his words echoed something she had said to him in the courtyard.

“No. I don’t think you do. Otherwise you would’ve made my life a whole lot easier these past few weeks.” He continued, his tone turning slightly suggestive. “Maybe you’re to be earned, not taken.”

“And why is it you want me, my Prince? Do remember what I told you yesterday.” She said then, voice carrying the hint of a warning.

Aegon leaned back in his chair turning his head to meet her gaze. Her question was simple at face value, but it still cute him like a dagger, reminding him of how he saw her — and every other Lady — before. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, from embarrassment, yes. But also from a building feeling he could not yet describe.

“It’s... complicated.” He said at last, his voice quiet. “I can’t quite explain it.” He admitted and ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips. “All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you.” He admitted, his voice near a whisper.

She gave him a genuine and soft smile. “That might be the most honest thing you’ve said to me.” She touched his forearm with the same gentleness that she spoke with. “I appreciate that.” Aegon’s pulse quickened at her touch, his heart hammering against his chest. He glanced down at your hand on his arm, and couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt. How right it felt.

“Perhaps I’ll have to be honest more often then.” He said, returning her smile. “Just for you.”

“As flattering as that is; don’t do it for me. Do it for you. I won’t be here long after all.” She caressed his forearm again before taking her hand away, seeing that most people were now sitting at the table.

Aegon’s smile faded slightly has she reminded him that she would be leaving soon. He had almost forgotten in the moment, in the easy banter and the comfort of her presence — when had her presence began to feel comforting? Was it before the fateful conversation in the courtyard? Or before? He wondered. As she withdrew her hand, he felt a pang of disappointment, a strange emptiness where her touch had been.

He leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on hers. “But why does it have to be done for a reason?” He asked genuinely, his voice quiet so that no one else could hear. “Why can’t I do it just for you?”

“Because, my Prince, you mustn’t rely on other people. Not even me. Other people will disappoint you, use you, forget you, hurt you. When you put yourself above all else, only then you are safe.”

She told him, and in her voice one could tell those words came from experience. The thing she doesn’t tell him, is how living that way leads to an overbearing loneliness. But she thought it was a fair exchange to keep ones heart safe from all perils.

Aegon’s expression darkened at her words, his eyes searched her face. He could sense the weight behind her statement, wisdom born from pain — who would be so cruel as to harm her this way? He felt anger towards someone he did not yet know. He knew her words weren’t untrue, but hearing her say it out loud hurt nevertheless. He wanted her close. Yet her advice implied the very opposite.

“But if I do things just for myself…” He started to protest, his voice tinged with both defensiveness and pain. He wanted to challenge her. “Isn’t that the same as being a selfish prick?”

“A good point.” She smiled. She felt pride at being able to instigate his thoughts this way.

“It depends on how you do it, I think. For example, I’ll not act like a prick to others because it makes me feel bad. It is less about their perception of me, and more about what works for myself.” She paused, pensively trying to articulate her thoughts the best she could. “That to put oneself first doesn’t necessarily mean choosing to hurt another.” She still felt like she could have explained it better, but left it at that.

Aegon listened intently as she explained herself, his gaze never wavering from her face. He could see her sincerity, the unwavering belief in what she spoke. He shifted in his chair, pondering her words. It made sense, and he could see the merit in it. Maybe she was right. He let out a soft laugh.

“When did you get so wise?” He asked with both admiration and amusement.

“I never changed. You just never paid attention.” She smirked.

“You’re not wrong, I’ve never been accused of being particularly perceptive.” He admitted with a rueful smile and shrug.

“It’s a shame, really.” He continued, his gaze roaming over her features. “I could have gotten to know you a lot better before now. It’s just... I’ve always been better at noticing things like…” He gestured to her figure, a sly smile on his lips.

As it would turn out she was not nearly as immune to his charms as she pretended to be; and a blush crept up her cheeks. She picked up a wine goblet to hide behind then.

“In your defense, this,” She gestured at him like he did at her “is what we all notice about anyone at first. You just need to want to see past that.” She said and took a sip of her wine.

Aegon’s smirk widened at her flushed cheeks. He enjoyed seeing that he did have an effect on her. It was only fair given how she seemed to own his entire being with nothing but her words. He chuckled quietly the explanation, then leaned in closer, his voice low.

“Alright, I’ll concede that you’re right. It’s far easier to notice that when you first meet someone.” He paused, a sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he deliberately looked her up and down. “And yet there’s still a lot to more to be seen in you.” He added. Truly bewildered that even though he was undeniably attracted to her, he found himself wanting to know her, more than he wanted to have her.

“Don’t sell yourself short. There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, if this conversation is any proof of it.” She said leaning towards him slightly.

Aegon felt heat bloom all the way to tips of his ears. The compliment made his heart feel full. No one had ever thought him worthy to know more about. He was always the shallow one. The one people thought nothing more off than a lazy and spoiled child. He looked away then, a rare expression of vulnerability flickered across his face for a moment before he turned his gaze to her again, whatever had been there before being replaced with a cocky expression.

“Careful, I might start thinking you actually like me.” He teased, voice a soft murmur for her ears only.

“I never said I didn’t.” She matched his tone.

Aegon’s heart missed a beat at her comment, his eyes widening slightly. He had not expected that. He had expected more sarcasm, more banter, but not the clear hint of something more in her words.

He leaned closer to her. “So you do like me?” He pressed, hope and surprise in his voice.

“I like who you can become if you let yourself be true to who you really are.” She answered in a manner that made it clear that was a honest statement on her part.

Aegon’s smile faded for a moment at her words. It was more than just a simple yes or no, more than a shallow admission of base attraction. It was a challenge, a plea, and a reassurance all rolled into one. And that had him swallowing thickly. He reached out, his fingers gently taking one of hers beneath the table.

“What if who I really am isn’t someone you’ll like?” He asked, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Then it still doesn’t matter, remember? Be true to you first and foremost. There will always be someone who will like you for you are.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. Her words applied to him, because she knew there was something in him for people to love. Unlike herself. No matter who she was; if she tailored herself to their expectations, they grew tired and rejected her. If she were true to herself they simply ignored her. It seemed she was doomed to fail no matter what. But there was something about Aegon she knew would be easy to love, if only he allowed himself so.

It seemed as though every time she spoke to him she had something world-shattering to divulge. He had never been in a position where someone cared enough to tell him to be true to himself, or tell him who he was, was someone to like. His life had been nothing but failed attempts to please others, trying to hide the things that made others avert their gazes to no avail. But now there she was, encouraging him to be himself, no matter what. Telling him that everything he had been doing so far was pointless.

His grip on her fingers tightened, not enough to harm her, just enough to ground him. Suddenly he felt that having this conversation amidst a supper with random Lords wasn’t ideal.

“It’s easier said than done.” He said harshly, almost defeated. “To be true to oneself when everything around you pushes against it.” He looked down on his lap where his hand was entwined with hers.

“Well, I never said it would be easy.”

Aegon chuckled softly, realizing the truth in her simple words. He let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “No, you didn’t.” He admitted with a faint smile, his thumb tracing small circles on her knuckles. “You make it sound so simple…” He said, his voice tinged with both irritation and begrudging respect.

“Easier said than done.” She sighed and shrugged. Aegon laughed again, shaking his head in amusement.

“You are utterly infuriating, you know that?” He said without any true heat behind it. He leaned his head back on the chair and looked away from her then.

“But gods damn me, I do like you.”

She shook her head. “You like that I can see past your bullshit, and that I speak plainly to you. You don’t like me, my Prince.” She gave him a half smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

He was about to protest, to tell her that she only did those things because that’s part of who she was. So of course he liked her. But then his mother was rising to her feet across from them, beginning a speech for her guests, the chatter dying down so everyone could listen to the Queen.

“No one does.” She continued under her breath, words spoken only for herself or so she thought. But Aegon was paying attention to her, not his mother, and he heard her words.

His heart twisted into knots, his face drawing in a frown. He felt guilty then. Because he knew he was one of the people that made her feel unwanted. Or wanted for the wrong reasons. But he also felt anger. Because he truly could not fathom how anyone could not like her. And he once again felt angry at those who led her to feel that way. He wanted to argue, to tell her that plenty of people would adore her if they could just look past their own noses. But his guilt kept him from saying anything.

Then, his mother’s voice is cutting through his thoughts has she finalized her toast. The conversation between the two of them died in favor of sharing a silent meal. And she was grateful to Aegon for that. Somehow, he had the ability to make her say infinitely more than she ever intended to.

Throughout supper she could notice his mother, Queen Alicent, looking their way, as did her own mother, Lady Esme Gaunt. They both looked suspiciously at her and Aegon. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself at that, and Aegon immediately took note of the sound coming from her. He did his best to focus on supper and the conversations around him, but his mind was a tangle of thoughts and feelings. He was still trying to process her earlier words, but those were immediately forgotten upon hearing the soft sound that came from her. Curious, he glanced over to his right, trying to figure out what had amused her.

He followed her eyes all the way across the table where his mother was sat. And two seats down from his mother, sat hers. Both looked to where they sat with apprehension and disapproval.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer to her. “Care to let me in on the joke?”

“Our mothers; they stare at us as if we’re committing a crime.” She smirked into your goblet with wine stained lips. “They must think so lowly of us.” She giggled and Aegon smiled at her observation.

“They definitely do think lowly of me, at least.” He muttered under his breath, half sarcastic, half serious. He glanced back at their mothers, who were still looking at them both with obvious suspicion.

“Looks like they’re ready to jump in if necessary.” He joked, returning his gaze to her. “I suppose we better behave ourselves then, hmm?” He waved noncommittally.

“And if I told you we shouldn’t?” She looked at him through her peripheral. A mischievous smirk on her lips.

Aegon arched a brow at her words and her expression. He couldn’t help the rush of excitement that went through him. He leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and filled with a hint of mischief to match her own.

“Behaving is rather boring anyway.”

“I merely think everyone assumes too much about us. Sometimes playing to their expectations is fun.” She shrugged. “Even when we’re doing the right thing they don’t seem to see. Might as well have some fun every now and then.”

Aegon laughed, enjoying the rebellion in her words and the playful gleam in her eyes. “I couldn’t agree more.” He replied, his voice dropping even softer, almost a whisper against her ear.

“Why don’t we give them something to really worry about, hmm?”

“Anything in particular in your mind, my Prince?” Aegon’s smile grew, his eyes shimmering with mischief .

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas.” He said, voice silky and smooth. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear, his breath warm on her skin.

“Just follow my lead.” He whispered and she nodded in agreement. His lips curled into a satisfied smile at that response, excitement pumping through his veins. He cast a brief look around the room, taking in the people nearby, then, without warning, he reached out and placed his hand on her thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

A smile began to spread on her face as she draped her arm on the back of his neck, playing with the strands of his hair. And she noted that they were in fact as soft as they looked. You leant to whisper as much to him. “You know, you should wash your hair more often, it’s so soft like this.”

Aegon shivered as her fingers ran through his hair, her touch sending tingles down his spine. He chuckled softly as she spoke, her proximity and the feel of her breath against his ear making his heart beat faster.

“Is that a complaint or a suggestion?” He asked, voice husky, the grip on her thigh tightening a fraction.

“Both. I’m complaining that you don’t do it enough, and suggesting you do it more often.”

Aegon’s smile widened at her answer, amused by her ability to meet him halfway. To be teased and tease back just as well. He leaned in even closer, his lips just shy of brushing her ear. His hand on her thigh moved a little higher, his touch scorching.

“I might enjoy the complaints too much.” He murmured, his voice low and enticing.

“So my pretty princess is one of those, hmm?” He had referred to himself as a pretty princess the day before, sarcastically, but she thought there was a hint of truth to those words.

Aegon felt his heart skip a beat at the way she called him a princess. The word was usually an insult, a mockery directed when directed at him. But coming from her, it felt like a compliment, a teasing endearment. He huffed out a laugh, the hand on your thigh moving to the small of her back, then resting on her right hip between her back and the chair.

“Maybe I am.” He replied, his voice a low against her ear. “Is that a problem?”

“Far from it.” She gave an imperceptible tug to the hair at the nape of his neck. His hair was long and loose, concealing her hand and its movements for the most part. Aegon let out a soft gasp at the tug on his hair, it wasn’t strong enough to hurt, just enough to make him feel owned. The sensation was like electricity running down his spine, sending shivers through his body. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers digging into her hip as he struggled to keep his composure.

His voice was low and slightly hoarse as he spoke, his tone a mix of amusement and huskiness. “I see you’re not afraid to play dirty, eh?”

“I’m going home in three days. Might as well go all out.”

His heart constricted at her words.

Three days.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted more time — needed more time with her.

His grip on her hip remained firm, his head spinning slightly from the rush of adrenaline.

“Then let’s make it a night worth remembering, shall we?” He responded, his voice now carrying an edge of determination. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above the shell of her ear.

“Can I ask you something?” She nodded. He took a deep breath, his voice low and intimate has he spoke. “Are you promised to anyone?”

The question was out before he could stop it, his insecurity suddenly rearing its head. Afraid he had read the situation wrongly. But the idea of not seeing her, of losing this connection between the two of them, suddenly felt like a gaping hole inside him.

She chuckled. “To my mother’s endless disappointment; I am not.” She told him. “Part of the reason I came to King’s Landing was because my parents believed it would be an excellent place to find suitors.” She explained while she continued playing with his hair, finding it soothing. “The Lords either didn’t like me, or I didn’t like them. So I made sure they wouldn’t even consider me.”

Aegon listened to her explanation, his gaze fixed on her face, his fingers drawing circles on her hip. He chuckled softly at the admission, a mixture of amusement and a strange sense of relief washing over him.

“So you’re telling me you’re unspoken for, and that every Lord in this court is an idiot.” He said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. He leaned in a little closer, his tone deep and promising.

“Their loss is my gain, it would seem.”

“Is that an offer, my Prince?”

Aegon’s eyes darkened slightly at the question, his grip on her hip tightening again. He looked at her, his gaze intense and filled with a mixture of desire and determination.

“It’s more than an offer.” He replied, his voice unwavering.

He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against her ear, his words a soft, sultry whisper.

“It’s a claim.”

“Then burn through my mother’s men, fly me away and make me your wife.” She said in his ear. She didn’t realize how much the thought thrilled her until the words fell from her lips.

Aegon’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart skipping a beat at the boldness of her words. The thought of making her his wife sent a rush of desire through his body, reigniting the smoldering flame that had been building ever since he met her. He pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes glittering with a mixture of surprise, admiration, and a want.

“Are you serious?” He asked, voice hoarse with genuine emotion.

She pulled back so she could look at him properly. “I will be forced to marry sooner rather than later. I do not wish to go North, the South is my home. If I married any of the Lords presented to me; it would be a death sentence.” She said.

“I know we’ve only known for a matter of weeks at most. But you make me feel... Alive. Like I have not in years.” She averted his eyes then.

It was strange to say it all out loud for him to hear, there surrounded by many during supper, while her mother and the Queen stared at them both. A foreboding omen just across from her.

“If I’m to marry someone I barely know, then I’d rather it to be you than anyone else.”

Aegon’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as he listened to her intently, his eyes never leaving her face. Her words punched the air out of him, a strange mix of excitement, disbelief, and hope washed over him. He reached out and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His touch was gentle, but his eyes burned with a fierce intensity.

“I’d make you my wife right now, at this very moment, if I could.” He whispered gruffly, voice filled with raw emotion.

“Somehow I do not doubt it.” She said to him. “If you told that to me yesterday, I would not have believed you.” She smiled warmly.

Aegon chuckled at her response. He kept his hand on her chin, his thumb gently caressing her skin.

“To be honest, I didn’t see this coming either.” He admitted. “But there’s something about you that’s completely intoxicating.” He inched even closer, his lips now just a breath away from hers.

“We could always elope.” He whispered, his voice filled with mischief and temptation. She smiled and places a hand on his chest to push him just slightly away. “Very romantic, and very tempting.” She pulled back herself.

“But that would cause an enormous political headache I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.” She sat properly on her chair again. “We should talk about this more thoroughly when this supper is over. Besides, I think we’ve made enough of a scene to have gossip floating around for days on end.” Her smile was positively mischievous.

Aegon sighed in defeat, his shoulders sagging slightly. He knew she was right, but that didn’t stop him from being frustrated by the practicalities of it all. He sat back on his chair as well, a pout on his lips.

“I suppose you have a point.”

His gaze traveled to her face and landed on her smile. A smirk tugged at the corner of his own lips, his irritation giving way to amusement again. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” He murmured, his voice filled with mock accusation.

“The most fun I’ve had in ages.” She raised her cup to him.

“Am I a form of entertainment to you?” He asked with playful indignation. He grabbed his cup and clinked it against her. In a toast to nothing in particular.

“I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered.” He said and took a generous gulp of his wine.

“You are the most entertaining person in the Red Keep. Everyone here is dreary. You know not to take things so seriously all the time.” She shrugged.

“I’m the most entertaining person in all of the Seven Kingdoms, actually.” He corrected jokingly, his confidence back in full force. He took a sip of his drink, the smirk on his lips growing cockily.

“Does that mean you find me entertaining or just less dreary?” He teased curiously, arching a brow at her.

“Those are not mutually exclusive.” Aegon huffed at her answer his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So I’m both entertaining and less dreary.” He said pompously, like a scholar declaring a profound discovery. He leaned in and said in a near whisper:

“And here I thought I was just handsome and charming.”

“You are pretty, and perhaps too charming for your own good.” She corrected him. Yesterday he was offended she had called him pretty; today she hoped he saw it for the compliment she mean it has.

Aegon felt a thrill of exhilaration at the word “pretty” falling from her lips again, his heart skipping a beat. He tried to act nonchalant, as he had last morning, but he could not conceal the pleased smile on his lips. He raised a brow at her comment, pretending to be offended. “Too charming for my own good, you say? Is that even possible?”

“It is when you don’t know how to use it.”

Aegon chuckled, enjoying the light banter between them. He feigned offense once more, a cheeky smile gracing his lips. “Now you’re questioning my skills…” He said, voice still playful. “Are you implying I lack finesse?”

“Yes. I think you have a knack for it. Refine it and ally it with other talents; and you’d have anyone eating at the palm of your hands. Regardless of your status as Prince.”

Aegon’s brow rose in surprise at her statement, that she had this much faith in him was still absurd to him.

“You seem to have me all figured out, don’t you?” He said softly.

“Do you dislike that?”

Aegon chuckled, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in her curious gaze. He moved a little closer, leaning his torso over the armchair towards her.

“I find it...” He began, his voice dropping into a deep, sultry whisper. “Intriguing.” His gaze darkened, fixed on her lips for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

She held his gaze. “Behave. I think your mother is about to have a heart attack.” She spared the Queen a brief look, then she was back at him.

Aegon followed her gaze to his mother for a moment, noticing her tense expression and the way she was gripping her fork a little too tight. He chuckled softly, both amused by her comment and by the fact that she had correctly read his mother’s reaction.

“Do you want me to behave?” He asked, head tilted in a playful taunt.

“I do, actually.” She look at him, seriousness in her gaze.

“We can’t risk upsetting them too much today. Lest we ruin any hope of getting what we want later.”

He recognized determination in her voice, and that she meant it. He understood she had a point. For the time being, they had to tread carefully, to keep up the façade of politeness and civility, even if it was killing him a little inside. He sighed in frustration and resignation. “Fine.” He sat back in his chair, his body tense, as if all his energy was going into restraining himself.

She squeezed his hand gently. A silent apology for interrupting his fun. Aegon took a deep breath, trying to contain the swirl of emotions within him. As he felt her hand on his, her touch like a balm on his restless soul, he took comfort in its gentleness, and the message she conveyed through it. He exhaled slowly, his eyes flicking to her hand on his, before they moved back to her face. He gave her a small, tight smile. A silent acknowledgement of her gesture.

They spend the next few moments sharing dessert politely. Hands away from one another, and that seemed to appease their mothers ever so slightly. Not that Aegon had noticed. He was too busy looking at her, and the way she moved, the way her lips would wrap around the fork, or the way her eyes wrinkled when she smiled. He had barely touched his wine throughout the night, uncharacteristic of him, and yet he felt drunk. Her very presence kept his mind fogged, and his nerves ablaze. He was going mad.

“May I have this dance?” He suddenly said, offering his hand.

At first, she frowned. Then she nodded and hesitantly took his hand. “I didn’t think you were the type.” She said honestly.

Aegon grinned as he led her away from the table, to where a couple of other Lords and Ladies danced. His hand held hers the entire time, the touch gentle yet firm.

“I’m full of surprises.” He replied, his eyes holding onto hers in a steady gaze. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer, the distance between them barely there.

“Besides…” He added, voice low. “I like having you in my arms.” He led her in the most basic steps he knew. Partially regretting never taking any of his dance lessons seriously. But she didn’t seem to mind. They spun around each other, their backs touching and arms outstretched.

“I know I rather boldly suggested we marry. But I never considered your side in this. Are you not betrothed already?” She took the opportunity of their distance from the table, and their mothers, to talk with him.

Her question took him off guard, and he faltered slightly in his steps. He quickly regained his composure through the next movements, and soon they were facing one another again. He sighed deeply before answering her.

“No. I’m not betrothed yet.”

“I sense there’s a ‘but’ there.” Aegon furrowed his brows slightly at her words, a flicker of curiosity and confusion in her eyes. “I just thought otherwise, based on what I’ve heard.”

“And what have you heard?” He asked, his voice betraying a hint of irritation.

“Court gossip, mostly. That you are intended to wed your sister Helaena to strengthen the ‘Blood of the Dragon’.”

Aegon groaned internally at her answer, annoyance and frustration coursing through him. “Of course they are.” He muttered under his breath.

He steered her around another couple, trying to keep his expression nonchalant as he spoke. “It is the plan.” He grudgingly admitted. “But it’s not official yet. My mother hopes to do it soon. I’ve been… avoiding it.”

“So you dislike the idea of marriage, or you just dislike having to marry your sister?”

Aegon paused for a moment, his steps faltering just slightly as he considered the question. He tightened his grip on her waist, holding her close, his eyes studying her expressions as he answered.

“I don’t dislike the idea of marriage. I’ve always known it would happen eventually.” He began. “But the thought of marrying my sister... It doesn’t sit right with me. It feels wrong somehow.” He furrowed his brow.

“I thought it was the Targaryen way.” She tilted her head.

Aegon grimaced at her comment, his jaw clenching involuntarily.

“Yes... It is the Targaryen way.” He acquiesced, his voice filled with a mixture of resentment and resignation. “The blood of the dragon must be kept pure, or so we’re told.”

“And you care not for the Targaryen legacy? I thought you would, given how arrogant you are.” She said the last part poking him on the side briefly to tell him she meant no offense. “With how proud you are of your beloved dragon…” Aegon’s eyes initially darkened at her words, brows furrowed. But he recognized her jest for what it was soon enough.

“I do care about the Targaryen legacy.” He replied firm. “But not at the cost of marrying a sibling. No one else does it, perhaps there’s a good reason for that.” He paused, his eyes searching her face, searching for a hint of her thoughts.

The more he spoke, the more a smile grew on her lips. She already knew there was more to the Prince than the lustful drunkard. But he clearly had very strong opinions that he didn’t usually express.

“That’s true, my Prince.” She said, while she looked so intensely at him that she felt like the words tumbling from her lips were merely an afterthought.

The way she looked at him, the intensity in her eyes, the smile on her lips... it was enough to make Aegon’s heart beat faster. He was acutely aware of their proximity, of the way her body pressed against his, the way his grip tightened around her involuntarily. When she called him ‘my Prince’, his chest tightened with a strange, unknown emotion.

“Stop it.” He muttered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Stop what?” She asked him confused.

Aegon’s eyes flashed with a mixture of conflicted emotions. He knew he should pull away, put some distance between the two of them but he found himself powerless to do it.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what? My Prince?”

Aegon felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of her calling him ‘my Prince’ again. It sent a jolt of want down to his core. He pulled her closer, his body flush against hers, the dance forgotten. His hand on her waist slid lower, stopping just above the curve of her hip.

“Like you want me.”

“And what if I do?” She said. Less of a question, and more of an admission. It was Beyond the practically of marrying him over old decrepit lords. She wanted him. To be with him, to be beside him.

Aegon’s breath hitched at her confession, his eyes widening slightly. He had not expected her words to affect him so, but they did, as they have been since the day before. Hitting him in the chest like a well-aimed arrow.

“And what if I told you I want you, too?” He asked, tentatively.

“Then I wouldn’t know why you do.”

Aegon paused for a moment, his brows knitting in confusion. His hand slid up her side, coming to rest on her cheek, his palm rough against her skin. “Why wouldn’t I want you?” He asked softly, his eyes searching hers, a hint of vulnerability in them.

“Because no one has ever wanted me for me.” She said. “Not for my body, or standing. But for who I am.”

Aegon’s heart clenched at her words. His thumb traced her of cheekbone in a gentle caress, his voice was soft and low. “Believe me, if the only thing I wanted was pleasure, I could have that anywhere. With anyone.”

He leaned in closer, his breath fanning against her skin, his voice a rough whisper in her ear.

“But with you, I want something more. I don’t know how else to explain it except that... I want you.”

She held his wrists. Feeling the quickened pulse underneath her fingers.

“I believe that you believe it to be true.” She started. “I just can’t believe it myself.” It didn’t make any sense, she knew that. But it was how she felt.

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest, pulse racing beneath her fingertips. He understood her doubts, the skepticism born out of years of being only valued for the power she could offer. He knew how that felt.

“I know it’s not easy to trust.” He spoke, his voice thick with emotions he barely understood. “I know it’s hard to believe. But I promise you, I want you for who you are. I want all of you.”

She turned her head slightly to kiss the inside of his wrist. “And I have nothing to lose.” She caressed the back of his hand. “I want it to be true, and I don’t know what frightens me the most: It being real, or not.”

Aegon let out a shaky exhale at the feeling of her lips against his skin, the act so tender and yet filled with such need. He looked at her, his eyes dark and intense, his breathing labored.

“Let it be real.” He murmured urgently. Filled with na odd combination of desperation and hope. “Let me prove it to you.”

“Then don’t let them take me back to Ashen Hall. Keep me to yourself, make me your wife.”

Set me free.

Her tone was desperate. For him, for the hope that his words brought, for the possibility that she wouldn’t have to go back to a place that crushed her.

“I won’t let you go,” He said firmly, only for her to hear. His eyes were filled with determination as he held her face between his hands. “You’re not going back. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

And then he does something that he had never really done before. He placed a kiss on her forehead. It’s tender, comforting. His hands drop from her face to encircle her in a hug. And that somehow felt more intimate, more scandalous than if he had kissed her fully on the mouth for all to see.

She’s caught by surprise with his actions. But she can’t help but relax in his embrace, forgetting entirely that she was in the middle of the hall amongst at least a dozen people.

She inhale his scent. Jasmine, lavender and wine. She wanted to commit it to memory. She felt the rumble of his voice has he spoke into her ear that she couldn’t make out, his breath warm against her skin. His hand moved to the back of her head, holding her close, his body pressing against hers, his embrace firm and strong.

He glanced towards the table, and met his mother’s gaze. She looked confused. But not angry. He thought he saw something warm in her eyes for a second. Lady Esme Gaunt on the other hand, looked displeased and disgusted. And that was what settled it once and for all that he wasn’t letting her go.

“Listen to me.” He whispered in the shell of her ear. “In three days, when the time for you to leave comes, you’ll be mine.” He undid the hug, letting his hands run down her arms until his hands held her own.

“My father once let my half-sister have a choice in suitors. I was told he wanted her happiness, allowing her to choose who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.” He began explaining. “I’ll demand the same of him, and no one will be able to deny the king’s wishes. Not my mother, not yours.”

She can do little else but nod. Aegon seemed determined. Motivated by more than one night’s conquest. And it made her want to believe him.

“I will have you.” Aegon murmured low. “Whatever the cost.”

His eyes darkened as his gaze flicked towards the table, no doubt sensing the stares from the guests.

“And now…” He said, finally pulling away from her. “We should return to the table before they wonder why we’ve been dancing for so long.”

“They think you’re charming your way into my skirts.” She joked, wanting some levity. “Scandalous.”

Aegon chuckled lowly, the corner of his lips raising in a smirk.

“Is it working?” He asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice, as he began leading her back towards the table.

She leaned into his ear and whispered. “If only you knew just how wet I am for you.” She pulled back to see his face with grin on her lips.

Aegon froze in his tracks, his eyes widened, mouth slightly parted in shock. His breath caught in his throat, his mind and body suddenly overwhelmed by the image the words she had said planted in his head, along with the memory of the her body pressed to his, her voice in the shell of his ear. He was suddenly very desperate to have her alone. He swallowed, eyes dark and intense. His voice hoarse has he asked:

“Are you trying to kill me, woman?”

“Not before you have all of me. Where would be the fun in that?”

She let go of his hand and continued walking back to the table on her own with a slight skip her step. Heat on her cheeks, heat building in her gut. But her heart was warm too. Had been since his promise to make her his. To prove his love was real.

Aegon watched as she walked ahead, the sway of her hips leaving him nearly breathless. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Her words had done things to him, made him desire her with the force of a thousand suns. He followed after her, mind filled with thoughts of her. He shook his head and began reciting every prayer his mother and his septa had ever thought him.

He sat down beside her a little closer than was probably necessary.

She placed her hand on his on the armchair. And she give him a warm look that wasn’t lustful like her previous comments. She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled at him. He turned his hand to take hers and bring it to his lips. Placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. There was a fire in his eyes. Desire, yes. But also a promise.

Aegon’s gaze flickered to the rest of the room, taking stock of the rest of the table’s occupants. His mother watched the two of them, with a look he had never seen before. She seemed contemplative, as if lost in deep thought. As for Lady Esme, she looked at her with nothing but cold disapproval. He returned his gaze to her then, where he saw her swallow thickly as she watched her mother watch them.

“I swear to you.” He said fervently; “I will make you mine.”

“Let’s hope you can, my Prince.”

Aegon held her gaze, his expression intense, the fire in his eyes flaring at her words. He leaned in a little closer, his voice low and rough as he spoke.

“You doubt me?” He asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

“I don’t doubt you. I doubt the powers that be.” She give a quick look to where her mother sat. Anger and fear in her eyes. Then she looked back at him. Aegon understood her look, and could feel her mother’s angry glare himself.

He was undeterred.

He gently tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin for a moment longer than was necessary.

“You should learn to have a little faith.” He said, offering her a smirk. “When have I ever not gotten what I wanted?”

She huffed at his words. “Fair enough.”

Aegon laughed with her, a hint of lightheartedness breaking through the tension. He was suddenly struck by the ease with which the two of them were talking to each other, how natural it felt. He took her hand in his once again, and gently lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

“Trust me.” He said against her skin, his voice soft and serious. “I won’t let you slip through my fingers.”

She shook her head with a smile and just stared at him in silence for a while. The glimmer in his eyes shone with something she had not seen before.

“I fear you are more entertained by the prospect of a challenge, than myself.” She looked away from him. “Will I still hold your interest when it is all said and done?”

Aegon’s heart clenched at her words, a pang of guilt striking him. He had always sought adrenaline and excitement, relished in the thrill of the chase. He placed a finger under her chin, gently tilting her face towards him, his eyes meeting hers.

“It’s not just the challenge.” He said, his tone firm and earnest. “You’re captivating. Fascinating. Even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine wanting something as badly as I want you. No. It’s not just the challenge. It’s you.”

“When did you become so good with words?” She almost kissed him then, utterly bewildered. But she took a deep breath and merely let a hand hover over his heart.

Aegon chuckled softly at her reaction, his heart quickening at the feel of her hand above it, the heat of her palm against his chest, even through all the layers it was searing to him. He placed his own hand over hers, pressing it against his heart, holding it there.

“I don’t know.” He admitted, his voice low and rough. “Maybe it’s the wine, or the music, or the fact that I’ve finally met someone I feel compelled to put effort into wooing.”

“Consider me wooed.”

He leaned in closer, his lips nearly touching her ear as he spoke, his voice low and rough.

“Just wait until I get you alone.” He whispered, his words laced with a seductive promise. “Then you’ll be feeling much more than just wooed.”

“There’s the Aegon I know.” She smiled. “A lustful fiend.”

Aegon chuckled in response, not denying her assessment. He had never shied away from his desires, and she knew that well.

“And you love it.” He countered with a cocky grin. He then leaned in closer, his voice a hushed whisper, breath warm against her ear.

“But I promise not to ravish you here, in front of all these people. There’s time for that later.”

“If not for the monumental political headache that would ensue... I wish you would.”

Aegon’s heart quickened at her words, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he imagined giving in to the impulse to ravish her right there, in front of the entire crowd. But he reigned himself in, his grip on her hand tightening as he exhaled shakily. His eyes darkened, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

“Don’t tempt me, my Lady.” He hissed lowly, his voice laced with barely restrained desire. “I’m already fighting the urge to drag you to the nearest empty room and have my way with you like a man starving.”

“You’re not the only one fighting urges, my Prince.”

Aegon’s breath hitched, his chest heaving with a mixture of desire and frustration. He could feel the heat of his need building within him, his body almost thrumming with pent-up desire. The fingers on her hand flexed, his grip tight as he struggled to maintain control. He leaned in closer, his voice sultry against her ear. “Do you have any idea just how badly I want you right now?”

“I do actually.” She spared a very quick glance to his trousers. Aegon’s smirk widened his eyes dark and intense as he caught her glance, understanding exactly what she was looking at. He shifted his position slightly, pressing his body closer against her side, the heat of his body searing through her.

“Then I’m sure you can see that I’m also having a rather... difficult time maintaining my composure.”

“Drink some water to smother the flames, my Prince.” She offered him a cup.

“As much as I’d enjoy doing a number of very improper things with you…” She spoke lowly has he took the cup from her hands. “We should not. At least not until we settle things with our families.” She took a sip of her wine.

“It’s not a prudish matter on my part. I merely believe that if we do things the proper way, they might be more easily swayed to betroth us.” She explained her thoughts.

Aegon grumbled quietly to himself. He knew she was right, that patience and restraint were necessary for this to work. He took a few moments to collect himself, taking a few slow and measured sips of water. He could feel the heat within him starting to simmer down, the urgency of his desire slowly yielding to reason. He set the cup down, his gaze shifting back to her.

“I hate waiting.”

She saw his impatient eye roll, the way he just slumped in his chair. It was endearing and it made her heart flutter. She smiled at him, shaking her head.

Across the table, Queen Alicent observed the interaction between Aegon and the young Lady Gaunt. While she was judgmental of Aegon courting — if that is what she could call such brazen behavior —someone he wasn’t betrothed to so openly, she saw something in her boy she had never seen before. He didn’t look at her like he did the other girls he chased after. He looked enamored. He almost seemed to glow around her with what Alicent could only describe as genuine infatuation. Something she didn’t think her boy was capable of. She should’ve stopped it by then, but her boy seemed happy, and she could not find it in her to deny him that respite. Her lady mother, however, looked very unhappy. And Alicent noticed. It seemed that her, and her family were cursed to never find love without trouble. That was the nature of duty.

Aegon’s brooding was interrupted when he felt his mother’s gaze on him. He looked across the table and found her studying him intently, a pensive look on her face. He gave her a quizzical look, silently questioning her scrutiny. She was rarely this contemplative in regards to him. But when she did get quiet like this, it usually meant she was calculating something. He found that his gaze was drawn back to his side, to her. And just like that, his annoyance at having to wait faded, replaced by a fluttery lightness. He was actually enjoying himself. The rest of the night went on with mostly innocent laughter and lingering looks. When it was time to retire to bed, Aegon bid her goodnight with another kiss to her knuckles and a silent promise in his eyes.

Aegon walked back to his chambers, his steps heavy and his heart burdened with a mix of hope and apprehension. The night had been more enjoyable than he ever thought it would, and yet the sight of her leaving had stirred worry and uncertainty within him. His mind was still fixed on her as he entered his chambers, and he barely noticed that his mother was waiting for him there.

“Son.” Her voice cut into his thoughts, drawing his attention. Aegon looked at her, and it was then that he realized that she too was troubled.

Alicent recognized the restless determination on her son, one that either would make her proud, or stir trouble. “We must talk about your behavior tonight.”

Aegon immediately flinched at her words. Aegon’s face immediately hardened at the sound of her voice, he senses the reproach in her tone. He bristled at her insinuation, his eyes flashing.

“What about it?” He inquired tightly, crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

“You were very brazenly courting Lady Gaunt.”

Aegon let out a sharp huff, his impatience flared at his mother’s statement. “Yes, I was.” He replied curtly, his voice and his demeanor both defiant. “And I plan to keep doing it.”

“To what end? To spoil the Lady, ruin her reputation, make an enemy of her father only toss her for the next?” Alicent knew it was harsh, but she knew her son, and she needed to press him for the truth.

Aegon’s eyes darkened, a sense of wounded anger welling up within him at his mother’s insinuation.

“No.” He said firmly, his voice tight yet resolute. “This isn’t just some fleeting fancy, mother. I want her. I want her to be my wife. I want to make her mine.” His heart beat fiercely in his chest, his conviction in what he said was absolute.

Alicent was... surprised. Aegon always bristled at any talk of marriage. Especially at the plans to betroth him to his sister. So to hear him state as such, was unexpected. And deeply troubling for she knew that such a union was unlikely.

“Is that the truth of your heart?” She asked him.

Aegon met his mother’s gaze head-on, his expression unflinching. “It is.” He replied without hesitation, his voice steadfast. “I cannot explain it, mother. She… she makes me want to be better.”

He paused for a moment, the memory of her face and the way she spoke to him filling his mind. He allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “I want to court her. I want to marry her. I want her to be the mother of my children.”

Alicent smiled with him. She had never seen Aegon look or speak that way. It broke her heart that it could never be.

“It’s a beautiful thought, my son.” She started. “It truly is.” She took a deep breath, she hated what her next words would be.

“But you know you cannot marry her, Aegon.”

His head snapped toward her and he took a step back.

“Her mother stated that her husband wishes for his daughter to marry a neighboring southern lord. As it befits their House. Lady Esme looked very displeased by your behavior tonight.”

Aegon’s heart twisted at her words, a knot of dread and frustration forming in his chest at the full realization of the obstacles between him and the one he wished to marry.

“I’m the Prince! What lord wouldn’t want to wed their daughter to one?” He questioned.

“None. But you cannot marry below your station, Aegon. House Gaunt is minor. There’s no benefit to the Crown is such union.”

“Why does it have to matter so much? For all intents and purposes I’m a second son. What hurt would it do to marry me off to a minor house?” He waved his hands in exasperation. “It’s not like the Crown is lacking for heir to build alliances with.” He said bitterly.

Alicent sighed. She was used to how stubborn her son was. He never truly understood the importance of alliance and politics. She knew it. Still, it did not make it less exhausting having to deal with him.

“Rhaenyra might be your father’s named heir…” She began. “But you are his first born son, Aegon. That is an irrefutable place of power.” She explained. “You must wed someone befitting of that status. Someone who could be your Queen.” She reasoned.

“I do not need a Queen. You know this.” He insisted.

He couldn’t understand why his mother could not accept that his father chose Rhaenyra. Not once had the King made a mention of him as his heir. And yet his mother treats him like the heir to the Iron Throne.

“Regardless of that, she’s still well below your station. And, house Targaryen needs to show strength.”

“Why not marry me to a Great House, then?” He shot back. “Marrying me to my sister doesn’t build alliances.” He hated the way she, and everyone else thought him completely stupid. He might not be as astute as Aemond, but he knew enough. Or at least he thought he did.

“No. It does not.” She acquiesced. “But, your sister has a dragon. It would be unwise to give another family access to such power. Helaena needs to remain with us.” She said.

“Marry her to Aemond! Daeron or even Jace! It accomplishes the same goal. It doesn’t have to be me.” He ran his hand through his hair. Why must every interaction with his mother be a battle. Why couldn’t she understand him?

“I’m not marrying your sister to Rhaenyra’s plain-featured bastard!” She bristled.

“Then don’t! You’re not lacking for sons, mother.”

“You’re being willfully obtuse, Aegon. You’re the firstborn son, you and your sister are dragon riders. It’s a powerful symbol of the Targaryen legacy.” She walks over to him, holding his face firmly between her hands. “When they look at the two of you, together, they’ll remember the strength of Aegon The Conqueror himself.”

“But I’m not Aegon The Conqueror, mother.” He said, and in his eyes she saw a vulnerability that made her want to turn away. “I’m far from it, it is plain for all to see.” His eyes were marred with tears. She hated it. She hated seeing her own weakness starring back at her.

“Aegon,” She began, but he cut her off.

“I’m not the heir to the Iron Throne. I’m not as great as those that have come before me. Perhaps, marrying a minor lady is exactly what is fitting for me.” He reasoned. His tone was a pleading one.

“Regardless of how you see your worth. You are the King’s firstborn son. And you… we have a duty to the realm.” She spoke lowly. “Even the young woman you fancy has a duty. She knows that she cannot marry above her station. Whatever infatuation you both have, it cannot last. That is the sacrifice we have to make for the good of the realm.”

“She desires this just as I do. Why can’t we serve the realm together? What harm would it bring to marry below versus marrying Helaena? We’d secure an alliance, small, but it would be ours.” His lips trembled, trying to convince her to see as he did.

“Would that it were so simple… Sometimes the heart speaks louder than reason, my darling.” She said. He let out a low sigh, his hands clenched into fists in front of her. It wasn’t his usual rebuff of his duties. There was a desperation in his eyes she had never seen before this day.

“You truly care for the girl, don’t you?” She ran her hand through his hair. Soft and clean, usually it was greasy and knotted. She could see the small changes in him, and she hoped they’d remain.

Aegon nodded, a quiet, almost bashful look crossing his features underneath his pleading eyes. “I do.” He admitted, his voice low and sincere. “She makes me feel alive.” He said wistfully. “She’s smart, and brave, and she doesn’t let me get away with anything. She challenges me… She sees me like no one else does.”

A hint of a smile crossed her lips. Aegon had always been emotional. Softer than one would expect for a boy. Try to hide it as he might, she often saw the tears marring his eyes, and the tremble of his lips. He wasn’t the strong independent son she expected to have. He reminded her of her own self. The one that died when he was born. That naïve hope that things could be simpler. She wished he’d understand, like she eventually did, that for people like them; duty would always come first. There was no room for love in the face of the realm’s needs.

“She makes me feel as though I’m not quite as broken.” When he spoke his voice was small. He loathed to admit to it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Broken.

Alicent’s eyes filled with tears. Never had she thought he’d speak so plainly to her, or admit such pain. And she trembled at the undeniable fact that she had a hand in his tears.

“Sounds like she truly has your heart.” She said, her hands squeezed his shoulders. “But you need to let her go, Aegon. There’s no love in our duty, only sacrifice. And the sooner you accept it, the less it’ll hurt.” She placed a kiss upon his brow, and with a sad smile, she bid him goodnight. Leaving him alone in his chambers.

The young Lady Gaunt and her mother, the Lady Esme, had walked back silently to the guest chambers they were staying in. The silence was tense and foreboding. She knew what was coming. And sure enough, as soon as the doors were closed and they were both left alone; her mother struck her face. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears, her hand came up to cup her stinging cheek. Her mother never bothered hitting her before, her words had always been enough to drive her point across. It shocked her. She was stunned into silence in the middle of their room has her mother paced around before facing her again.

“You have always found ways to disappoint me. It’s nothing new.” Lady Esme started. “But this? This was the one time you had to do well. For the good of our House.” She didn’t yell, she knew not to cause a scene in the Red Keep. Too proud to threaten House Gaunt’s reputation.

She stepped forward towards the girl. “I’ve spent the last three moons working hard to find you a good match, and you’ve ruined every single one of them.” Another step forward. “And as if that wasn’t enough for you, then you go on to whore yourself to the Prince!” Esme turned away and paced.

“We didn’t do anything, mother.” The girl said weakly, fingering the twin star pendant on her necklace.

“I don’t care what happened or didn’t happen. The way you behaved… People talk. If they think you’ve sullied yourself then no lord will want you.” She said irritated. “You know how important it is that you marry well, and yet you willfully put yourself in a position that could jeopardize our entire house!” Esme took a deep breath.

“What will your father think? When he hears of your behavior? Hmm? All his hard work thrown away by an ungrateful child.”

“But mother,” She’s cut off by another slap to her opposite cheek.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’m tired of having to deal with your insolence.” Lady Esme said through her teeth. “Why do the gods punish me so? Your sister would’ve never done this to me. She, unlike you, would never spit in the face of all I’ve done for you.”

Her words were nothing new to the young woman. She had been hearing any variant of comparison with her sister for years by then. It still didn’t make them hurt any less.

“Maxine was the future our family deserved. Not whatever you have turned out to be.” Esme looked at her with disgust.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. And then, Esme turned toward her daughter with tears in her eyes. Angry tears. “It should have been you.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“That day; I always knew it should have been you.” She shook her head, then held her daughter’s gaze.

“If the gods had chosen to forfeit your life that day, we would all have been better for it.”

The girl’s breath hitched. Her mother’s words were like a knife gutting her like hunters would do to the carcasses of their prey.

“Even that, you couldn’t do right.” Esme gave a mirthless smile. “You had to take Maxine from us, and had to saddle us with you.” Esme sniffled.

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow after dinner.” She stated. “I’m not giving any more time to ruin us more than you already have.”

The Lady’s words hung heavily in the room. The girl would not find sleep that night. The hurt on her chest so great she had forgotten entirely about earlier thoughts of hope, of a sweet and playful future with Aegon. And she couldn’t help but think her mother had been right. She only ever ruined things. An endless disappointment. In truth, Aegon would probably forget about her as soon as the sun rose. And her hopes and dreams were naught but follies, fated to fade away into nothingness.

Tag List: @still-jon-snow

Links: Ko-fi | Commissions

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #sel's self-indulgent misadventures #This is written to cater specifically to me #If anyone else likes it #It's a bonus #Also #I forgot that Tumblr completely messes with the formatting #My pretty justified text and italics are all gone #But I can't be arsed to fix those italics #this is almost 15k words long #Maybe I should post the pretty version on ao3 eventually #Series: The Culling

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fancygremlin · 3 months ago

Text

A breakdown of Arthur’s breakdown.

Part 26 is stuck in my head, so I am going to talk about it.

Arthur’s breakdown of course starts off with the reveal that Larson sacrificed his daughter for power and money.

However, what really reinforces Arthur’s self-loathing are Yellow’s words;

Yellow has no qualms in throwing cruel accusations at Arthur. His intentions were clear and simple: to hurt him in the most devastating ways and where it hurts the most. However, Yellow does all that in a voice that Arthur recognises as John’s.

Ultimately, Arthur is forced to hear the voice of his only friend confirming all his worst fears and convictions. That’s what gets to him: his best friend seeing him as Arthur truly sees himself (irredeemable, rotten, a poor excuse of a human who should have died a long time ago. Someone who is trapping John, and who is forcing John to stay and put up with him).

Arthur is ao distraught that he is almost catatonic as he is carried to the mines. He is unresponsive to Yellow's insults, he has no strength to bite back to Larson's taunts. He just lets himself be dragged by Uncle.

When John finally, miraculously comes back, Arthur is quick to latch onto him. His attempts at interacting with John are however awkward and clumsy. I think that this inability to reconnect with John is because he still cannot distinguish John’s words from Yellow.

After all, if Yellow is John without his memories and without their shared experiences… doesn’t that just mean that deep down Yellow’s opinions reflect John’s in some way? Does John really think of Arthur as a self-centred person, a selfish man, a careless and cruel monster who hides behind fake acts of kindness?

To put these doubts to rest, Arthur decides to project onto John his issues. If he can prove that John is not like Yellow, he can prove to himself that he is not like Larson.

He therefore wastes no time in praising how John has improved… by cruelly comparing him to Yellow and demonising everything about Yellow… which is not right. The things he shows reluctance over were still part of who John was, those were still parts that John had to build upon to become who he is currently.

Ultimately, Arthur is involuntarily preventing John from further forming his own identity by explicitly telling him what he should and shouldn’t do, what he should and shouldn’t be. He is suddenly removing the safety and freedom that he granted John this far to figure his own identity out and is instead setting up arbitrary expectations and rules.

He is just doing to John what he did to Yellow.

These strong attempts in differentiating John and Yellow held a lot more weight, when we consider that he was projecting his own problems onto his friend. That's why he is so explosive and irritated whenever John doesn't agree with him.

He was just trying to grapple for any excuse, any proof that there is something concrete that he can use to define what makes a person good or bad. Because otherwise, there really is no difference between himself and Larson and he cannot bear to see himself in that light. He can’t accept that despite everything he did and tried to improve, deep down he’s still a cruel, heartless monster who killed his own child and went on to live.

When John didn’t give him what he wanted (instead going as far as agreeing with Yellow at one point), Arthur grew more and more anxious and restless. So, the only thing that he had left was to carve out and purge the rotten parts of himself. In any way he could.

Only then will he be a good person. Only then will the scales even. Only then he will stop seeing himself as a murderer and a poor excuse of a human.

He resolves that the only option for him is to kill the parts of himself that he doesn’t want. He decides to kill himself Uncle and make Larson pay.

Clearly these suicidal tendencies have been accompanying with him for a long time, as shown in his emotional reactions when his parents died, when Bella died and when Faroe died. His regret is also shown when he confesses he felt extreme guilt in enjoying the life he managed to build back for himself in Arkham as he was working as a PI with Parker.

Arthur just truly cannot forgive himself and his self-loathing runs so deep it’s almost a part of himself he cannot leave behind.

I like how the doubt Arthur feelings of inaptitude, guilt and self-loathing still linger even after being comforted by John at the end of Season 3:

He is unable to truly move on from his mistakes, he still feels the need to find a piece of irrefutable evidence proving he is a good person and that he can be forgiven. He needs his worries and anxieties to be put to rest.

John's forgiveness isn't enough to move on. Daniel's forgiveness was just enough to convince him he might be a good person who is truly trying to do good.

However, in Part 36, we can see that Arthur has not abandoned his self-loathing, as he still sees no wrong in wanting to kill himself killing Uncle. After Oscar reveals what happened at the orphanage he grew up in, Arthur and John have this exchange:

Arthur is tragically forever stuck waiting for Faroe's forgiveness, which he can never really obtain. She’s dead and there is nothing he can do to get her back…

#but you know kayne promised him he would give him back faroe in intermezzo...#which would put arthur in a very interesting position which mirrors quite nicely the situation of the widow on the island from season 1 so.#malevolent #malevolent analysis #malevolent season 3 spoilers #arthur lester #john doe #yellow malevolent #larson malevolent #part 26 is important to me can you tell?#maybe this is a very surface-level analysis but i needed to put my thoughts down #i wrote this severely jet lagged and sleep deprived between 1-3am so forgive me

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vladajwrites · 2 years ago

Note

CHARLIE POV KILLING READER’S BOYFRIEND AND THEM COMFORTING HER

My Keeper

omg. yes please. :,)

cw; abusive relationships, violence

notes; I had no intentions of making this so long, I truly couldn’t help myself :,) I adore protective Charlie <33

Charlie had truly become consumed with the thought of you. You were friends during childhood but drifted apart as you grew older. You couldn’t help but admit you still had a soft spot for him in some way. You always tried to say hello and acknowledge him when you passed him by. He was truly too nervous to even reply most of the time, the words got stuck in his throat as he watched you. As he grew increasingly nervous, you couldn’t help but feel as though you truly were drifting apart. It was incredibly difficult to read him.

During the summer before your senior year, you began to attract more and more male attention. In some ways you loathed it. You had always been rather shy and cautious around new people. One man specifically never let up from his pursuit of you. In just a few months you found yourself in a relationship with him. Stephen Walters was captain of the football team, got good grades, was well known to everyone, a classic type of handsome. On paper he seemed perfect, but once you became his, his cool demeanor faded rapidly. He became increasingly temperamental, controlling behind closed doors.

During this time, you began to catch the attention of a familiar pair of eyes. Charlie seemed to watch you like a hawk. You couldn’t explain why, but you began to find comfort in his steady attention. Your heart would sink into your chest as you watched Charlie’s face contort in disgust when you passed him by, your boyfriends arm draped around you. His touch began to feel bruising, sickening. You wished more than anything you could find the strength to leave him.

October rolled in, the leaves began to change around you. It was your favorite time of the year, but something was making it nearly impossible to enjoy it.

Stephen began to grow paranoid. Taking every moment to stalk you. Overthinking every interaction you had with others. His calm and collected mask finally slipped completely when you were alone with him.

You were sitting in Stephens car, parked right outside of your house. It was quiet for a few moments, you could feel something about to implode beside you.

“How many men have you spoken to this week?” Stephen spat, just barely above a whisper.

You tensed immediately, unsure how to answer. You knew that any answer you gave would result in another meltdown from him. There was more venom in his voice than usual. You could smell the liquor on his tongue even from where you sat, he must have been drinking nearly all day before picking you up.

“Not many, only when necessary in class. I promise.” You could barely get the words out of you.

You watched his knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. You shrunk back in your seat, moving closer to the car door. You felt like such a coward, he had threatened you before, told you what he would do to you if you decided to leave him. How could he keep his mask so steady in front of others? How could you have fallen for it? How could you have let things get this bad?

You wished someone would pass by, see the expression on your face, step in to help you. You were able to hide your emotions so well though, a necessary skill you developed in childhood. Your parents would never become involved, you had little to no friends that would willingly step in the middle of all this. You were thoroughly trapped.

Your mind was racing, you could’ve never expected Stephen’s next course of action.

He turned towards you quickly, before you could process the look on his face, you felt a blinding pressure around your throat.

Your eyes grew wide as his grip tightened. He shook you, willing your eyes to meet his own.

“If I catch you speaking to another man, even in class. I’ll fucking kill you, and I’ll kill him too.” He seethed in front of you. The veins on his forehead popped in a dreadful way. He looked so unfamiliar, so terrifying. The liquor only heightened his paranoia and rage.

You tried your best to breath, the air got stuck in the back of your throat, just above his tightening grip.

“Do you understand?” He became increasingly closer, pushing you against the car door. The handle dug into your back. You couldn’t bring yourself to process his question. You just needed to breath.

“Are you fucking listening to me?” His previously hushed tone grew to an alarming shout. This effectively pulled you from your trance.

You nodded your head, attempting to choke out the word yes. It was pathetic. You hated yourself in that moment more than you’d ever had.

He surprisingly seemed appeased by your response. He let go, sinking back into his own seat.

You sucked in a heavy breath, it was painful going down your throbbing throat. You clawed at your skin, attempting to rid yourself of the growing pain.

“You know I love you.” His voice switched back to a sickeningly sweet tone.

You needed out, you needed to get away from him before you completely fell apart, knowing that this would only upset him all over again. He had never put his hands on you in this way. Would his violence only increase overtime? You knew you didn’t have the bodily strength to pull away from him if he put his hands on you again.

In a sudden moment of strength you pulled at the door handle, dropping to your knees on the paved sidewalk below. The cool air was a sudden comfort. You choked out rasped breaths.

You turned over your shoulder, praying he wouldn’t get out as well and drag you back into the car.

“I love you too.” You muttered. The words felt like knives down your neck.

He watched you for a moment, his expression seemed to be tinted with pity. It made your stomach feel sick.

You stood on trembling feet. Willing yourself to shut the car door behind you. You mustered every ounce of strength you had, making unsteady steps to your front door. You heard his car peel away as you twisted the door handle.

You felt a wave of relief as you entered and bolted the door behind you. Once up in your bedroom, you fell to your knees. It was impossible to hold back the sobs that racked through you. You were exhausted, scared, you wished it would all just end.

You awoke the next morning on the floor just beside your bed. You had to get ready for school, debated on just taking the day to yourself. You decided it was best not spend the day stuck with your own thoughts, all alone.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror after stepping out of the shower. You looked horrible, truly. Your eyes were sunken in, hugged by darkening circles. You hadn’t realized how much weight you had lost while you were with Stephen, you looked as sickly as you felt inside. The most glaring issue was the deepening purple and blue bruises that clung to your throat. They were a perfect picture of Stephens fingers. You carefully grazed over the welts, wincing at the sharp pain.

You had to leave him, even if it killed you in the process. You couldn’t live like this, his abuse would absolutely escalate as time passed by.

You knew attempting to cover everything with makeup would be useless. You settled on a form fitting, black turtle neck. The only issue was that the collar only came about halfway up your neck, exposing half the bruise. You sighed pulling your hair forward in an attempt to better conceal yourself.

Whatever, you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. It wasn’t likely that anyone would take notice anyways. You had effectively distanced yourself from almost everyone since your relationship began.

The first half of the school day passed by tortuously slow. You did your very best to keep your head down, avoided the paths you knew Stephen usually took.

You had nearly left the building as your lunch period began when you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

Fuck. You were certain Stephen had found you, was about to rip into you for cutting the previous night short.

You couldn’t hide your shocked expression when Charlie was the one who now stood in front of you.

You felt yourself tense. Unsure what he would say. You almost felt ashamed to stand in front of him in the current state you were in.

But his touch was reassuring, impossibly soft. You nearly melted into the relieving warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

His eyes darted across your frame, taking in the full sight of you. You wished you could drop through the floor. A nearly trembling hand reached up to brush your hair behind your shoulder. You knew he could see the full weight of your markings as he hooked a careful finger around your collar pulling it down to get a clearer look.

You shuddered as his thumb grazed over the most tender part of your neck.

You looked up to meet his eyes again as he cautiously pulled away.

He was so close, you took in the familiar sent of the cologne he always wore. It had been so long since he had been this close.

You were in disbelief that he had noticed, your heart beat off kilter as you took in the realization that someone had actually noticed.

His expression grew dark, with an unfamiliar tinge of violence. It didn’t scare you though, not in the same way Stephens did.

“Did he do this to you?” Charlie asked, you barely caught his quiet question.

Your eyes immediately welled with tears, you couldn’t stop them if you had truly tried.

Charlie took in the weight of your saddening expression. He didn’t look at you with pity, or disgust. His gaze morphed into a far off rage. You had never seen him like this before. Your shoulders dropped a bit more as you understood the anger wasn’t directed towards you.

You couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s expression contorted again, into an impossible stillness. “Sorry?” He questioned empathetically. He took a step closer. So, so close.

He bent down, his mouth just besides your ear. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Your face grew hot at his words. You knew he wouldn’t, would absolutely never expect him too. The thought of Stephen dead though, brought a sick feeling of comfort in your heart. You were just so incredibly thankful for the sentiment, for the words Charlie spoke.

Before you could think any further, you threw your arms around Charlie. His uncertain and unsteady hands slowly found themselves around your back as well.

You couldn’t explain why, but you would like more than anything to just stay like this for a moment longer.

“Thank you.” You whispered, feeling him relax a bit further into you. A single tear rolled down your face, surely falling against Charlie’s shoulder.

Before either of you could speak another word, you felt a tight grip on your shoulders, ripping you from Charlie’s arms.

Your heart pounded in your throat as Stephen spoke behind you, his grip grew domineering around your chest.

“Don’t fucking touch her, Walker.” Stephen spat, quickly pulling you down the hall and out of the building. You shot a careful glance behind your shoulder.

Charlie was just visible behind you, his fist were held tightly at his side. His face twisted with a pained grimace.

You felt horrible, absolutely sick to your stomach.

Over the course of the next couple days, you put on your bravest front. You ran through all the possible ways you could leave Stephen and come out with your life and body relatively unscathed. The options were increasingly limited. Maybe you could leave him during school, surrounded by a sea of students in the hallway, only to face his rage after the last bell rang. Maybe you could end it over the phone, but then he’d surely end up at your home, tearing down the door to get to you.

It seemed your only real option was to fight your way out of it. Although the thought was incredibly morbid, if he truly were able to kill you, you’d at least be free and rid of him.

You dug through your kitchen drawers that Wednesday after school. You sighed in relief as you found your fathers old and rusted switch blade in a mess of overdue bills and forgotten trinkets in one of the messy drawers.

You carried it with you always, in your backpack or back pocket. It was at least some sense of security. If it truly came down to it, could you really hurt him? Kill him if you had to? You weren’t entirely sure.

Charlie kept close for the rest of the week. Making his following and watchful gaze ever apparent. You felt a steady confidence build inside of you. Someone was watching, Charlie of all people. If something went wrong he would know. You found yourself searching for him, in the hallways, in class. Your thoughts were thoroughly consumed by him. You slowly began to see him in a new light. Maybe your newfound obsession was just a comforting distraction from your painful reality. But it was a welcomed distraction.

You watched his hands flex and move as he held his pen. Watched the way his shoulders would roll as he passed you by in the hallways. Found yourself wondering what it’d feel like to run you fingers through his mess of hair-

But you kept a safe distance, he kept his as well. It was as if there was an unspoken understanding that any further communication would put you in real and horrible danger.

The rest of the week flew by, you found yourself pacing your bedroom floor that Sunday night.

This was it, it had to be. You’d call Stephen over, to end things. Fight if you had too. You refused to let yourself suffer any longer.

Just as you went to make the call, your phone rang. Your eyes widened as you scanned over the Caller ID. It was Charlie, you quickly answered the call with trembling fingers.

“Hey.” You answered. You were truly surprised you still had his contact information after all this time.

“Are you safe? Is he there with you?” Charlie spoke in a hushed tone.

You breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m alone for now.” You paused for a moment, you weren’t sure why you were speaking in a whisper, the house was empty as it usually was.

“I’m going to call him over, though. I have to put an end to all of this.” You finished your statement. It was relieving to know that someone would be aware of what was happening. If things turned for the worst, at least he would know.

You couldn’t help your next words, “I’m so scared Charlie.” Your voice broke as you confided in him.

The line was silent for a moment. You nervously picked at the skin on your lips.

“You’ll be safe. It will be alright, I promise.” Charlie spoke just above a whisper now as well. You knew he couldn’t actually secure this, but it meant the most to you, nonetheless.

“I-I just want you to know. No matter what happens-“ Charlie could barely utter the words. You kept quiet, silently urging him on.

“Please know, I’ve always loved you.”

Your heart nearly stopped, the sudden pounding in your ears let you know it was still working.

Love? He truly loved you? You had been friends for ages, even if you had grown apart in recent times, you still considered him to be close. People can love their friends. Just love in a friendly way? Maybe you truly loved him in that way too. Could it be more than that though? How could it be? A thousand thoughts passed through your mind in an instant. You were surly overthinking this all. Maybe you’d truly like to love him in more than just in a friendly way, though. If you made it through the night, you think you could, in the future, after you gave yourself the time you needed to heal and process all of this.

Before you could let yourself overthink it any further, you replied breathlessly. “I love you too, Charlie.”

And with that, he hastily ended the call. You paced for a few more moments, reminding yourself of the peace that would come after all this ended. You had to be brave. It must have been no more than fifteen minutes before a new found certainty pushed you to dial Stephen’s number.

You chewed at your lip, running your fingers over the green and yellow healing bruises on your neck.

It felt like the phone just rang on forever. You were met by Stephen’s voicemail. Your heart sunk as you dialed his number again. He always answered your calls; always.

You were met with his voicemail over and over and over again. You eventually gave up your pursuit, setting your phone down beside you on the bed, turning your ringer all the way up just incase he decided to call you back.

You woke the next morning, sitting straight up in bed. You hadn’t remembered falling asleep, dread built inside you as you reached for your phone, expecting a dozen missed calls from Stephen.

Only there weren’t any, not a single one.

Odd. Your dread dissipated, only to quickly return as a thought hit you. Was he mad at you, ready to blow? What had you done to upset him? Were you in real danger now?

You got hastily ready for school. Throwing on a pair of too lose jeans and a sweater that hung just off your shoulder. Your hair was a mess around your shoulders.

An unfamiliar sight played in front of you as pulled into your schools parking lot. Dozens of students stood in front of the building. About six or seven news vans were parked nearly up onto the curb. What could this be for? What was happening?

You threw your bag onto your shoulder, making your way towards the schools entrance. It wasn’t until you got closer that you could see that many of the student held a sullen expression, a few were crying, held in comforting arms.

A pit grew in your stomach. Had someone been hurt?

You pulled a girl you were only acquainted with in passing to the side, stepping out of the view of one of the newscasters, you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Kirby, what happened? What’s going on?” You asked the girl.

Your anxiety only worsened as her face twisted with pity and terror.

“I- I’m so sorry.” You could see the tears well up in her eyes.

Sorry? What could she possibly be apologizing for? She scanned over your panicked expression before dropping her gaze to the ground.

“It’s Stephen, they’re all saying he was found murdered this morning.”

Your head rung like a bell. You seemed to sink impossibly lower into the ground. Murdered? Stephen? He was really gone? But how-?

Your thoughts were quickly halted as Kirby wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a suffocating embrace.

“I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling right now. I’m so, so sorry. I know you loved him.” Kirby’s voice cracked on her words, you could feel the tears roll down her face.

Love? Your love for him faded long ago.

Pain? You weren’t in any pain at all. The buzz in your ears dissipated as you took in the full weight of the news. You were free. Free, truly.

In some horrible and sick way, you were relieved it was finally over. You were okay, safe. It was going to be okay.

You tried your best to conceal the smile that was spreading across your lips as Kirby pulled away.

You put on your saddest expression, you were about to put on the best performance of your life.

Your lip quivered, the tears that welled in your eyes were truly tears of joy, but Kirby didn’t need to know that. You forced a pained grimace in your expression.

“How? How was he killed?” You asked, making your voice crack on your last words.

Kirby cringed, shuddering at the thought.

“No- no, I can’t say.” Kirby pleaded.

“Please, I need to know.” You urged her on, grasping around her upper arm.

Her eyes fell to the ground again before meeting your own.

“They’re saying he was stabbed, gutted. There’s no suspects so far.” The tears were now falling fervently down her face. You wished that you could tell her it was okay, explain that it was well deserved. But you couldn’t, couldn’t ever say that to anyone.

Your head pounded again as you pictured him dying on the floor, coughing and choking on his own blood.

You felt sick as you reveled in the image. You were terrified of your own disgusting joy at this all.

Kirby took in your far off expression.

“I’m so sorry. I have to- I have to go. If you need anything at all, I’ll be here for you.” Kirby said.

You sucked in your cheeks, biting down hard. You nodded, watching Kirby turn and disappear into the crowd.

You stood for a moment. Utterly stuck. You gazed mindlessly through the sea of students and teachers before a familiar frame caught your eye.

Charlie stood on the top steps that led into the school. He was standing right beside his best friend Robbie. His disposition was entirely different and unfamiliar today. He held his shoulders a bit higher, hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

It only took a moment for him to meet your gaze. He nodded. A half smile spread across his lips as he took in the sight of you. He seemed entirely unfazed about the entire situation that was unfolding around you.

A sudden realization seemed to wash over you as looked him over. His knuckles were bruised and purple. A deep scratch slid up just above his shirt collar.

Could he have? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

His words from the previous Monday played over starkly in your mind.

You felt yourself stumble forward a bit. An invisible rope pulled you mindlessly closer to him.

It was him. It had to be.

You felt yourself grow sick as you held him in your line of sight.

So incredibly brutal. You would’ve never believed him capable. But he had, he had done this.

And it was done entirely for you. You quickly understood that the sick feeling growing inside of you wasn’t caused by any sort of terror towards him. You were sick with yourself for feeling so incredibly thankful.

He had done this to save you. He had done this because he loved you.

You didn’t feel deserving. He was the only person you’d ever truly be able to find comfort in over this entire nightmare.

You knew in that moment, you’d do anything to protect him from all of this. He’d never take the fall for this under your care.

You found yourself just inches in front of him now. His gaze seemed to swallow you alive.

So- so brutal.

You threw yourself into him. Melting into him as his hands grabbed up your back and through your hair.

Your tears began to fall again as he held you. Tears of pure relief.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his ear, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He relaxed a bit, knowing that you knew, and that you were so incredibly grateful.

“Anything for you.” He replied in the same tone.

Anything for him.

#fanfiction #fanfic #charlie walker #charlie walker fanfic #charlie walker fanfiction #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker x y/n #scream 4 fanfic

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pinchofhoney · 2 years ago

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You know I can't stay away from your writing for long so here I am againnn....angst prompt 5 and fluff promt 10. Besties to loverss plsssss.....with either Sirius Black or Kaz I can't choose

No angst...I can't take it rnnnn 😭

take a hint # 200 followers special event

» prompt event » special events masterlist

angst prompt five: “please leave before i lose myself to madness and beg you to stay”

fluff prompt ten: and it was when A watched B look at someone else the way they wanted to be looked at. does A realize how much in love with their best friend they were?

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

kaz brekker x fem!reader

word count: 3.8k

warning: kaz has no romantic feelings for inej in this one, it doesn't have a specific time in the canon, i made up one of the characters, best friends to lovers (between the lines), mention of murder

summary: It seems that Kaz always expects you to read between the lines, even though you are a thief and not an expert in interpreting written texts.

a/n: whenever i see notifications from you, i feel like a happy golden retriever puppy, hello!!<33 i feel that writing anything with sirius would be easier for me in almost every way, especially since that character has been my favorite since childhood, but i wanted to try something new and i was thrilled with the chance to do so! (it's a mess)

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

As you stepped out into the gloomy, rain-soaked streets of Ketterdam, you could felt the weight of the city's bearing down upon you. It was a place where danger lurked around every corner, where crime and corruption were the norm, and where only the strongest and most cunning survived. The city's winding, labyrinthine streets were treacherous and difficult to navigate, with slimy cobblestones that seemed to shift and writhe beneath your feet. The stench of sewage and decay hanged heavy in the air, a reminder of the filth and squalor that permeated every inch of the city.

The people of Ketterdam were a rough and ragged bunch, with sharp tongues and even sharper knives. Every interaction was a potential threat, every stranger a possible enemy. It was a place where trust was hard to come by, and betrayal was always just a heartbeat away. And yet, despite all of this, you couldn't help but feel drawn to the city. It was the only place where you've ever felt truly at home, where you could be yourself without fear of judgment or rejection. It was a feeling that both comforted and terrified you, and you knew that you'll never be able to escape it, no matter how hard you try.

You hated Ketterdam with a passion, yet you found yourself unable to imagine living anywhere else. Maybe it was because you hated yourself too, the mere thought of being ordinary filled you with a deep-seated loathing. You had no talents, no skills that could make others look at you with admiration, and to make matters worse, you weren't your parents' favorite child either. That distinction belonged to your older sister, the Grisha who had always been showered with adoration and affection, even when she was away in the Little Palace, thousands of miles from home.

Your parents had always compared you to her, highlighting your shortcomings and making you feel like a disappointment. Even when she was gone, they treated you worse than they ever had before, as if you brought them shame just by existing.

Yet, in Ketterdam, your ordinariness was a blessing. As a member of a gang of thieves, you were the perfect fit. Your lack of beauty and grace made you unremarkable, allowing you to blend into the shadows and avoid attention. You moved with ease through the convoluted streets of the city, navigating its twists and turns, always keeping your wits about you. Of course, there were a times of doubts, where you couldn't help but think that perhaps being strikingly beautiful would be an asset to your profession, especially when robbing wealthy merchants who came to Ketterdam seeking to indulge in its illicit pleasures. But even then, you knew that such a gift would come with its own set of complications, and in Ketterdam, complications were the last thing you needed.

You pulled the hood of your dark cloak over your head, lowering it slightly to obscure your face. You didn't want to be recognized by anyone, but at the same time, you needed to keep an eye on your surroundings and react quickly if needed.

You hastily tucked your frozen hands into the pockets of your coat and quickened your step as you saw two men who were part of the Dime Lions. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized them. Lately, you had been avoiding these people more than usual, ever since you got into an unnecessary street fight with several members of the gang. They had made it clear that they weren't happy with you, and you knew that they wouldn't hesitate to attack you if given the chance.

But it wasn't just the Dime Lions that you were avoiding. Some people in Ketterdam knew about things they shouldn’t. It was no secret that rumors spread like wildfire in this city, and often found their way into the hands of those who would use them for their own gain. But in a world full of terrible people, you had to be worse.

You walked with no clear destination in mind, driven by the need to distance yourself as much as possible from the Crow Club. It was only moments ago that you had found yourself in a heated argument with the one person who mattered the most to you. His stubborn pride had come between you once again, making you curse his name to the heavens above.

The tension in the hallway was thick enough to cut with a knife as you and Kaz stood facing each other, both seething with frustration. His eyes glinted in the dim light, anger etched deep into the lines of his face. What had started as a minor disagreement had quickly escalated into a full-blown argument, fueled by the unspoken feelings that both tried to hide.

“You don't understand, Y/N,” Kaz growled, his voice low and scratchy. “You never do. You're always off on your own, thinking you know what's best for everyone. You can't keep taking unnecessary risks. It's not just your life on the line.”

“I know that,” you snapped back, your eyes flashing with anger. “But we can’t just sit back and do nothing. We need to take action if we want to survive.”

“Of course we need to take action,” Kaz shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I'm not saying we should do nothing. But we need to be smart about it. We can't rush in blindly. That's why I'm in charge. I know what I'm doing.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Sometimes being smart means taking risks. That's how we get ahead.”

A heavy silence hung in the air between you, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the rustle of your clothes. Kaz's gaze bore into you with an intensity that made your skin crawl.

His jaw tightened, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine,” he said, his voice icy. “Do whatever you want. But don't expect me to follow you blindly into danger.”

You took a step closer to Kaz, your eyes blazing. “I don't need you to follow me, Kaz. I can take care of myself.”

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step back, his hand on his cane for support. “Then go ahead and do that. But please, leave before I lose myself to madness and beg you to stay.”

Your chest tightened with hope as Kaz's words registered in your mind. Could it be that he actually wanted you to stay? But your hopes were dashed as you saw him turn his back and begin walking away. The urge to call out to him, to make him admit his feelings, consumed you, but you knew it was pointless. Kaz Brekker was not one to bare his soul.

With a frustrated growl, you clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug painfully into your palms. Without another word, you turned and stormed down the stairs. Ignoring Jesper's questioning gaze and Wylan's confused expression, you burst out into the rain-soaked streets of the Barrel, letting the cool droplets wash away your anger and frustration.

Your mind was a chaotic mess of emotions as you walked, all directed towards the one man who had the power to make you feel so much. Kaz's words echoed in your head, spoken in his rough voice, which usually sounded like the most beautiful melody to your ears, but now it was a curse that tormented you and did not allow you to find peace.

“I don't need you, Kaz. You're the last person I want,” you muttered under your breath, and as if fate was playing a game, you bumped into the very person with whom the whole argument began. What a coincidence.

You lifted your gaze, and your eyes met with the one who infamously called himself Ketterdam's most dangerous person. Although he didn't know you, you were familiar with him well enough to know that he would want to have you with him despite your undistinguished appearance and lack of special skills.

In a rush of panic, you lowered your head, feigning humility to mask your face. “I apologize, sir,” you began, trying to hide the hint of fear you could sense in your voice. “I should be more careful.”

The man smirked, his eyes scanning over your form. “It's no problem, sweetheart,” he said, his voice oozing with arrogance and entitlement. “But you should watch where you're going. It's not safe to be wandering around these parts alone.” His hand brushed against your arm, sending shivers down your spine.

You flinched at the touch, trying to pull away from him, but then he grabbed you. You knew what type of man he was, and the last thing you wanted was to be alone with him in a dark alley. You tried to think of an excuse to leave, but before you could say anything, the gravelly rasp of a familiar voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Kaz's voice was calm and controlled, but there was an underlying threat that made the man release his grip on you and take a step back.

“None at all,” the man replied smoothly.

Kaz stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “I suggest you leave the lady alone then.”

The man scoffed. “I suggest you mind your own business, boy.”

Kaz's hand, covered with a leather glove, tightened on the crow's head ornamenting his cane. “I'll make it my business if I see someone harassing a woman in my city.”

The man sneered, clearly not intimidated by Kaz's threat. “Your city?” he asked with a hint of derision, studying Kaz more thoughtfully. Suddenly, as if he had just connected the dots, he added, “Last time I checked, it was still called Ketterdam, not Dirtyhands's kingdom.”

Kaz's expression didn't change, but you could sense the tension in the air. “Believe what you want, but if you don't leave now, I'll make sure you regret it.”

The man seemed to consider his options for a moment before finally releasing a grunt of annoyance and walking away, oblivious to the inevitable fate that awaited him regardless of his decision. Death was the only possible outcome and the only variable was who would carry out the execution.

Finally, the man was out of sight, and you released a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Kaz turned to you, and you met his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and anger. Despite feeling indebted to him for his intervention, you couldn't help but feel frustrated by his interference. “I didn't need your help,” you said, trying to sound confident.

Kaz raised an eyebrow. “It sure looked like you did.”

You glared at him, feeling embarrassed and exposed. He had seen you in a moment of vulnerability, and you hated yourself for it. “I could have handled it,” you insisted, although you knew it was a lie. You couldn't have handled the situation on your own. You were a skilled thief, but you lacked the physical strength to overpower a man twice your size. You were not armed with revolvers, nor did you possess the abilities of a Corpsewitch. You were just an average person, with quick fingers and the ability to pick locks, nothing more.

“How did you know where to find me?” you added.

“Did you think I wouldn't follow you? I had a feeling you'd get yourself into trouble, but I didn't expect it to happen so soon.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small part of you was grateful that Kaz had your back. “And what about-”

“Inej will take care of him,” he said, cutting you off, signaling that he didn't want to discuss the matter any further. “Let's head back to the Slat. You're soaked.”

Kaz started walking away, disappearing into a dark alley without waiting for you. You sighed and followed him, feeling the dampness of your clothes sticking to your skin.

The walk back to the Slat was silent, with only the sound of raindrops hitting the cobblestones to fill the air. As you entered the place, you immediately noticed the curious looks of your crewmates. Jesper was there, even though he usually preferred gambling at the Crows Cub and Matthias stood at the top of the stairs, watching you with his arms crossed. It seemed like everyone was waiting for you to return, and you couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Ignoring the greetings, Kaz announced, “You'll never guess who Y/N met.” The room fell silent, and Kaz removed his hat as if to emphasize his point. “Antoon Beudeker.”

A hum of surprised sounds ran through the room, and all eyes turned to you. You felt uncomfortable being the center of attention. You had been trying to track down Beudeker for weeks, but he always managed to slip away from you, as if someone in the Dregs was tipping him off about your plans.

Nina spoke up, breaking the silence. “What do you mean by that?”

Kaz looked at you, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “A talent for stealing isn't Y/N's only skill. As you can see, the talent for trouble far outweighs it.”

You shifted uncomfortably under Kaz's gaze, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. You knew you had made a mistake by bumping into Beudeker, but it wasn't even your fault. All you wanted was to cut yourself off after the argument with Kaz, and now he was the one who was right again.

Wylan's voice carried through the quiet room, breaking the tension. “What are we do with him now?” he asked, but no one answered, assuming that it was up to their missing Wraith to handle the situation.

Jesper's frustration boiled over, and he jumped up from his seat. “It's not fair!” he exclaimed, pointing his revolver at the wall. “I was the one who wanted to put a bullet between his eyes.”

Matthias stepped forward, before anyone reacted to sharpshooter's words, his expression serious. “We need to figure out who's been leaking our plans to Antoon. This could be dangerous for all of us.”

“I agree,” Nina added. “We need to find out who's been betraying us and deal with them.”

Wylan's voice piped up, “What if we set a trap?”

Kaz nodded, considering the idea.

“We could feed different information to each member of the Dregs and see which version gets back to someone who will claim to be Beudeker now. That way, we'll know who we can trust and who we can't,” you suggested.

Nina grinned. “I like it. And if we catch the traitor, we can make an example out of them.”

Jesper's eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I'll provide the entertainment.”

Matthias shook his head. “No, Jesper. We can't take the law into our own hands. We'll handle the traitor according to our own rules, but we won't kill them.”

Jesper shrugged, disappointed but not arguing. “But killing is our rule, Helvar.”

Matthias's expression darkened, but before he could reply, Kaz spoke up. “That's enough. We're not discussing this any further. We need to focus on finding the leak first, not arguing about how to deal with them.”

Jesper and Matthias both looked at Kaz, but neither of them said anything. The silence in the room was heavy with tension, and you could sense the frustration emanating from Jesper and the anger radiating from Matthias. Kaz's tone had effectively shut down the conversation, but you knew that it was far from over.

“We'll start investigating tomorrow,” Kaz's voice filled the room again. “For now, let's all get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us.”

As Kaz's words faded away, the tension in the room dissipated, and everyone began to go their separate ways. You hesitated, still reeling from the events of the evening, unsure of what to do next.

Sensing your unease, Kaz approached you, his expression serious but not unkind. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he said, his voice low. “But we have a job to do, and we can't afford to let our emotions cloud our judgment. I need you to be focused tomorrow, do you understand?”

You nodded, feeling a bit guilty for today’s argument. “Yes. I'll be ready,” you replied, determined to not let him down.

Kaz gave you a small nod of approval before turning to leave. You watched him go, listening to the rhythmic tapping of his cane on the panels. The weight of his words settling on your shoulders. It was true that you couldn't afford to let your emotions get in the way of the investigation, but it was easier said than done. The events of the evening had shaken you to your core, and you weren't sure if you could push them aside so easily. Life in Ketterdam has been hard, but never before has such danger reached you directly.

With a heavy sigh, you made your way back to your room, hoping that a good night's rest would help clear your mind.

You were surprised to find the Antoon's spy so easily, feeling foolish for not discovering it sooner. Despite the setback, the mood in the Crow Club remained peaceful as the days passed. The seventh of you sat together, planning your next move and gossiping about Ketterdam's richest people. Kaz seemed more relaxed than usual, and even Jesper and Matthias were on their best behavior, seemingly content to simply enjoy the moment of peace.

As the night wore on and the group's conversation continued to flow, you couldn't help but notice Kaz's eyes on you. You caught his gaze a few times, and each time you felt a jolt of electricity run through you. It was a feeling you had been trying to ignore for a while now, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing day.

As you turned to look at Jesper, who was recounting a funny story, you noticed Kaz's expression change slightly. It was a subtle shift, but you could tell he was suddenly distant, lost in thought.

After a few minutes, Kaz stood up and motioned for you to follow him. You looked around at the others, confused, but they simply shrugged and continued their conversation. You followed Kaz up the dimly lit hallway to his office.

Once inside, Kaz closed the door and motioned for you to take a seat. You sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, feeling a bit nervous. Kaz took a seat opposite you, resting his cane on the desk, right next to the chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his desk.

His expression was serious, but not unkind. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” he began, his voice low. “I've noticed that things between us have been a bit... different lately.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Different how?” you asked, not sure if you really wanted to know the answer.

Kaz leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I think you know what I mean,” he replied, his gaze fixed on yours.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he was talking about. “Kaz, I...” you began, but he cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“I just wanted you to know that I'm aware of the situation,” he said, his tone even, then he paused for a moment. “You know, Y/N. I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to care for someone. To really care for someone,” he looked directly at you, his eyes intense, emphasizing the weight of his words. “And I've come to the conclusion that there's no one I care for more than you.”

You were completely taken aback by Kaz's words. You had never heard him express his feelings so openly before. Your heart raced as you searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but you found none. You were overcome with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and joy.

His heart sank as he watched you gaze at Jesper with a look of admiration and affection earlier, even if you two were just friends. It was then that he realized how deeply in love with you he truly was. He had been trying to ignore his feelings for you for so long, but seeing you look at someone else with such tenderness was too much to bear.

Kaz carefully chose his words, wanting to express his feelings without being too direct. “I've been thinking about our friendship,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I value our bond more than anything else in the world, and I want to make sure that nothing ever comes between us.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” you asked genuinely confused by Kaz's sudden openness.

He shifted in his seat, looking almost uncomfortable, “Well, I just wanted to make sure that you know how much you mean to me,” Kaz said, his eyes meeting yours. “There's no one else I trust or care for more than you, Y/N.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity and depth of emotion behind them. You knew that he was a man of few words, and when he spoke, it was always with a purpose. It was hard to reconcile this Kaz with the cold and distant one you had grown accustomed to over the years.

You couldn't help but feel that there was an underlying message in Kaz's words, something that he wasn't explicitly stating. Your intuition was telling you that there was more to the story than what he had let on. You couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss.

“Kaz,” you began, your voice hesitant. “Is there something else you want to tell me? Something that you're not saying?”

Kaz's expression remained neutral, but you could sense a hint of discomfort in his demeanor. You knew that he wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, so you weren't surprised that he was hesitant to open up to you completely.

“I've said what I needed to say,” Kaz replied, his voice flat. “There's nothing more to it.”

His reply felt like a dead end, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. You knew that he was a complex person, with layers that even you couldn't fully comprehend, but you couldn't shake off the sense that he was still holding something back. Nonetheless, you tried to put on a brave face and show your gratitude for his honesty.

“Okay,” you said, rising from your seat. “I appreciate you telling me how you feel. Our friendship means the world to me too, Kaz.” You couldn't help but wonder what his true intentions were, but you knew that you needed to be patient and let him come to you when he was ready.

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wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart · 7 months ago

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I think one of the reasons that kaladin can deal with actively killing as a soldier but not with accidentally (passively) letting someone die as a surgeon is the sense of failure (plus of course the obvious protection aspect and the whole me-vs-them mentality he only really starts to question when Shin joins bridge four, and he starts interacting fairly regularly with a light-eyes he can genuinely respect). dalinar himself said that he "love(s) taking responsibility for things", which is especially clear in the way he still can't quite blame amaram for tien's demise (because he feels like this is his failure, too).

like we can see in the first book that the deaths of the people he swore to protect weigh on him not only because of the dying people per se, but also (and I would argue: especially) because of his FAILURE to keep them alive. he always makes this connection to himself, thinks of their demise in relation to HIS own person and HIS role and HIS failure (cue the whole "stormfather cursed me specifically" thing). like, besides tien and the bridgemen (who we know because they are active current characters), can we truly say much of anything about the people he failed to protect in the past? the only thing we really know is how HE feels about it and how it messed HIM up. but the people themselves??

kaladin just has insane main character syndrome, and everything happening to him (first dark-eyed to have the rank of a light-eyed, one of the only surgebinders, guy able to survive multiple fights with actual shardbearers, etc etc) do the opposite of helping him dissuade the notion. I feel like I lost the plot of my own post. Kal is honorable and a good guy and everything but he is also pretty self-centered? which I actually find really cool because many times people who do objectively good actions are still kind of demonized if they don't do it for the "right" reasons (aka purely 1000% selflessness), but Kal explicitly starts helping the bridgemen not because he actually cares about them but because he needs a reason to not commit suicide. and when he loses bridgemen (especially in the beginning where he barely knows them) he always immediately thinks back to the other people he FAILED to save. he isn't devastated because that person in particular died, he is upset because he is very bad at dealing with his own failures and also terrified that the wretch will use this to lure him back onto the ledge. i mean, he loathes failure so much he was resigned to never see his parents again (who he clearly loves a lot and who he knows would welcome him back with open arms; it's his own shame that he can't confront)

he helps people primarily to try to make up for the failures of the past, an attempt to dissuade the guilt and shame eating him alive 24/7 (which of course never works because guilt is a very unreasonable emotion and as long as he doesn't change his mindset and confronts his own beliefs about himself and the world it will never go away.)

"do the fire sprin create the flames or are they attracted by them?" of course syl was compelled to follow kaladin around. dude keeps actively (even if semi-unconsciously) putting himself into the same role and situation over and over again in the hopes that if he can only succeed one time it will somehow redeem him for his past failures. literally every single thing Kal does and thinks and believes is rooted in the fact that he blames himself for tien's demise. he needs to somehow redeem himself in order to be able to live with himself but at the same time he can never be redeemed because letting tien die is an unforgivable crime and yet he needs to make it up somehow because the wretch is always in the back of his mind and he's actually terrified of it but he is equally scared of actually somehow managing to get over this sense of guilt and failure because wouldn't forgiving himself mean he thinks tien is less important than his own stupid (and, in his mind, deserved) feelings?

that guy is so not over his brother's death it actually isn't funny anymore 💀 please get that dude some fucking therapy 😭😭

#am at words of radiance rn btw #does this even make sense i feel like this is just word vomit lol #idk if this is a hot take #it seems fairly obvious to me tbh #but then jasnah being one of the most caring characters in stormlight and the alethi being horrible seemed pretty self evident to me too #and apparently some ppl still dont get that #(i completely avoid going into the tags in order not to spoil myself so im only going off the comments people leave beneath my posts btw)#also i apologize if i spelled any names wrong i experience stormlight through audio only ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#kaladin stormblessed #stormlight archive #cosmere #brandon sanderson

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imagine-you · 8 months ago

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Make All Your Demons Be Gone pt. 6 [Sirius Black/Reader]

summary: When you first meet your brother's friends, you're not very impressed. You're especially not so keen on Sirius Black and the feeling seems mutual. But as time goes on, you start to realize there's more to the boy who seemed to only hate you because of the house were sorted into. Through heartbreak, loss, danger, and pain, you begin to realize that you need Sirius just as much as he needs you.

chapter word count: 4.8k

author's note: So, I haven't updated in two years...A lot of stuff happened like I started a new job, lost my motivation, had a whole bunch of personal problems. But, I finally found my way back, and I hope you're all still interested in this. If you like this, please let me know! It would make my day. 💖

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You supposed, if anyone desperately wanted to know the truth, that having Sirius as a houseguest for the rest of that summer wasn't entirely the worst thing that could happen to you. It seemed as if you had reached an unsteady truce after you caught Sirius in your father's study and you noticed a difference in your interactions.

You had insisted he was being all dramatic and brooding in the study, but Sirius swore he was only thinking over his family situation. You knew that you had truly lucked out with your parents and James, but you couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have a family you absolutely loathed. Sirius had his flaws and he was entirely too impulsive for your liking, but maybe James was right. Sirius might just be someone who might be worth knowing and you should stop fighting with him at every given opportunity.

You still teased each other and made fun, but it didn’t seem to have the same bite it used to just days before.

You got used to Sirius taking up space in your house and while you still found yourself irritated by him, you had to admit that it was a different kind of irritation than before. You wouldn't ever tell anyone, even Lily, but you had started feeling nearly fond of Sirius and his antics.

One day near the end of July, you found yourself bored, so you decided to write to your friends.

You started with a letter to Remus. You had yet to respond to his last note and you didn't want him to think you had forgotten about him. You confided in him that while your prank war with Sirius was never-ending, it didn't seem as mean-spirited as it had the previous year. It was almost like you were simply picking on each other. It was almost like you were something approaching friends.

Even though you trusted Remus, you only confessed to Lily that having Sirius there wasn't nearly as horrible as you imagined. You tried not to let your feelings on the matter shine through too much, so you made sure to tell her that he was usually off somewhere with James, exploring and laughing and conveniently far away from you.

She was quick to write you back, joking that maybe you and Sirius would become great friends, fulfilling James' dreams of having the two of you finally get along for once. What you didn't tell Lily was that you were sure James' dreams mostly involved her, but you weren't going to traumatize her with that bit of information.

You wished that you could write to Severus, but you didn't know how to feel about him anymore.

As the summer wore on, James and Sirius seemed a bit more secretive than usual. You weren't sure if you were being paranoid, since it seemed like the Daily Prophet was constantly showcasing the worst of the wizarding war that was brewing. Voldemort was gaining followers and it seemed as if you couldn't go anywhere without news of Death Eater attacks or people mysteriously disappearing following you.

By the time you were starting your fifth year at Hogwarts, you were beginning to get scared. You knew that Severus was on his way towards becoming a Death Eater, if he wasn't one already, but you were starting to realize that a lot of Slytherins were turning to that side as well. You weren't sure who to trust or what to say to others when you were in your dorm or common room, so you mostly kept to yourself.

You weren’t even sure if you could trust Regulus. Sirius had been vocal about the fact that his younger brother was all too content to simply fall in line with his family’s loyalties to the dark side. Was Regulus a Death Eater too? Were the only Slytherins you had come to call your friends now the enemy?

You convinced yourself that it was best to focus on your studies and protect yourself from the war. Over the summer, you had heard your parents speaking quietly in the study, pondering whether to keep you and your brother and Sirius from attending Hogwarts. They were more concerned about you being in Slytherin and the influence you would fall under. The fact that your parents were scared for your safety at a veritable fortress like Hogwarts told you that the situation was a lot more serious than you feared.

Despite your resolve to ignore Severus, you quite literally ran into him when you were trying to leave your dorm on the first day of classes.

"Oh," you breathed in surprise, having to stumble back a couple steps to avoid crashing into Severus.

"Y/N," Severus greeted with a nod of acknowledgement. "I didn't hear from you this summer."

"I, uh, well," you started, not sure how to let Severus know that you were terrified that he had joined the wrong side and now the two of you would have to be on opposing sides of a war. He had been one of your best friends since you started Hogwarts and now you weren't even sure if you should talk to him. "I have to go see my brother," you blurted before brushing past him.

"Y/N!" Severus called, but you were already out of the dorm and striding down the hallway, hoping you didn't look like you were running away.

You made it to the Great Hall without running into any other suspected Death Eaters. You started to approach the Slytherin table out of habit before you redirected towards the Gryffindor table. You loved being a Slytherin and you didn't think it was a bad thing. You wanted to do great things and find success in your endeavors. You wanted to be ambitious and cunning and all the other attributes that were fitting for a Slytherin.

You just didn't want to be evil.

And the most horrible thing to you was that you weren't sure how to distinguish the evil ones from the good ones.

Worse yet, you worried that you were falling into the prejudice against your own house that the rest of the school seemed to hold. And who was to say it was only Slytherins joining the ranks of Death Eaters? Who else in the other houses had decided to join Voledemort?

You didn’t know and you figured the only true safe place for you was with your brother and his friends.

So, you decided to drop down into a seat at the Gryffindor table between James and Remus.

"A little lost, snake?" Sirius asked and you glanced up to see he was sitting opposite you. You weren't sure if you were imagining it or if Sirius’ 'snake' comment didn't hold as much venom as it used to.

"I'm avoiding some people," you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders.

Remus shot you a concerned look. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," you sighed, briefly sparing a glance for the Slytherin table. Severus was just sitting down and you had to hurriedly look away before he noticed you. "Just need to figure out how to handle something."

"Well, you're welcome to sit here whenever you like," James offered, throwing his arm around your shoulders. "And if anyone gives you any trouble, just let me know. I'll make them regret ever picking on my little sister."

You shrugged your shoulders, throwing off James' arm, and shook your head. "I can fight my own battles," you told him.

"I know you can, but--"

"But she's fully capable of taking care of herself," Lily cut in, joining the conversation. "But I suppose you are her brother, so maybe you could be good for something."

James spluttered out an indignant response that you only caught part of before he turned in his seat, giving Lily his full attention. Remus had his head buried in a book and Peter was nowhere to be found, leaving you with just Sirius.

You were going to settle for simply ignoring him in favor of eating breakfast, but Sirius had another idea.

You felt something brush against your foot under the table. At first, you thought it was merely an accident, but then something pressed into your foot again and again. You glanced up at Sirius and caught the knowing smirk on his face before he shot you a wink. You weren't sure why it had you ducking your head and refusing to look at him. It was an entirely new response to Sirius’ antics and it uneased you.

What did it mean? Was he just trying to annoy you or was this something different? Was he trying to get a rise out of you or simply teasing you or was it more than that?

"Why do you look like that?" James asked, finally pulling his focus away from Lily.

"Like what?" You wondered, trying to school your expression into something neutral. You would rather die than let Sirius know that he had managed to stir up that reaction within you, so you kept your head down and focused on your food.

Sirius decided to break James' focus on you by flinging a spoonful of eggs at his head and among the chaos that followed, you managed to slip away, wondering if Sirius was simply your ally or maybe even something more now.

As the year progressed, you began to hear more and more snippets and stories about the wizarding war that was waging on. Muggles were being tortured and wizards were going missing under 'mysterious circumstances.' Voldemort and his army seemed to be growing bolder by the day, venturing into muggle cities and causing a ruckus in the Ministry.

You feared for your parents and you hoped that they were staying as far away from the war as they could get. Besides the obvious Death Eater problem in the school, you never really thought anything bad could actually happen to you or your brother as long as you were at Hogwarts.

Which, you figured, was why you were attacked in Hogsmeade.

It was the second Hogsmeade visit of the year and you were eager to get your hands on more chocolate wands. You hadn't expected just how stressful your fifth year would be and you had severely underestimated the amount of time you would spend awake at night, studying in bed and reaching for a snack that wasn't there.

You were just about to make the trek back to the castle. The sky was beginning to grow dark and a lot of the other students had already left. There was a chill to the air that had you wrapping your scarf even tighter around your neck, shivering as a blast of cold air met you.

"Little Slytherin girl," you heard someone hiss. It was a woman, you could tell that much, but you didn't recognize her.

You instinctively froze in your tracks, not aware of where the voice was coming from. There was something screaming inside you to just move. Run now before they caught you. But your feet betrayed you and stayed rooted to the spot.

"Won't you join us, little Slytherin? All your friends have," another voice taunted, growing closer to you by the second.

You finally managed to turn around, pinpointing the voices to two Death Eaters approaching you. They were wearing masks, shielding their identities from view, and a sick twisting in your gut worried that they were really Slytherins who were undergoing some kind of initiation. What if this was Severus? Would Severus kill you? The fact that you didn't know anymore had you feeling even more sick to your stomach.

"Leave me alone," you ordered, dropping your Honeydukes purchases to the ground and attempting to go for your wand.

"Incarcerous," the wizard shouted just as the witch cast impedimenta.

You fumbled your wand, letting it fall to the ground, just as chains enclosed you. You fell to the ground, helpless and terrified, as they stalked closer towards you.

"Now, what should we do with you?" The witch mused as she twirled her wand, as if this was all some kind of game to her.

"We should take her back to Master," the wizard answered, sounding positively gleeful at the thought.

"Help!" You called, glad that they hadn't managed to silence you just yet. "Someone! Anyone! Please!"

"Shut up, you stupid girl," the wizard growled, striking you across the face.

Blood blossomed across your tongue and you could feel where the skin of your cheek had split under the force of his blow.

"Let's get her back to Master before--," the witch's words were cut off by a low growl followed by a snarl.

The witch let out a shriek before she fell to the ground. The wizard turned, surprised and confused, only to let out a howl of pain. You had no idea what was happening and you managed to roll to the side, getting a glimpse of the fight that was happening just steps away from where you were lying on the ground.

You had to blink a few times, wondering if you had hit your head, because there was no possible explanation for the sight before you. A black dog was snapping its jaws repeatedly, attempting to take bites out of the witch while she held it off. And of all things, a deer was rushing at the wizard, butting its head into his chest.

The wizard chose to apparate away, but the witch stayed behind.

She let out a gleeful, malicious giggle and then struck the dog in its side. The dog let out a whimper before finally backing off. The deer rushed towards the dog, attempting to aid it, but the witch cast a hex at the deer, causing it to back off.

All the while, you had been attempting to get the chains off you. You had wriggled and squirmed and finally they fell away, leaving you to grasp your wand and aim it at the witch just as she aimed hers at the dog.

You cast the first spell you could think of which just happened to be the horn tongue hex.

The witch screeched in alarm when her tongue grew heavy and began to protrude from her mouth. You followed it up with a stinging hex and then another. The witch stumbled back before finally apparating away, but you didn't think it was enough. You kept aiming hex after hex at the space she previously occupied, furious and hurt and terrified.

"Y/N!" A voice called from far away. "Y/N, it's alright now. They're gone," they said, trying to shake you out of your shock.

You blinked a few times, your eyes finally focusing enough to notice that James was standing in front of you. He had his hands on your shoulders as he attempted to get you to make eye contact with him. A relieved smile appeared on his face once he realized he finally had your attention.

Your right hand was clutching your wand so hard you were amazed that it hadn't yet broken. Your left hand was clutching a bunch of fur and you looked down to see that it was the dog. It seemed content to stand still, as if knowing you needed the reassurance, and it pressed its nose into your knee when you slowly let go.

"James," you managed, wanting to ask about the deer and the dog, but all you got out was your brother's name before you began to sob. You fell out of James' grasp and to the ground, hunching in over yourself. There was blood in your mouth and your arms ached from fighting the incarcerous charm. You were beginning to shake and an inane thought crossed your mind that you should really get your Honeydukes purchases before they were lost forever.

The dog whined low in its throat before pressing close to you, sending a beseeching look up at your brother, as if asking him to do something.

"I know, Padfoot, but we should get her to Dumbledore. Those were Death Eaters. In Hogsmeade," James stressed, sounding just as shocked as you felt.

The dog, Padfoot, growled before he was gone. In his place was Sirius, fury written into his expression.

"That was my cousin," Sirius snarled, reaching out to hold onto your shoulder. "And she could have killed Y/N."

You stared at Sirius, stunned speechless. You glanced over to your brother to see if he was also hallucinating his best friend, but James didn't seem to think anything was amiss.

"But--," you started, looking from James and back to Sirius. "You're a dog?"

Sirius shot you a smirk, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. "Wow, sweetheart, tell me how you really feel about me."

"Sirius," your brother rebuked before he brought your attention to him. "You can't tell anyone about Sirius or me, understand? We could get in a lot of trouble."

"You...," you trailed off, finally putting the pieces together through a mind still dazed with shock. "You were the stag," you observed, thinking that of course your brother was an animagus, because your life was bound to take just about every insane turn it possibly could. “How did you find me?”

“We were just out in the forest, letting off some steam,” Sirius answered. “And then we heard you screaming for help.”

James nodded his head in answer. "I’m just glad we got here in time.” James glanced around before he sighed. “It’s getting late. We should get you out of here," he decided, reaching down to pull you off the ground.

Sirius rose with you, his hand still on your shoulder, as if he was afraid to let go. He ushered you forward a few steps before you remembered about your chocolate wands and you tried to turn.

"What are you doing?" Sirius wondered, watching as you stumbled your way over to your dropped bag.

"I need this," you defended yourself with a shrug of your shoulders.

Sirius rolled his eyes, muttering 'barmy' under his breath. "C'mon," he sighed, moving to wrap an arm around your shoulders once you were beside him again.

James moved to walk at your other side, keeping you between the two of them.

There were no more attacks on the way to the school and when you officially walked through the gates and onto the Hogwarts grounds, you felt a tiny little shiver work its way down your spine in relief.

"You're safe now," Sirius assured you, letting his hand drop until it was resting at the small of your back.

"If you two hadn't been there...," you didn't even want to finish the thought. The Death Eaters would have taken you to Voldemort. They would have tortured you. They probably would have killed you.

"But we were," James refuted with a small smile at you. "And I'm not letting you out of my sight again, you got that?"

"I think she did pretty well taking care of herself," Sirius reminded James. "Getting my cousin with a horn tongue hex was just...brilliant," he finished with a wide, toothy grin at you.

"You're sure that was Bellatrix?" You asked him, thinking of the near maniacal glee she took in taking you down. You had only dealt with Sirius and Regulus, and while you thought Sirius was mad, he was nothing like that.

"It was her," Sirius confirmed with a heavy sigh. "I'm sure the Black family will commend her for her loyalty to the dark arts."

You weren't sure how to respond, so you settled for bumping your elbow into Sirius' side. "Thank you," you told him when he finally looked at you. "The both of you."

"Yeah, well, can't let my best mate's sister suffer, can I? Not unless it's me making her suffer," he added with a conspiratorial wink.

The conversation trailed off there and you became caught up in your thoughts of what had just transpired. It seemed like one moment you were hurrying across the grounds with your brother and Sirius and the next you were standing in Dumbledore's office.

"You two may go back to your dorm," he said, addressing James and Sirius. "I would like to have a few words with Miss Potter alone."

"Headmaster," James started before he was cut off by Sirius clamping a hand down on his shoulder.

"Understood, Professor," Sirius readily agreed and dragged James from the office.

Dumbledore waited until the two of them were gone before he turned his attention on you.

"I expect that they will be waiting for you to escort you back to the Slytherin dorm once we're done here. I've never found Sirius to be that agreeable before."

You couldn't help the nervous laugh you let out at his words and from the way Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mirth, you knew it had been his aim all along.

"Now," he started, watching you from across his desk. "Would you like to tell me what happened tonight in Hogsmeade?"

You found the words for the story in bits and pieces. Your hands began to tremble as you talked about the Death Eaters approaching you while you were helpless and you found yourself pulling out a chocolate wand and taking a bite. "Sorry," you told Dumbledore when you noticed the amused look on his face.

"No need to be sorry," Dumbledore dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I too find that sweets help me through trying situations. So, your brother and Sirius came to your rescue?"

"They did," you agreed with a nod of your head. There was no way you were going to mention that James and Sirius were animagi, so you quickly glossed over that part of the story. "And once I was able to free myself, I attacked one of the Death Eaters when she hurt Sirius. I, uh, I turned her tongue into a horn," you admitted with a sheepish grin. "And then I cast a lot more hexes until she left. I was, I mean, well...," you didn't know how to talk about the worst part. "They wanted to take me to him," you forced yourself to get out. "And they would have killed me. There's no way I could have fought him or any of them and escaped with my life."

Dumbledore seemed to mull over your words for a few moments. There was a look on his face you couldn't immediately decipher, but the more you studied it, the more you realized that Dumbledore seemed oddly proud of you.

"Tell me, Miss Potter, what would you like to do once you leave here?"

You weren't sure how that was in any way connected to the night's events, but you were happy for a change of subject. Your mind was still reeling from Death Eaters and animagi and the possibility of being taken to Voldemort. You really just wanted to think about anything else at the moment.

"Well, I would really like to continue my studies," you answered, thinking over where you might want to be in ten years time if you were still alive. "Particularly in history of magic."

"Ah, yes, I've heard that you are far more passionate about the subject than your classmates."

"It's fascinating," you admitted with a genuine smile. "Maybe I'll be lucky enough to be a professor one day."

"I think that sounds like a wonderful plan," Dumbledore mused with a thoughtful look. "I suppose when Professor Binns is ready to move on, we'll have a candidate in mind for the position." Dumbledore considered you for another moment. “I will have to inform your parents about what happened tonight. I don’t doubt that they will try to convince you to spend the rest of the term at home.”

You knew your parents would fear for your safety even more now, but you didn’t want to leave Hogwarts. “Then I’ll just have to convince them that Hogwarts is safe.”

Dumbledore offered you a content smile before he pulled out a drawer of his desk. He rummaged through the drawer before he pulled something free. “May I offer you a sherbet lemon?”

Not long after that, Dumbledore sent you on your way with a few more sweets than you had arrived with and the knowledge that he thought you had done well for yourself under duress.

You weren't surprised to see that Dumbledore was right about Sirius and James. The second you stepped off the staircase leading up to Dumbledore's office, James was right there with Sirius not far behind.

"What'd he say? Should we get you to the Hospital Wing?" James asked, worry in his tone as he considered you.

"I'd rather just go to sleep," you dismissed James' concern, brushing past him in favor of heading towards the dungeons.

"Maybe we could sneak you into the Gryffindor common room to sleep it off on the couch," Sirius suggested, falling into step with you.

"No," you immediately argued. "I have to trust that I can be safe in my own dorm."

Sirius and James shared a look, a silent conversation taking place between them, before James finally rolled his eyes. "Fine, but we're walking you there."

You couldn't help but snort in amusement. James was always going to be your overprotective big brother and Sirius...well, you weren't quite sure what Sirius was anymore, but you knew that things were constantly evolving between the two of you.

And really, you didn't think that was such a bad thing.

The next day, visits to Hogsmeade were put on hold for the rest of the year since it was deemed unsafe with the recent attacks on muggles and wizards. Your attack wasn't mentioned, and you were grateful since everyone seemed upset by the news. You knew they would just find a way to blame you and you didn't want to know what anyone would have to say. You were still shaken, and while you were going to miss your Honeydukes shopping trips, you couldn't deny that you wouldn't have felt safe there again.

You had just finished writing a letter to your parents in response to their plea that you consider coming home. Dumbledore had been right, but you were stubborn and wanted to finish out your fifth year at the castle. Your parents wouldn’t like it, but you also knew that they wouldn’t force you to come home if you didn’t want to.

You were clutching the letter tight in your hands, intent on going to the owlery, when someone called your name just as you were leaving the Great Hall.

"Are you alright?" The voice caught you off-guard, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned to see Severus standing there, his expression neutral with just a hint of conern in his eyes.

"What?"

"You appear to be injured," he observed with a quirk of his eyebrow. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the Hogsmeade trips being cancelled?"

A hundred different emotions flooded through you before you somehow finally landed on contempt. "And if it was?" You took a couple of steps closer to him, lowering your voice so only the two of you could hear. "And if it was Death Eaters who attacked me and attempted to kidnap me? Would you still be with them?"

Severus' expression morphed from poorly concealed worry into masked irritation. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "It's my business because you were my friend, Severus. You were one of my best friends and the fact that you could join them? That's just...I don't know who you are anymore," you admitted with a scowl.

You turned away from him, not letting him even attempt to get another word in. You didn't want to know if there was anything left of your friendship with Severus. The fact alone that he would join the Death Eaters, especially after what you had endured the night before, was more than enough for you to know that you didn't want anything to do with him as long as he was with them.

The rest of your fifth year was spent fearing for your loved ones and doing your damnedest to make sure that you got the OWLs scores that you wanted. While you had lost a friend, it seemed as if you had gained another in Sirius. He spent less time trying to poke and prod at you, attempting to get a rise, and instead did his best to make you laugh. He watched out for you and finally seemed to accept you despite the fact that you were a Slytherin.

A year before, you never would have guessed that you would be facing your sixth year at Hogwarts trusting Sirius Black and avoiding Severus at all costs. You didn't know what the future held for you and you were terrified more than anything that Voldemort and his army would find a way to win.

But as long as you still had the people you loved, for now you would simply focus on what the summer holidays would bring. And even though you were loath to admit it, even to yourself, maybe you were just the tiniest bit interested in seeing where the new amicable nature of your relationship with Sirius brought you.

taglist: @mizelophsun11 @mysticalfuncollectorus @honeybxes @siriusement @takem3tothelakes @fangeekkk @strawberrysodaslut (if you would like to be added please let me know! some people who used to be on the list have different usernames, so I wasn't sure if I should still tag you.)

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #harry potter #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #harry potter imagine #james potter #marauders #imagine #reader insert #reader is a potter #reader is a slytherin #make all your demons be gone fic #x reader #my fic

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lacrimosathedark · 8 months ago

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I want Lian Harper to interact with and get close to Jason Todd for a lot of reasons. Their mutual childhoods as Gotham street urchins and growing up around superheroes (though they did that in like opposite order), they both died tragically at the hands of a villain, their deaths destroyed their parents, they were resurrected by unknown means with their memories fucked up, kept away from their family for years with only a dangerous mother figure knowing where they are, and are actually kindhearted despite everything.

But also, I want her to meet Cassandra Cain.

Like, think about what Lian could learn from Cass! They both have complicated relationships with their mothers who are renowned for their strength, mothers who adore their daughters and want to be part of their lives despite everything (who also contain multitudes of self-loathing yaaaaay). Mothers who also just happen to be also Asian, making them half-Asian and half-white. Not the same, Jade is Vietnamese and Sandra is Chinese, but still.

Lian hasn't had a lot of struggle accepting her mother despite her mother being what she is. Cass, however, has such a visceral disdain for killing that she rejects her mother. She doesn't really hate her, and has respect for her as a fighter, but wants nothing to do with her. And that conflict has, at at least one point, pushed Shiva to try to be better.

I think Cass could get Lian to truly face what Cheshire is, since no one else, Roy especially, seems willing to actually talk to her about that. And because she's in a similar position, she might be able to do it more effectively because Lian won't have to feel alone in it. Hell, Steph could join in too! Though her dad is...Not The Same (his crimes are much lesser but he also has never cared about Stephanie).

And maybe, if Lian realizes Shiva is trying to change, it might give her hope that rejecting her mom could get her to improve too. That maybe one day there'll be no reason to feel guilt for wanting to be with her mom. And we could have a somewhat functional divorced family dynamic rather than...yknow, This. That maybe one day she can actually be with her mom.

I also just love the idea that Lian could get along with Cass. There was this one point where a bunch of orphans were living at Titans Tower, and Lian was going through a phase of being very selfish and wanting her space and loved ones to herself, but the only other kid she could even somewhat tolerate was the kid that was seemingly selectively mute (they thought she was autistic but she was actually possessed sort of? it's a whole thing). So I feel like a more mature and selfless Lian would get along really well with someone like Cass, who relies on actions more than words.

And I actually just have this idea of the two of them dancing together. I love the idea of Cass forcing her brothers to dance with her, but imagine Cass dancing with Lian! Cass teaching Lian ballet! idk it's just adorable to me.

Yeah, "Auntie Cass" should be a thing I think.

#Lian Harper #Cheshire Cat #Cassandra Cain #Batgirl #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Jade Nguyen #Cheshire #Lady Shiva #Sandra Wu San #DC Comics

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luxlightly · 5 months ago

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Deep personal shit beneath the cut. Pretty graphic descriptions of traumatic events. I'd rather not outwardly tag what kind so if you have any you'll be triggered by just play it safe and don't click through.

I got a tiktok about a procedure I had as a child pop up on my for you page. Discussing movements to ban the practice and to raise awareness about the intense psychological and physical damage it does.

It confirmed something I'd been suspecting for some time: I have sexual abuse trauma from it. My intense phobia of being raped the left me unable to interact with men at all during my preteen years, my disgust with my body from a young age, my outright terror and panic at the idea of anything to do with sex and my nearly debilitating amount of self loathing and shame regarding myself as a sexual being. I always said "it's as if I've been abused, even though I never have been"

And

I was. The procedure was called a vcug and it involves catheterizing someone and filling their bladder with a mildly radioactive substance, then forcing them to urinate under x ray to see if the urine is going back up into the kidneys.

My sister had urinary reflux and needed emergency surgery for it. It was vital to find out if I did, too. It was necessary and the doctors believed the test was not accurate of the patient was sedated.

But as far as my mind and body were concerned, as a small child, maybe 3 or 4 at the most, it was violent rape.

I was too young to remember it at all. But my body does. My mom told me they had to strap me to a board because I was trying so hard to escape. I screamed worse than she'd ever heard before or since and just kept asking "why are you letting them do this?"

She held so much regret about it I was always hesitant to consider it was the cause of my issues. She'd not been given any other options and my life was on the line. I don't blame her at all, even if she clearly blames herself.

I knew, to some extent, what I felt wasn't normal, but I still never realized just how much of what I felt as a child, even completely unrelated to sex or my body, was abnormal. A child's first remembered thoughts about themselves should not be disgust and hatred. A child too young for preschool should not believe they deserve to die. That they are, at their core, something filthy and abhorrent. A child should not have wanted to die before they even knew the concept of death.

A child who still believes there are monsters under their bed should not go out into the hallway at night in hopes the monsters will violently kill them because they deserve it, just because they were gently scolded earlier in the day.

The reaction of a child to mild scolding should not be "this is not enough. I deserve worse than this" and systematically try to cause themselves as much suffering as possible, to remove every possible positive feeling they could experience.

A child's first understanding of their place in the world shouldn't be that their continued existence is an unspeakable act of selfishness that comes at the cost of the entire world and everyone in it being worse for their existence, especially their loved ones.

Not even a child with depression.

To be honest, I don't hold any resentment for any of the individuals involved. My parents made the only choice they were given to protect their child's life. They were told it was "painless and non invasive". The doctors were told the same. They really seem to believe it, even ones that do that procedure now. Even though adults who had it done and remember it describe it as the worst pain they've ever experienced.

What really upsets me is that I truly have, since before I was even old enough to remember it, been abused by the medical system in every way one can be abused. Psychologically, emotionally, physically, and even sexually.

Every moment of my life has been spent dealing with the trauma the medical system has put me through. Whatever life I might have had without that was taken from me and kept being taken from me, over and over and over.

I have been lied to, I have been screamed at, I've been forced to undergo painful procedures I didn't want or need, I have been gaslighted, I have had my pain dismissed when doctors and nurses have done things like incorrectly inject IVs, causing extreme pain.

My doctor as a child was so rough with needles even the nurses couldn't watch. I ended up with a phobia of needles that took years and years of desensitization to overcome. My pain was not considered important.

I have been denied life saving treatment, doing damage to my body that will likely never recover.

I have been coerced into a painful pelvic exam I didn't need then was told after, while I was shaking and crying and scared for my life "it's okay you haven't done anything with your life yet"

I have been ignored. I have been dismissed. i have been hurt. And I have been raped.

I have had my whole life taken away from me.

And not a single one of those doctors, if I came to them now and told them how they hurt me, would think they did anything wrong. Would change anything they did if they had the choice.

I have no course for legal recompense, nor emotional, because according to the law and the medical system, not one of them did a single thing wrong.

My pain does not matter. My life does not matter. It's all just things for doctors to throw away because they don't find any value in it.

And I have to keep dealing with these same people nearly every day for the rest of my life. I have to go to people who feel nothing was ever done to me that was wrong and I have to kiss their asses and stroke their egos and beg and beg and beg just so they MIGHT decide I'm worthy of being treated for my illnesses their system, their abuse, had a large hand in giving me.

It isn't fair. I've lost so much of my life to these people and I'll spend the rest of my life fighting to be lucky to manage to pry back a few scraps.

There's not a single moment since before I can remember that they haven't tainted. Not one.

#personal #trauma #not kidding about this being triggering #i really don't want to tag anything specific #just be warned

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randomly--accessed--memories · 6 months ago

Note

The next day and I am given a wholesome idea of the very brutal one I originally had

Instead of Alastor giving Vox a doll to take care of, it’s Charlie because she thinks it can help him! [got this idea from knowing that dolls are used in therapeutic settings typically for dementia patients.]

Both as a coping mechanism or a way to distract him. If things get heated between Vox and another guest, Charlie may slip in and go “Vox, I think Sarah needs you right now! She’s fussy.” Vox takes a little bit to process this but eventually takes the doll from Charlie to “care” for it.

This only if he remembers his family at all though - while talking him out of not hurting somebody. Charlie is the only one with that patience.

Alastor pays no mind to it, he finds it slightly amusing if not slightly annoying because Vox will be “too busy taking care of his daughter” to do a task he was given. The rest of the hotel guests may be a little creeped out until they truly figure out that Vox really isn’t up there anymore. Maybe they’ll play along out of pity, mostly to keep the peace.

Nifty, she’d probably enjoy the doll. Given how she and Vox mostly get along.

Of course the doll doesn’t always work, especially on days when Vox is trying to crawl his way into remembering what happened to him. “That’s just a doll! Get that thing away from me I don’t want it!” Hell, the very idea of a stranger knowing the name of one of his children may spook him into anger.

I think Valentino & Velvette may be a little freaked out at this behavior too [little off topic headcanon that certain types of dolls always creeped Velvette out] but then they realize that anytime Vox takes care of the doll he is calmer and easier to speak with.

It is odd to say the least, Vox wasn’t a good parent when he was alive - but to the doll he is somewhat decent [when he’s not forgetting where he last placed the doll] He comes across as being quite doting, and that stems from multiple factors. Vox naturally liking the feeling of being needed/wanted, his self absorbed nature bleeding in a way that makes him believe he’s the best father ever and will continue to be, genuine affection towards his youngest child, or simply parts of himself that feel the tiniest twinge of guilt as he tries to “make up for lost time.”

I don’t know if this would be very in-character for Vox in the state he’s in, but it’s interesting to think about how his human life bleeds into his interactions. :]

tl;dr Vox is a girl dad [JOKE]

- 🐚

Yeah, on a subconscious level, a lot of the delusions regarding his kids do stem from regret. Vox never actually accepted that he was a bad father, but since he died so suddenly, he always felt like he had unfinished business with his children. He thought he was going to get to see them grow up, that they'd have more time together (and that he'd eventually get around to spending more time with them), but that all vanished before he even had time to process what had happened, all because of some faulty electrical equipment. When he was in his right mind, he just tried not to think about it (there was nothing he could do to change it and ruminating on the past would just hold him back), but with his orientation in time so messed up, they're a subject he circles back to a lot.

Angel Dust would loathe having to witness something like this. He hates the fact that he actually pities Vox now, despite the fact that he happily enabled Val's abuse of Angel for decades. Witnessing him be so immersed in such a humanizing delusion would be agonizing.

#vox (ram)#angel dust (ram)#randomly accessed memories #anonymous #dark #vox's family

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use-your-telescope · 1 year ago

Text

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 8: You're Just Business

Summary: Loki confronts Theo about her avoidance of the other Avengers.

Author's Notes: Fun story/trivia about this song: In an interview with the Grammy Museum, it was revealed that some of the phrases in this first verse resulted from producer Tony Berg’s mishearing of Jon Foreman’s original lyrics: “You come ‘round like a prison ship” was misheard as “pirate ship”, and “You got a fist for a lower lip” was misheard as “fish.” Ultimately, the band decided to record the song with the mondegreens as the song’s final lyrics. I like to think that Theo was aware of this little tidbit and it led to part of why she chose this particular song.

Side note, would anyone be interested if I shared more of these goofy little trivia bits/non-spoiler reasons that certain songs appear at certain times (and maybe even captions that Theo might have posted with the covers)? I’d share them on tumblr as a little “behind the scenes” sort of thing.

I’m posting this a day early because tomorrow is the last day of helping my parents move, which also means saying farewell to the house I grew up in; I’m sure I’ll be all up in my feelings and distracted, so rather than risk missing my (self-imposed) deadline, I’m doing something wild and posting early.

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog and reblogs really help me out <3

Content Warnings: None?

Word Count: 5,314

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: I need you (to be wrong) - Switchfoot

You come 'round like a pirate ship You're just business You got a fish for a lower lip You're just business You're the parentless, nightmare kid You're just business You don't answer for any of this You're just business

The end of onboarding meant the return of lazy days off.

Other than the sound of a sleety-drizzle outside, it was probably quiet enough in the tower to hear a pin drop. Any reprieve from commotion could best be described as blissful, and not needing to peer around every corner so Theo didn’t run into the Avengers brought a different kind of relief.

In a normal day, Natasha and Steve were always the first to emerge, since they liked early morning training sessions. With how they timed their workouts, Theo typically had to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn just to have 30 minutes to get into the kitchen, make herself a cup of coffee, and then slink back to her corner of the tower or get the hell out, which meant going down to the hospital to get ready for work.

Then again, when Theo got back to her suite at night and heard the commotion and the raucous laughter echoing from down the hall, something painful twisted in Theo’s chest, making her miss her life before the Avengers. It didn’t help that ever since she visited Mémère, Theo caught herself weighing whether it was worth trying to make friends with anyone while she was here.

She hadn’t planned on staying with the group after her favor was done, so on the one hand she didn’t want to grow attached, then ditch them. On the other hand, now that she couldn’t see her other friends, life had become little more than work, which was a lonely way to live. And though she loathed to admit it, Loki’s visits and Julie’s perspective on the Avengers made Theo wonder if her trepidation was truly warranted.

Then again, the Avengers didn’t know the full extent of her history or her powers. Given the reactions from people who knew her sob story, she didn’t anticipate they’d like her very much if they learned the truth. That meant every social interaction felt like it required Theo to put on a show; every word, every action was a calculated risk. She’d been doing it for so long that it felt like second nature, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

However, none of her concerns around socializing mattered, at least for the time being. According to the side discussions before the most recent debrief, all of the Avengers had plans for the weekend which took them away from New York, so she had the entire tower to herself. Wanda and Vision snuck out on a weekend getaway to Maine, Tony and Bruce were presenting at some science conference in Switzerland (and Peter tagged along), the super soldiers agreed to help with an event for the US military down in DC, Natasha and Yelena decided to visit Clint and his family out at their farm, Shuri happened to be in Oakland, and Thor had gone to New Asgard for something. Theo assumed that Loki had gone with him, since he was also an Asgardian prince and all.

Regardless, Theo’s agenda for the day consisted of one thing: reading. A mountain of SHIELD reports loomed on Theo’s desk ever since she started, consisting of both recent and past missions that would hopefully provide the context she needed to offer her expertise on the shadow creatures. Even if she would have rather been marathoning Queer Eye or visiting Mémère, a rainy Saturday morning without anyone around seemed like just as good of a time as any to check the reports of her never-ending list of things to do.

But even before she dug into the stack of reports, she needed coffee.

Theo padded through the halls of the tower, relishing the echo of her footsteps and the lack of chatter filling the air. Upon entering the kitchen, Theo decided that rather than work her way through the reports in her suite, she’d indulge in a change of scenery and set up shop at the kitchen island.

After starting the coffee, Theo brought out her laptop and the pile of reports, scattering them across the breakfast bar for easy review. She placed her headphones over her ears, cranked up her music, and became so absorbed in reading about the fallout of Ultron and the Sokovia Accords that she forgot about the coffee brewing…

… She also failed to observe that she wasn’t the only one home.

A coffee mug appeared next to her out of seemingly thin air, to which Theo yelped and practically flew out of her seat.

“What the – “ she tore her headphones off and whirled around to find Loki standing there, holding his own cup of coffee. “Jesus, Loki, creep around much?”

“I was in no way creeping. Your decision to wear headphones impeded your ability to hear me.” Loki’s tone remained cool and unaffected as he took a sip of his own coffee, leaning back against the counter. “Perhaps you might demonstrate some gratitude toward me; after all, I prepared your coffee for you.”

“In my defense, I also didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one home – I thought you went back to New Asgard with Thor.” Theo protested, trying to ignore the searing heat that rose on her cheeks. She palmed the mug of coffee in one hand, glancing briefly at the swirls of steam rising from the ceramic cup.

“I’ve no reason to be in New Asgard at present.” He shrugged, before narrowing his eyes at Theo. “If you believed you were alone, why not use Stark’s audio system to listen to your music? It is not as if you would cause a disruption.”

“It’s a habit,” Theo shrugged casually, allowing her focus to travel to her new teammate. Unlike Theo, whose heart still pounded in her chest from the surprise, Loki's casual posture and amused expression left him looking cool as a cucumber, because of course he would. “Besides, high quality headphones have better sound quality than any stereo system Tony Stark could build – it’s easier to hear the nuance and little details in the recordings.”

Loki cocked a skeptical brow at her before sauntering over to the refrigerator. As he bent down to rummage through the contents, Theo took advantage of the opportunity to drink in the full sight of Loki in the mornings.

Loki’s Saturday morning attire was more relaxed than she had ever seen from him. Black joggers slung low on his hips and followed the line of his slim form, while a gray t-shirt clung to his torso and hinted at the toned muscle beneath. He pulled his black curls back into a loose bun, but left one strand hanging down to frame his face, highlighting a jawline that cut like glass.

For all the jokes Julie made, she wasn’t kidding about Loki’s attractiveness. But that was like saying the sky was blue - no one would question that a god was objectively attractive.

In comparison, he probably thought Theo looked a bit sloppy in her oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants, her own hair tossed up in what looked less like a bun and more like a rat’s nest…

Channeling her inner gremlin, as Max would say.

Loki turned around and caught Theo studying him.

“Are you enjoying the view?” He smirked.

“I’ve never seen you in anything remotely casual before,” Theo said, mirroring his expression. “Looks good on you.”

Loki hummed, something devilish twitching on his lips to match the glint in his eye. “I should hope so.”

Theo rolled her eyes. Of the many traits Loki held, humility did not seem to be high on the list. Then again, Theo knew that if she was that attractive, she wouldn’t be humble about it, so it wasn’t like she could hold that against him.

Instead of feeding Loki’s ego, Theo returned her attention to the Sokovia report. She knew herself well enough to know if she didn’t make substantial progress on the reports that day, she would never catch up.

However, Loki either did not get the hint that Theo wanted to be left to work or he chose to ignore it, positioning himself across the island from Theo. With each passing moment, Theo felt his burning stare intensify.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll hit you over the head with a chair.” Theo threatened, not even glancing up from her work.

“Darling, such a temper from you this morning.” Loki practically purred. “I would have expected gratitude - after all, I prepared your morning coffee for you.”

Theo rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hint of a smile that quirked up. Of course the prince would make a big deal out of a small gesture. “Well, thank you for the coffee, your highness, now will you leave me alone to work?”

“How are you settling in?”

Ugh.

He couldn’t have been that dense, right? He must have known Theo did not want to talk to him at that moment. No one became a renowned diplomat if they couldn’t understand basic social cues.

“Fine,” Theo drawled, “Better if you leave me to read in peace.”

“You never choose to spend time in the common areas like this. Why today?”

A loaded question, delivered with a deceptively light tone, had Theo’s hair standing on the back of her neck.

No, he wasn’t clueless or dense - Loki wanted something; information, probably.

Something unsettling lurched in Theo’s stomach.

“Because I thought I was going to be alone?” Irritation colored Theo’s response; she gritted her teeth, debating if she should try to divert the conversation or just piss him off so he’d leave her alone.

Her morals leaned towards the former, but her temper leaned towards the latter.

For the moment, she held her tongue.

“Perhaps this will surprise you, but you are allowed to venture into the common areas while others are around to spend your leisure time and… Do whatever it is that you are doing,” Loki casually gestured to the stack of papers scattered between them. “As you previously stated, you are not a princess to be locked away in a tower.”

“Currently, I’m reading reports,” Theo muttered, “And you’re proving to me exactly why I don’t do this in common areas – because you’re distracting me.”

It took a significant amount of willpower not to slam her computer closed and retreat to her suite; after all, the heavily redacted report about Budapest that was next on her list looked like an enticing read.

“See, that brings me to my next question: why, when you have a beautiful Saturday morning to relax, are you spending your time reading reports and paperwork?” A playful, lighthearted tone graced Loki’s question, but Theo’s patience wore dangerously thin. “If you wish for quality reading material, you only need to ask. I’ve plenty of recommendations.”

“Okay, since apparently you refuse to get the hint, I’m just going to be blunt: I am trying to work. I don’t want to talk right now. Quite frankly, your impromptu interrogation is pissing me off. So for the love of all that is holy, can you leave me alone?” Theo huffed, outright glowering at Loki.

“You may not be interested in speaking, but I’m certainly interested in answers to my question.” Loki arched a brow at Theo, sipping his coffee as if he could wait all day for a response.

“Because the world isn’t going to save itself and I have a lot of background knowledge to catch up on if I don’t want to fuck up one of these missions and get a bunch of people killed.” Theo’s frustration made its open debut, but amidst her ire she failed to hide the undercurrent of anxiety in her answer.

Before Theo even finished, Loki’s demeanor shifted from taunting to serious - he must have recognized that he struck a nerve.

Shit.

She let her guard down and he latched onto it instantly… Careless mistakes like that could get her killed.

“Are you aware that it is not a requirement to memorize every piece of SHIELD’s history?” Loki leaned in so he could look at Theo over her laptop, face shifting to something unreadable before he continued. “Generally speaking, we have only enough knowledge to complete the individual mission. You need not push yourself to learn everything so that you might recall it at a moment’s notice.”

It wasn’t about knowing everything - it was about assessing the risks. Theo needed to know the history in order to understand the potential risks. If she was in an emergency department, she knew the environment. She knew the variables. She had control over her situation.

But in the field? Knowing anything was a laughable thought.

“It’s not about memorizing, it’s about learning what I got myself into,” Theo flatly replied, hoping to make up for her slip. “I know Fury is fond of leaving out important details in favor of creating a narrative, so I want to make sure I know what he hasn’t told me before I’m sent out into the line of fire.”

“And you believe reports are the way to learn such information?” Skepticism dripped from Loki’s question.

“I didn’t say I liked it, but this,” Theo gestured to the mess of documents around her, refusing to let her nerves show once more, “is better than letting Fury trot me around like a prize horse or his little puppet.”

It was a half-truth; he didn’t need to know all the details, but perhaps she could spin it to take some of the pressure off.

“I do not believe you’re giving yourself enough credit.” Loki stepped around the island so he stood next to Theo, then shut her laptop so she would look him in the eye. He certainly accomplished the goal, but earned a frustrated groan from Theo in the process. “You’re an immensely sharp and powerful sorcerer – I can feel the magic pouring off you. You easily handle extreme physical duress during training, you effortlessly adapt to any social situation, and it has not escaped my attention that you’re extremely well-studied in a variety of areas.”

Sure, Loki saw Theo spar with Steve, and obviously they’d hung out a few times; they spoke at the party from the first night, and showed up to the soccer game and the bar show… But a handful of interactions wouldn’t have been enough to draw those conclusions, right?

Maybe it was a bluff, or an attempt at wooing her with his famed silver tongue so she would give him the information he wanted.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone lied to her in hopes of gaining her trust.

“First of all, I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or creeped out that you’ve been watching me so closely,” Theo retorted with a scowl. “Second of all, what’s your point?”

“If you are concerned about your ability to defend yourself on a mission, you need not fret.” Loki sounded cocky, almost arrogant – how would he know what they were up against? “You realize you are not the only one responsible for your safety in the field?”

“You really think that the others, who look at me like I’m a terror, give a shit about my safety?” “They do not believe you are a terror.”

“Cool, tell that to my grandma when she has to deal with my dead body,” Theo muttered. She attempted to snatch her laptop from Loki, but he held firm.

Loki may have been nicknamed a silvertongue, but the only thing his tongue had done was piss Theo off.

Enough was enough.

“ I don’t have time for this shit.” With a flick of her wrist, a swirl of shimmering runes encompassed the reports and her laptop, teleporting them back to her quarters. Theo snatched her coffee mug, then offered a final wave and a bratty sneer before transporting herself to her suite.

In the solitude of her suite, Theo let out a sigh.

So much for a peaceful Saturday morning.

I got a body, but I lost my mind I'm just business Placeholder with a bottom line I'm just business Please don't take this personally It's just business

Standing in the kitchen, Loki gaped at the empty seat before him and replayed the events which led to his current predicament.

In some ways, he could have foreseen such an outcome. Initial interactions with Theo had been far more successful than Loki anticipated, to the degree that he almost believed Theo might actually wish to befriend him. Thus, it was inevitable that he would ruin his progress in a truly spectacular manner.

In his defense, walking into the kitchen and finding Theo there had not been something he anticipated. The circumstances practically begged for Loki to engage; when else would he see Theo anywhere besides her workplace or mandatory Avengers engagements?

Yet, after a handful of occasions spent casually making each other’s acquaintance, Loki expected something with a bit more banter, or at least something more lighthearted. Instead, she met his questions with barbed remarks and vicious glares, culminating in another disappearing act.

The Theo that Loki encountered in the kitchen was vastly different from the Theo he first met, or the one that he spent time with in the research library; that Theo seemed confident and self-assured, sharp-witted and formidable regardless of the circumstances. But when caught off-guard, she became aggressive and downright irascible, to the extent that Loki questioned whether or not it was the same woman who he’d spoken to before.

However, deep within Loki’s chest, something uncomfortable twisted. He recognized the behavior, mostly because he had once acted in such a manner; if he was entirely honest with himself, he knew exactly what motivated such behavior:

Protecting oneself at all costs.

Seeing Theo in such a state brought to mind his mother’s gardens in Asgard. When flowers were cut and taken from the gardens, they eventually wilted and withered, unable to adapt to their new surroundings. Roses, one of his mother’s favorite flowers, eventually developed thorns all along the stem, which made cutting the blooms a much more challenging task; a defense mechanism that evolved over the course of millennia.

Like the thorns that protected the roses, Theo’s hostility served as a defense mechanism, an instinct developed to protect herself from something which previously scarred her, something which might have caused her to wither and wilt until nothing more than a shadow of her former self.

In Theo’s behavior, Loki saw himself. There was once a time where he had been so guarded that the other Avengers called him a cactus because of his prickly, sullen demeanor. Though the moniker had become a relic, the instinct remained firmly ingrained upon Loki’s psyche.

Theo was by no means a cactus, but she certainly had some thorns.

Loki sighed, smoothing calloused fingers over his hair. Ideally, he could remedy the situation with minimal lingering damage to the delicate kinship he struck with Theo; yet the manner in which he could achieve such a feat eluded him.

If he approached too soon, she would only recoil, particularly if she felt cornered. If he waited too long to speak to her, she might suspect his intentions stemmed from less than savory desires - exploitation or a means to an end.

After much dithering, Loki settled upon a plan: if he did not see Theo around lunch, he would knock on her door. If she failed to respond, he would try again at dinner time.

If he still had not heard anything, he would send her a message through his mobile, leaving the onus upon Theo - if she wished to interact she could, however he would not push further.

Any and all confidence Loki held in the plan dwindled when noon came and went with no sign of the silver shadow. Despite the aura of magic radiating from within, Loki’s knocks were met with silence, only dampening his spirits further.

To be on the receiving end of rejection brought a certain discomfort which Loki had not outright encountered in quite some time, and it remained at least as unpleasant as he remembered (if not moreso). Midgardians never outright rejected him - first, they feared him, but over time some came to lust after him. As for the Asgardians, they knew better than to disrespect a crown prince, even if his lineage brought disgrace upon the throne. The more he dwelled on the matter, the clearer it became that he could not remember the last time someone outright turned away from him in such a blatant manner.

Without any sign of Theo in the afternoon, or around the time when the others typically took their evening meal, Loki braced himself for the worst and made the trek down the corridor.

As he approached, the faint sound of music could be heard from inside Theo’s quarters, which combined with her aura confirmed she was present. After pausing for a moment to gather himself, Loki rapped his knuckles upon the door.

Much to his surprise, the music stopped. Footsteps grew louder as Theo approached the door. The noise ceased for a beat, then the lock clicked, and the door swung wide.

Theo stood before him, arms crossed and brows drawn tight as she scrutinized Loki.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or annoyed by your stubbornness.” Theo skipped any formal greeting, leaning against the doorframe as she gave him a once-over. “Then again, I’m the one that answered the door, so maybe your strategy is effective, or I’m a glutton for punishment. Either way, are you here to continue badgering me about work, or is there something else you want?”

Loki drew in a deep breath.

“It seems I struck a nerve,” he observed. “For that, I apologize.”

“Is that all?” Theo eyed Loki warily, as if she knew other matters remained on his conscience.

Loki sighed; it seemed as good of a time as any to address what Midgardians often referred to as ‘the elephant in the room.’

“I noticed you’ve not yet made the acquaintance of the others.”

“I socialize with the other hospital staff,” Theo countered.

Loki scoffed. “I am referring to the other Avengers.”

“I know.” Theo answered as if she had no intention of continuing the conversation. Loki raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question; she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, I’m sure they’re fine, but I’m not really interested.”

“Dare I inquire as to why?”

“For one thing, the only reason they’re pretending to be interested in me is because Fury gave them the mission of convincing me to stay on as an Avenger.” Theo cocked an eyebrow at Loki as she slouched further into the doorframe. “So it’s not like they’re really trying to be my friend. And besides, most of them were more than quick to jump to conclusions about who, or what kind of person, I was.”

“If that is so, then why have you not shunned my company?” Loki challenged. “How do you know I am not making your acquaintance to win over the director?”

“I don’t,” she admitted, “but you don’t seem like the type of person to crave Nick Fury’s adoration, or like you’d let him make you his bitch. I suppose I could be wrong, though.”

“Such rousing praise,” Loki drawled. “Truly, the utmost of faith you place upon me—“

“Okay, fine - you really want to know why I’m willing to talk to you?” Theo interrupted, silencing Loki in the process, “Because in that first meeting, you didn’t automatically assume I was the villain.”

Something painful twisted in Loki’s stomach. Nowhere in the list of potential responses that Loki developed prior to asking the question was Theo’s answer, yet what she described was an experience he knew all too well. The memory of Barton’s initial reaction to Loki’s presence remained painfully vivid to the Asgardian, which only diminished Loki’s confidence in his argument.

Still, Theo’s perceptions of the situation were not entirely true. “I was not the only Avenger who made no assumptions about your morality—”

“Not out loud,” Theo agreed, “But you were the only one who didn’t look at me like I was some kind of terror. You actually looked at me as a person.”

If anyone could empathize with Theo’s experience, it would be Loki. Joining the Avengers, a group who he didn’t truly know or trust, and who didn’t know or trust him… For quite some time, Loki believed wholeheartedly that he made a terrible mistake.

Months passed from when he first relented to Thor’s pleas to become an Avenger to when Loki partook in a movie night, and that only happened because Thor physically dragged Loki from his quarters. He lost count of the number of times he turned Maximoff down before finally relenting to her constant requests to spend time together.

In the end, it took over a year for Loki to feel remotely comfortable simply existing in the common areas during the day, going on missions without his brother, or speaking to anyone that was not Thor. Even after so long, he still questioned whether the others valued his contributions to the team, or if they simply tolerated his presence.

“I will admit, the others are not always the most… open-minded, shall we say. Not in the beginning, at least.” Loki chose his words carefully, recognizing the delicate nature of the situation at hand. “However, I truly believe they have moved past the false assumptions, and I would highly recommend you use the opportunity to demonstrate that you are not the terror they assumed you to be.”

“And how do you know that they even want to get to know me?” Theo pressed, piercing blue eyes scrutinizing Loki’s every move.

“Because I was once in a similar position.” The answer slipped out before Loki could stop it. He carefully schooled the surprise from his features; meanwhile, Theo made no effort to hide her skepticism.

“I understand that you may not fully trust me yet – I’m the trickster god, I have a history of manipulating people. Quite frankly, it would be in your best interest not to trust me. But!” Loki admitted, then continued before Theo could get a word in edgewise: “You remind me quite a bit of myself, when I first became an Avenger. I believed the others assumed the worst in me. I held no trust in the others, and in turn they placed no trust in me. It remained as such for quite some time – too long, in hindsight.

“The change in my relationship with my colleagues came when I finally relented to my brother and Maximoff’s incessant attempts to force me to socialize with the others. If it were not them, I would still remain hidden away in my quarters at all hours.

“Honestly, at the time I desired nothing more than to kill them in a spectacular manner for their belligerent pestering and sickening optimism. But between you and I, it helped me far beyond simply becoming a part of the Avengers – it helped me move on from the past that used to define me.”

To be so genuinely forthcoming was a bold decision. Had it been anyone else, he would not have dared to reveal such information, particularly someone so new. However, Theo had a knack for drawing the unexpected from Loki, even if it often caught him by surprise. Additionally, the mystery surrounding Theo piqued his curiosity, which only grew with the reluctance to socialize with the others.

Without taking a risk, there would be no reward.

Theo narrowed her eyes at the God of Mischief, chewing the inside of her cheek as she mulled over his words.

“I remind you of… you?” Distrust clung to every word, only amplified by the doubt written across her expression in big, bold letters.

“Well, yes,” Loki replied coyly. “but you are far more charming and engaging. When I first arrived, I was simply full of spite.” He chuckled, earning a hesitant smile at Theo as a faint hint of pink rose on her cheeks from his compliment. “Had there been no consequence, Stark would have gleefully made a spectacle of launching me off the top of the tower.”

Theo’s shoulders bounced as she chuckled at Loki’s remarks. A sense of relief washed over Loki - perhaps he hadn’t made a mess of things after all.

“The winter soldier, the scarlet witch, myself - at one point or another, we were enemies of various factions of the Avengers. Romanoff is a former black widow, as is Belova. If we can be accepted into the Avengers, I’ve no doubt that you can as well.” Loki assured her, his confidence building with every passing moment. “However, you must be willing to engage.”

Before Theo could roll her eyes and offer a snarky dismissal, Loki held up a finger to silence her.

“At least humor Maximoff once,” he bargained. “I’ve listened to her prattle on endlessly about her excitement at your addition to the Avengers ever since she learned the news, and if I have to endure any more of her moping because you’ve rejected her invitations to socialize, I very well might lose my mind.”

After far too long of a pause, Theo finally answered.

“Okay, fine. I will stop turning down the invites to hang out and I’ll try to ‘play nice’ with the others,” she relented, sounding none too pleased as she straightened up. “For the record, I never agreed to any of this. I am here reluctantly, at best.”

“Yes yes, the reluctant Avenger - you’re not the first one. I wrote the book on it.” Loki ribbed, earning a real laugh from Theo. “Now come, it is far too beautiful of a day to spend it reading such dreary reports. Why not spend your time on something you might enjoy?”

“You know it’s raining outside, right?” Theo pointed to a window behind her, where an onslaught of water undoubtedly pounded against the glass.

“Of course I do;” Loki lightly scoffed. “That’s why it is such a beautiful day - it is perfect for settling in with some literature and forgetting about the tomfoolery the rest of this dreadful realm subjects us to.”

Theo didn’t argue with him, but she continued to peer at him rather suspiciously.

“You have worked non-stop ever since you started here. What is the phrase that you mortals love? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy? I fear you might become dreadfully dull if you keep this up.”

“Good thing my name isn’t Jack.” Theo winked, her quick-wit making its blessed return.

“All work and no play makes for a rather wretched existence.” Loki amended his statement, smirking at Theo. “What you ought to do is put those reports away, find a novel that you actually enjoy, and join me in the sitting room to indulge in some reading. We might even listen to some of your music over the speakers, since you seem to be averse to silence yet easily startled when you wear your headphones.”

“I don’t know, this Budapest report looks like a great mystery to crack.” Theo shrugged, though her tone no longer held any trace of the tension or animosity that had previously dominated her replies.

Loki rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t bite back a smile.

“Okay,” Theo finally agreed, “let me put this stuff away, and then I’ll come join you.”

As she joined him in the corridor, Loki concluded that one thing was certain: he much preferred Theo’s banter to her thorns.

I need you to be wrong (All along wе both were wrong) I need you to be wrong (All along wе both were wrong)

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