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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Where Honor Burns

- Summary: After the tragedy Above the God's Eye, you decided to go to King's Landing, in hope to prevent more bloodshed. Even if it means your death.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Chains We Break. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Also, in this AU Rhaenyra never sized King's Landing.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 017

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

- A/N: you guys liked this so much I've decided to push next part out early again, since I have the entire thing finnished already for some time and I feel unfair to keep it from you, as it's very well recived series. There will be one more part of this posted, then it's done. Enjoy. ❤️

The day dawns with gray skies, heavy with the weight of impending rain, as if the gods themselves mourn what has been lost. You stand at the edge of Dragonstone’s cliffs, fingers tightening around the rough parchment in your hand. The inked words smudge slightly from the salt in the air—or perhaps it is the tears you refuse to shed.

Daemon is dead.

The news is sharp and bitter on your tongue, like ashes. You should feel grief, yet what blooms in your chest is nothing more than an emptiness edged with relief. Daemon’s death severs the last frayed threads binding you to him, a marriage that was doomed from the moment it began. The years of ambition, control, and quiet disdain have left scars deeper than any sword could carve. The day you and Rhaenyra agreed to release Gwayne to Otto—sealed your doom as Daemon’s wife. He never forgave you for that.

The sound of footsteps draws you from your thoughts. Vaeron approaches, his brow furrowed, his usually confident stride hesitant. He’s grown into a fine young man—strong and determined, the fire of Old Valyria running hot in his veins, a fire that no doubt still confused him, born as he was not of Daemon’s blood but of Gwayne’s. The tension between them had only worsened in recent months, yet Vaeron was still the same boy Daemon had taken under his wing, raising him as his own.

“Mother,” Vaeron’s voice is tight, the pain behind it unmistakable. “Is it true?”

You nod, unable to bring yourself to repeat the words. “Daemon and Aemond both perished above the Gods Eye.”

He inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, full with the silver of his true heritage. “He was a fool to challenge Aemond alone,” he murmurs, but there is no triumph in his voice, only a deep-seated sorrow. Despite everything, Vaeron still sought Daemon’s approval, still yearned for some semblance of affection from the man who had twisted the role of father into something cruel and cold.

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “He made his choice, just as we all have,” you say, your voice soft yet firm. “This war has gone on long enough. Too much blood has been spilled, and more will be if we do nothing.”

Vaeron’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, the young warrior ready for battle in his eyes, but beneath it lies uncertainty. “What are you planning, Mother?”

You straighten your back, steel in your voice as you declare, “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Vaeron’s eyes widen in shock, a flicker of fear quickly masked by anger. “You can’t! They’ll kill you the moment you set foot near the Red Keep. You’re the one who crippled Aegon at Rook’s Rest! They’ll flay you alive for that alone!”

A bitter smile touches your lips. “Perhaps. But we cannot keep hiding behind dragons and armies, waiting for a decisive blow that may never come. Rhaenyra has the right to the throne, but we cannot burn the realm to the ground for it. Someone must act before there’s nothing left to rule.”

“Mother, please,” Vaeron’s voice breaks with desperation now. “If not for yourself, then for me. You’re all I have left.”

You feel the sting of tears prickling at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You’ve made your choice, and there is no room for doubt. You cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm, and see the boy you once cradled as a babe, a child of love born in secret. “I am doing this for you, Vaeron. For you, and for the realm. The bloodshed must end, and if it is my life that brings peace, then so be it.”

He looks at you, eyes shining with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “You can’t do this alone.”

“No,” you agree, your voice softening. “But I must be the one to start it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The wind howls around you, the sea crashing violently against the rocks below. Vaeron pulls away, shaking his head as if trying to ward off the inevitability of it all. “I’ll go with you,” he finally says, determination hardening in his voice.

You shake your head gently. “No, my son. You’re needed here. If things go wrong, Rhaenyra will need someone she can trust—someone with a clear head. You must protect your family, no matter what happens.”

He clenches his fists, trembling as he battles between wanting to protect you and knowing you’re right. “I hate this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I hate all of it.”

“So do I,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But sometimes, we must do what is necessary, even if it costs us everything.”

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his brow, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to hold him close, the way you did when he was small, and the world was far simpler. When you pull back, his face is set in a mask of determination, so much like yours when you were younger, filled with dreams and desires that have long since turned to ash.

“Stay strong, Vaeron. For our family. For the future.”

With that, you turn and walk back toward the fortress, your steps heavy with the weight of what you must do. Behind you, the wind carries the sound of your son’s quiet sobs, a painful reminder of all that this war has taken and what it will still demand before it is over.

You do not look back. You cannot afford to.

You have a realm to save.

King’s Landing reeks of decay, the stench of rot clinging to every breath. Gwayne Hightower stands on one of the parapets overlooking the city, the once-proud banners of the Greens fluttering lifelessly in the breeze. His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, where storm clouds gather ominously, but his thoughts are elsewhere—always elsewhere. No matter how far he tries to distance himself from the past, it haunts him relentlessly, like a ghost that refuses to be exorcised.

It has been months since his return to the capital, and yet every corner, every shadow in this city, reminds him of her. Of Y/N. His beloved, and the sister of the woman the Greens have fought so bitterly to keep from the throne. He grips the stone ledge tightly, knuckles white as he remembers the day he was brought back, humiliated and paraded like a traitor, a stain upon his family’s honor.

He had expected death. He would have welcomed it if it meant sparing him from the hollow gaze of Ser Criston Cole, who had demanded his execution for treason. The memory of Cole’s cold sneer, his self-righteous fury, still makes Gwayne’s blood simmer. The man had practically salivated at the thought of executing him, of making an example out of the “traitorous” Hightower who had saved Rhaenyra’s sister from the flames at Rook’s Rest. He would never regret that decision. Not for all the power, gold, or prestige in the world.

But it was not Cole who held Gwayne’s fate. It was his father, Otto, and his sister, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who intervened, silencing Cole’s demands with a forceful refusal. Yet, they had not been merciful. No, they had allowed the rotting head of Silverwing to be mounted for all to see, a cruel display meant to drive a wedge deeper into Gwayne’s heart. Silverwing, Y/N’s dragon, who had died protecting her—left to wither and decay like a forgotten relic. It was an injustice that Gwayne bore like a festering wound, a humiliation barely concealed beneath the mask of duty.

He shuts his eyes, and her face comes to him unbidden—the softness in her eyes that had never wavered, not even in the face of Daemon’s cold disdain, or the harsh realities of war. He remembers the warmth of her hand in his, the way her voice had soothed the fear in his heart, even when the world around them was crumbling. How could he not have saved her that day? How could anyone expect him to do anything less when it was her life at stake?

The rustle of skirts and the subtle scent of lavender and rosemary pulls him from his reverie. Gwayne opens his eyes, finding his sister standing beside him, her expression unreadable. Dowager Queen Alicent still carries herself with the grace of a woman who has shouldered too much, yet refuses to break beneath the weight. Her once fiery determination has dulled into a cold resolve, a woman shaped by grief and loss, and the endless machinations of court.

“Brother,” she greets softly, her voice carrying the echoes of weariness. “It’s been too long since we spoke.”

He offers her a tight nod, forcing the tension from his jaw. “It has, Your Grace.” The formality is deliberate, a barrier between them. Though they share blood, the distance between them has grown insurmountable over the years.

Alicent’s eyes flicker with something—regret, perhaps?—before she turns her gaze to the city below. “I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been restless of late. The men say you spend too much time brooding alone, staring into the distance as if searching for answers the gods have hidden from us.”

“I am where I am needed, as you and Father commanded,” he replies curtly, unwilling to entertain her probing. He knows what she’s doing. She’s always been good at drawing out what’s hidden beneath the surface, even when he wishes she wouldn’t.

She sighs softly, a sound filled with unspoken words. “You blame us for what was done to Silverwing.”

Gwayne’s grip tightens on the stone again. He doesn’t deny it. “It was a needless cruelty. She was a noble creature who died protecting her rider. Displaying her head like that—it was an insult to the memory of what she represented.”

“An insult, perhaps,” Alicent admits, her tone carefully measured. “But it was necessary. The people needed a symbol, something to remind them of the cost of defiance.”

He scoffs, bitterness curling his lips. “Defiance? Is that what you call saving someone I love?”

The admission slips out before he can stop it, the rawness of his emotions slicing through the air between them. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily breaking through her composed mask. But she recovers quickly, her gaze softening as she studies him. “You still think of her.”

“Every day,” Gwayne says quietly, the ache in his chest tightening. “I think of her every godsdamned day, and I regret nothing. You can have me stripped of titles, cast me into the black cells, and I would still choose to save her.”

For a long moment, there is silence between them, broken only by the distant clamor of the city below. Alicent’s eyes are misty as she watches him, her lips parting as if she’s searching for words that won’t come.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Love makes fools of us all, Gwayne. It blinds us to what is prudent, to what is wise. I once knew a man who would have risked everything for love, but time and circumstance have a way of teaching us that such devotion often leads to ruin.”

Gwayne meets her gaze, defiance burning in his eyes. “Then let me be a fool, Sister. I would rather be a fool than a coward who sacrifices what is right for what is safe.”

A flicker of pain crosses Alicent’s face at his words, but she doesn’t flinch. “I pray that the choices you’ve made do not bring you to ruin, Gwayne. We’re all caught in this web of power and bloodshed, each of us trying to hold onto what little we have left.”

Her words linger, heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. Gwayne looks away, his heart still tethered to thoughts of Y/N, of what might have been had the world been kinder, had fate been less cruel.

But the world is what it is—a place of suffering, where even the most noble acts are punished and love is a weakness to be exploited. Yet, even knowing that, he would still choose her. Every time.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Gwayne says after a long pause, his voice thick with resignation. “Daemon and Aemond are dead. The game we’ve all played has grown cold, and soon it will be Rhaenyra or Aegon who claims the last move.”

“Perhaps,” Alicent murmurs, though her eyes are distant, as if she’s looking at something far beyond this moment. “But war has a way of devouring everything in its path. Whatever happens next, we must be ready.”

Gwayne doesn’t reply. His thoughts drift back to Y/N, to her strength and the resolve she must be clinging to now. He wonders where she is, if she’s safe, and if she ever thinks of him the way he thinks of her.

But such thoughts are a luxury he cannot afford. He is here, bound by duty, trapped in a city where his only solace is the memory of what once was—and the unshakable knowledge that he would do it all over again, consequences be damned.

The clouds overhead break, and the first droplets of rain begin to fall. As the chill seeps into his bones, Gwayne turns away from the edge, leaving the ghosts of what might have been behind, even if they’ll never truly leave him.

The streets of King’s Landing are thick with discord, and the air hums with the whispers of the crowds. The cobblestones are slick with grime and spilled wine as people press closer to watch, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. The moment you arrived at the city gates, there was no ceremony, no dignity—only the iron grip of Ser Criston Cole’s men as they dragged you from your mount, jeering insults trailing in their wake.

“Look at the whore! Just like her sister!”

The words sting like poisoned arrows, yet you hold your head high, refusing to break. The crowd surges, pressing closer, feeding on the spectacle of your humiliation. You’ve been paraded through the streets like a common criminal, Cole’s grip never loosening as he drags you closer to the Red Keep, his eyes alight with vindictive satisfaction. It’s clear he’s been waiting for this moment, to claim victory over the woman —Rhaenyra— who once defied him and the family he serves so devoutly.

He stops abruptly before the gates of the Red Keep, turning to the gathered throng with a sneer curling his lips. “Behold! The dragon’s whore, sister to the pretender queen, come to grovel for mercy she does not deserve!” His voice carries, cold and mocking, inciting the crowd further. They howl their approval, eager for blood—yours or anyone else’s. It makes no difference to them.

But you do not bow your head. You meet Cole’s gaze with icy defiance, refusing to let him see how your heart hammers in your chest. The memories of Silverwing’s rotting head flash in your mind, a stark reminder of the cruelty that awaits you here. But you force yourself to stand tall. You’ve faced worse than this.

You’re brought into the throne room, where Alicent Hightower and her father, Otto, wait. Aegon’s absence is notable, but you know the reason. The rumors speak of his broken body, of his delirious cries as the milk of the poppy steals his sanity away. The once-proud king is now nothing more than a husk, a shadow of the tyrant he once was.

Alicent’s expression is tight with a mixture of weariness and caution, her eyes flicking between you and Cole as if assessing the weight of this confrontation. Otto stands beside her, his face carved from stone, every line etched with ambition and ruthlessness. It’s clear they intend to wring every ounce of leverage from this moment.

“You have a great deal of nerve coming here,” Otto begins, his voice clipped, “knowing the crimes you’ve committed against this family and this realm. You crippled the king, threw the Greens into disarray, and now you slink back like a beggar, expecting what? Mercy? Forgiveness?”

You square your shoulders, refusing to cower. “I came to end the bloodshed. How many more sons, brothers, and fathers must die before you realize that this war has no victors? Only ashes.”

Alicent’s eyes darken, the mention of sons clearly striking a nerve. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, the doors burst open, and Gwayne strides in, his face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“Enough of this!” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the chamber. He moves to rush toward you, but Cole steps forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, blocking Gwayne’s path.

“Stay back, Ser Gwayne. This is not your concern,” Cole snaps, his disdain for Gwayne evident in every word.

Gwayne’s eyes blaze as he turns his glare on Cole. “Not my concern? You dare speak to me of what concerns me when you’ve dragged the mother of my son through the streets like some common criminal? You’ve no right to degrade her like this!”

Otto’s eyes narrow at his son, but his voice remains calm, almost condescending. “You forget your place, Gwayne. This is not a matter for your heart to decide. The woman stands accused of treason, of crimes against the Crown.”

“I care nothing for your accusations, Father!” Gwayne’s voice cracks with the intensity of his emotions. “I will not stand by while you humiliate the woman I love—while you let her suffer when this war has already taken too much from all of us!”

There is a silence that follows his words, thick with the weight of what he’s just confessed. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, her gaze softening with a flicker of sympathy as she studies her brother’s desperate expression. She’s lost so much—Aemond to the skies above the Gods Eye, Daeron at Tumbleton, and Aegon reduced to a broken shell. For a moment, her mask of cold resolve cracks.

“What would you have me do, Gwayne?” she asks quietly, almost pleading. “What resolution is there, when every path leads to more bloodshed?”

Gwayne takes a step forward, his voice gentler now, imploring. “Let me marry her. Let Viserys’ refusal be buried with him. If we end this cycle of vengeance, perhaps—just perhaps—we can stop this madness. Rhaenyra’s forces are strong, but even she tires of the bloodshed. The realm cannot survive more of this conflict.”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, uncertainty warring with her long-held beliefs. “Marrying her would be an insult to the Greens, to everything we’ve fought for. How can you ask me to allow such a union?”

“Because you’ve already lost two sons,” Gwayne says, his voice raw with pain. “Daemon is dead, and so is Aemond. Aegon is no longer fit to rule. You know it, Alicent. We’re fighting a war for a crown that no one truly wants anymore—not in the way it once mattered. The people starve, the dragons die, and for what? The Iron Throne is a curse, not a prize. Let there be peace. Let us find some measure of hope before it all crumbles to dust.”

His words hang heavy in the air, each one a plea, not just for your freedom, but for an end to the suffering that has stained this realm. Alicent looks away, tears glistening in her eyes as the truth of his words gnaws at her heart.

Otto, however, is unmoved. “You would throw away every gain we’ve made for the whims of your heart? This woman’s marriage to Daemon was a slight to our family’s honor from the beginning. To accept her now would be to admit defeat.”

But before Gwayne can respond, Alicent raises a hand, silencing them both. Her voice is quiet, but it carries the full weight of her authority. “No, Father. Perhaps Gwayne is right. How much more can we lose before there is nothing left worth protecting?” Her gaze turns back to you, and for the first time, you see not just a queen, but a mother who has lost almost everything. “If there is a chance to end this, to save what remains of our families, then we must take it.”

Gwayne exhales shakily, relief flooding his features as he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Let me marry her, Alicent. Let this be the beginning of something better—something that might actually last.”

Alicent stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the choice before her. Then, finally, she nods, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Very well. The marriage will be sanctioned. But know this—if this decision leads to more chaos, more ruin, it will be on your head, Gwayne.”

Gwayne bows his head in gratitude, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Sister.”

Cole steps back reluctantly, anger simmering in his eyes, but he knows better than to openly defy the queen. As the tension in the room finally begins to ease, Gwayne moves to your side, his fingers brushing against yours, a touch meant to ground you both after everything that has happened.

You meet his gaze, the storm of emotions within you barely held in check. This was not the path you envisioned, nor the life you had dreamed of, but it is the one before you now. And perhaps, in this fragile truce, there is a glimmer of hope—for your son, for Gwayne, and for the future you might yet carve from the ruins of war.

For now, you allow yourself the comfort of his presence, knowing that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

The room is dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The scent of roses and herbs wafts through the air as the servants bustle around you, their hands quick but gentle as they prepare your bath. You can barely focus on their movements; your mind is still spinning from the events of the day, from the jeers of the crowd to the cold fury in Otto’s eyes. Your body aches, the cuts and scrapes from being dragged through the streets stinging sharply with every brush of fabric against your skin.

When you finally lower yourself into the steaming water, a hiss escapes your lips as the heat bites into your wounds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, determined not to show even the smallest sign of weakness. The water slowly works its way into your muscles, easing some of the tension, but your thoughts remain a tangled mess. You think of Vaeron, of what he must be feeling, and of Gwayne—the man who risked everything for you, who still fights for you.

The sound of the door creaking open draws your attention. You glance up, expecting one of the servants, but instead, you see Gwayne. His presence fills the room, his eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. The servants freeze, their hands mid-task, exchanging nervous glances.

“Out,” Gwayne says, his voice low and commanding.

The servants hesitate, torn between obeying their orders and respecting the strict instructions they’ve been given by Otto. But Gwayne steps forward, his gaze hardening. “I said out,” he repeats, more sharply this time.

The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument. The servants bow hastily, gathering their things and scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker.

You watch Gwayne as he strides toward you, his expression softening as he takes in the sight of you in the bath. But there’s still a dark fury simmering beneath the surface, a quiet rage barely held in check. He kneels beside the tub, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on the cuts and bruises that mar your skin. His jaw tightens as he reaches out, his fingertips grazing a particularly nasty scrape on your arm.

“They did this to you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with barely-suppressed anger. “Cole did this to you.”

You can see the guilt in his eyes, as if he blames himself for not being there, for not stopping it before it happened. You reach out and touch his hand, trying to reassure him, but the moment your skin meets his, something shifts between you. The air grows thick with tension, a tension that has been simmering for far too long.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, but it’s all you manage to say before the words are stolen from your lips by the intensity in his gaze.

Without a word, he leans forward, cupping your face with both hands, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, but beneath it, you feel the tremor of barely-contained desire, of need and longing that has been held back for far too long. He moves closer, and you feel his breath against your lips, warm and ragged.

“I can’t bear seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t stand knowing what they did to you, how they hurt you.” His eyes darken, his expression raw. “You deserve so much more. You deserve everything, and all they’ve ever given you is pain.”

His words are laced with a desperation that pulls at something deep within you. You’ve both suffered so much, sacrificed so much, and yet, here you are, still drawn to each other with a pull that’s stronger than duty or fear.

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s you or him—but suddenly his lips are on yours, and the dam that’s held back your desire for so long shatters. The kiss is not soft or tentative; it’s fierce, fueled by months of longing and years of denied affection. His hands cradle your face, and you respond with equal fervor, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, turning frantic, as if you’re both afraid that if you stop, the world will tear you apart again. You can taste the salt of your own tears mingling with his as he kisses you with a passion that’s almost overwhelming. Your bodies move of their own accord, and before you know it, you’re both reaching for each other with a desperate urgency.

Gwayne pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes searching yours, filled with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. “Let me have you,” he breathes, his voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nod, the words caught in your throat, and he rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving yours as he sheds his cloak and begins to unlace his tunic. You watch, your heart pounding, as he strips away the layers, revealing the body you’ve longed for, the one that’s haunted your dreams. There’s no more hesitation, no more fear—only desire, raw and unbridled.

He steps closer, helping you out of the bath, his hands warm against your damp skin. You undress him as he guides you toward the bed, your hands trembling with anticipation. The kiss is reignited the moment you’re close enough, fiercer now, more demanding. There’s no gentleness this time—only a primal need to feel each other, to claim and be claimed.

When he finally presses you down onto the bed, there’s nothing slow or tender about the way he moves into you. It’s not like the times you’ve been together before, where every touch was measured, every caress deliberate. This time, it’s raw, almost rough, driven by months of pent-up desire and longing. He thrusts into you with a desperation that makes you gasp, your body arching beneath him as you cling to him, meeting each of his movements with your own.

It’s frantic, unrelenting—a tangle of limbs and fevered kisses as you both give in completely to the storm that’s been brewing between you. Every thrust is a declaration, every kiss a vow unspoken. There’s no room for words, only the sounds of your shared pleasure, the feel of his body against yours as he takes you with a hunger that has no end.

You’re both lost in it, in the release of everything you’ve held back for so long. The tension, the heartache, the desire—it all spills out in this moment, leaving you breathless, trembling with the intensity of it all. You give yourself over to him completely, letting him take you in every way you were once denied, and he meets you with the same fervor, as if he’s been starving for you.

And then, in the midst of it all, you reach your peak together, a wave of pleasure crashing over you both. The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment—where there is no war, no crowns or thrones—just the two of you, lost in each other.

Afterward, you collapse against him, both of you breathless, your hearts pounding in tandem. Gwayne wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your back.

“I should never have let you go,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. “You didn’t let me go,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over his lips. “We were both trapped by the choices others made for us. But now… now, we have a chance.”

His grip tightens around you, a silent vow in the way he holds you close. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone. Not anymore.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in that promise, even if it’s only for this fleeting moment.

#house of the dragon #hotd gwayne #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne #gwayne hightower #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #gwayne x y/n #alicent hightower #otto hightower #ser criston cole #silverwing #rhaenyra targeryan

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oldsoul007 · 14 days ago

Text

forbidden desires

dr. charlie mayhew x reader

summary: you’re fathers doctor is drawn to you and you can’t deny how drain you are to him

Dr. Charlie Mayhew was a man of precision and control, his life meticulously ordered within the sterile walls of the hospital. Yet, beneath his composed exterior, a storm brewed. His days were filled with the monotony of medical routines until y/n entered his world. She was the daughter of one of his patients, a beacon of light in the dark corridors of the hospital.

Y/ns visits were frequent, her presence a stark contrast to the clinical coldness that surrounded them. There was an intensity in her eyes that drew Charlie in, a forbidden allure that he couldn't resist. Their interactions were charged with an undercurrent of tension, each glance and touch igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

One evening, as the hospital quieted, Charlie found himself unable to resist the pull any longer. He sought her out, finding her in the dimly lit garden where shadows danced around them. The air was thick with unspoken desires as he approached her.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice rough with longing. "I can't keep pretending this isn't happening."

She turned to him, her eyes dark and filled with a hunger that mirrored his own. "I've felt it too, Charlie. This... whatever it is between us, it's like a dark force pulling us together."

Their meetings grew more clandestine, each encounter more intense than the last. They found solace in the secrecy, their affair a dangerous dance that teetered on the edge of discovery. The thrill of the forbidden only heightened their passion, each stolen moment a testament to the depths of their desire.

One night, in the shadows of the hospital's deserted wing, Charlie pulled y/n into a hidden alcove. Their breaths mingled, the air electric with anticipation. "This is madness," he murmured against her lips. "But I can't stop."

Y/n fingers tangled in his hair, her voice a breathless whisper. "Then don't. Let the madness consume us."

Our kiss was fierce, a collision of need and desperation. In the darkness, we surrendered to the forbidden, our affair a tempest of passion and peril. We knew the risks, the potential for ruin, but in each other's arms, we found a twisted kind of salvation.

As our relationship deepened, the lines between right and wrong blurred, leaving us both ensnared in a web of dark romance. The hospital became our secret sanctuary, a place where our forbidden love could thrive in the shadows, unseen and unchallenged.

The hospital was eerily quiet one night, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by a haunting stillness. Charlie had been on edge all day, the anticipation of seeing y/n again gnawing at him. He knew it was dangerous, that anyone could walk in at any moment, but the risk only fueled his desire.

He found me in an empty room, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. I was waiting for him, my eyes filled with the same longing that burned within him. Without a word, he closed the door behind him and crossed the room in a few quick strides.

Our lips met in a heated, desperate kiss, years of restraint and propriety melting away in an instant. Charlie's hands roamed over my body, pulling me closer, needing to feel every inch of me against him. I responded with equal fervor, my fingers threading through his hair as I pressed myself against him.

The room seemed to disappear around them, leaving only the two of us lost in our passion. Charlie's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the intensity of our embrace. He backed me up against the wall, his lips never leaving mine, our kiss deepening with each passing second.

I moaned softly against his mouth, my hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him even closer. The sound drove Charlie wild, his desire for me growing with every touch, every gasp. He trailed kisses down my neck, savoring the taste of my skin, the way I shivered under his touch.

"Charlie," I whispered, my voice a mix of need and urgency. "We shouldn't... but I can't stop."

"Neither can I," he murmured against my skin. "I need you, y/n. I need you now."

Our kisses grew more frantic, our hands exploring, claiming. The world outside that room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of us, caught in the throes of our forbidden passion. It was reckless, it was dangerous, but in that moment, it was everything.

Charlie’s hands moved to his tie, loosening it with a sense of urgency. He tossed it aside, his focus solely on me. Our kisses grew more heated, our breaths mingling in the confined space. Just as he was about to deepen the kiss, the door burst open.

A nurse rushed in, her face pale and eyes wide with alarm. "Dr. Mayhew! It's d/n ! We need you right now!"

The words hit them like a splash of cold water. I pulled away, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now. "What happened?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice.

The nurse didn't waste any time. "He's taken a turn for the worse. We need you in his room immediately."

Charlie and I exchanged a look, our moment shattered. Without another word, we hurried out of the room, our passionate encounter forgotten in the face of the urgent news about my dad.

We rushed down the hallway, the urgency of the nurse's words propelling us forward. When we reached my dad's room, they found him sitting up in bed, looking slightly confused but otherwise fine.

The nurse, now catching her breath, quickly checked the monitors and then turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, it looks like it was a false alarm. His vitals are stable, and there's no immediate concern."

I let out a sigh of relief, my heart still pounding from the scare. I glanced at Charlie, who gave me a reassuring nod. The tension that had built up during our passionate moment shifted into a shared sense of relief and gratitude.

I approached my dad, taking his hand gently. "I'm glad you're okay, Dad," I said softly.

Charlie stood back, giving them a moment, but his eyes never left y/n. The intensity of their earlier encounter lingered in the air, a reminder of the deep connection they shared, even in the face of unexpected interruptions.

After making sure my dad was comfortable and everything was truly okay, we stepped out into the hallway. The adrenaline was still coursing through our veins, but now it was mixed with a sense of relief.

I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my breath. "That was close," I said, a small laugh escaping my lips. "We almost got caught."

Charlie chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that was definitely a close call. I don't think my heart has ever raced that fast."

I looked at him, my eyes softening. "Thank you for being here, Charlie. I don't know what I would have done without you."

He stepped closer, his expression serious but tender. "You don't have to thank me, y/n. I'm here for you, always."

We stood there for a moment, the intensity of our earlier moment still lingering between them. Despite the scare, it was clear that our connection had only grown stronger through the shared experience.

Dr. Charlie had always been passionate about his work, but lately, the stress had been getting to him especially with him and y/n’s affair. His anger issues were starting to surface more frequently, and y/n could see the change in him. One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Charlie's frustration boiled over.

"Why can't anything just go right?" he snapped, slamming a stack of papers onto his desk. I watched him, my heart aching for him but also feeling a pang of fear.

"Charlie, you need to calm down," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "This isn't like you."

He turned to me, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and desperation. "You don't understand, y/n. The pressure is unbearable, and then there's you... I can't stop thinking about you, and it's fucking driving me insane!"

I felt a surge of fear and frustration. "Charlie, you're scaring me. I care about you, but you can't keep taking your anger out on me. It's not fair."

Charlie took a step back, his expression softening as he realized the impact of his words. "I'm sorry, y/n. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just... everything feels like it's falling apart, and I don't know how to handle it."

I bit back my own tears, my voice firm. "I understand you're stressed, but you need to find a way to deal with it without lashing out. We both have our struggles, and we need to support each other, not tear each other down."

Charlie nodded, the fire in his eyes dimming. "You're right. I need to get a grip on my anger, for both our sakes. I'm sorry, y/n. I'll do better."

We stood there, the tension slowly easing as we faced the reality of our situation. It was clear that our relationship was a source of both strength and stress, and we would need to navigate it carefully if we were to find any semblance of peace.

As Charlie stood there, the weight of his apology hanging in the air, I took a hesitant step forward. The tension between us was palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and unspoken words. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine remorse.

"Charlie," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I know you're trying. I can see it."

Before I could say anything else, Charlie closed the distance between us, his hands gently cupping my face. Our eyes locked, and in that moment, all the anger, fear, and confusion seemed to melt away. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a heated kiss.

I responded instantly, my arms wrapping around his neck as I pressed myself against him. The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotions we had been holding back. Charlie's hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer as he backed me up against his desk.

Papers scattered to the floor as we continued to kiss, our passion taking over. Charlie lifted me onto the desk, his lips never leaving mine. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of us, lost in the moment.

When we finally pulled away, both of us were breathless. Charlie rested his forehead against mine, his hands still holding mine close. "I don't ever want to lose you," he murmured, his voice filled with raw emotion.

I smiled softly, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You won't," I promised. "We'll figure this out together."

In that moment, we both knew that despite the challenges ahead, our connection was stronger than ever.

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez imagine #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholaschavezimagines #charlie mayhew x reader #charliemayhewimagine #charliemayhewimagines #dr charlie mayhew #father charlie grotesquerie #father charlie x reader #father charlie mayhew #doctor charlie mayhew

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tinycozycomfort · 1 year ago

Text

trust fall

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day two of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: fluid exchange -> read her day two here

summary: This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nice enough.

warnings/tags: pwp!, fluid exchange (come eating/spitting), oral sex (f receiving), anal play, dirty talk, mention of unprotected piv, dom/sub dynamics, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), praise kink, edging

word count: 1.6k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: arguably the filthiest thing i've ever written (nervous) but wow was it great practice. thank you for reading!

main masterlist

“What a mess. Who’s gonna clean all this up, sweetheart?”

He’s thumbing at the crease of your thigh where it folds into your core, pulling against the bend so that your seam widens. You can feel him looking, each cool swing of his breath fanning over the heat at your center. The slow trickle of where he leaks out of you makes your skin tighten, shrinking uncomfortably over muscle in little welts.

Joel doesn’t take well to your lack of focus, choosing to demand your attention instead; the press of his thumb turns harder, meeting the end of his pointer to pinch. The pain is instant, but the delay from your haze makes you skip a yelp all together, straight to words like he wants.

“I’ll clean myself.”

He hums, releasing your flesh, petting the wound where it thrums, “Now how can you reach all the way down here?”

You know this game well—where he means to reduce you to less than incapable, framing it like you’ve lost your way after what he’s just done to you. He wants to act like he can help you, when in reality it’s done to service himself, only further fueling his need to be in control—a role that toes the line between offender and caretaker. He aches to relinquish you of every responsibility, even that of thought.

Joel swipes at the come that refuses to let up where it’s dripping out, making a slow show—one that only he can see and only you can feel—of gathering and pooling and reinserting it, just to watch it slip out again.

“I-I don’t know. But I need to get clean.”

He’s smiling something horrible, eyes shining when you gaze down to plead your case for assistance.

“Oh, poor thing, I know. It’s not your fault,” he dips his thumb into you before trailing up just under the bead of skin above your opening, “There’s just so much. But you’re right, we can’t have you ruining the sheets.” Joel bares his teeth again when you hiss, narrowly missing your clit when you try to maneuver your way into his hand.

You pant, barely able to piece together your cue, “How?”

“Hard to think after the way I fucked you, hm?” He brushes his free hand across the hill of your cheek, pitiful, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “I guess I could help you, sweetheart. Do you want that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, please.”

“There she goes. My polite girl. Same one who begged for all this mess in the first place—isn’t that right?”

You can’t bear to try and find the words, just letting your head loll to the side so you can nod without the pain of keeping your neck straight. He’s unraveling your grip thread by thread so you can become the soft, helpless thing he needs you to be.

He shoves himself down, ducks his head to be level with your cunt, the hot vent of air around his face bleeding onto you. He’s worked up—you know it from the delicate shudder in his hands, the uneven half-steps in his breathing—and while he swears he can’t, you wish he’d fuck you again. You wriggle, back flat to the bed and knees spreading instinctively.

Joel starts at the slip of skin separating your cunt from what sits beneath it, careful to catch what he couldn’t collect on the last sweep. His mouth is warm and his tongue gentle, but the breath it punches out of you is hard—furious.

You’re humming high in your throat, past the point of well-mannered, and he’s delighted, slipping the muscle between his lips inside of you, tilting his head just enough so that his nose can’t touch where you’re throbbing for him most.

You beg, “Joel. Joel, please,” rolling the knobs of your spine forcefully enough to sting, trying uselessly to make contact. He huffs, forearm mashing haphazardly against the curve of your hip, flustered.

“You don’t need it, honey. Now keep still.”

You’re full-on whining now, little pieces of sound, reedy and loud and not enough to make him feel bad, apparently.

He nestles himself back in, the wide flat of his tongue pressing hard enough to breach your hole, spooning out everything you saved for him inside you and you start to seethe, a thin film of sweat breaking out across your chest—boiling.

The hand you haven’t felt in a while returns to a different place, the tips of his pointer and middle brushing under where he’s eating you, the hole there wet with whatever continues to evade his mouth.

He circles it and you fidget, begging him for anything more, the slow working of his jaw not enough to bring you to the edge.

There’s the other half of the game—if you can’t come before he’s deemed you clean, you don’t get to at all.

A sticky curl of love swells in your belly at how familiar you are now with this routine, how far he’s come—peeling away enough of his distance to show his face, to bring you to this. This, that was a shy thing at first, set into motion by some passing remark you’d made all those months ago—that he would do anything for you if you just asked nicely enough.

Joel’s uncovered desire to see you need him, beg for him, just to make him relent in your favor, was intoxicating. In turn, he continues to make it harder every time for you both, upping the stakes after you barely manage to satisfy his last demand; narrow wins that remind you of just how much power he holds. Always sweet and comforting and protecting, even if from the severity of himself.

Your stomach clenches, trying frantically to pace your breaths, to focus on the feeling of every too-long pass that has him nudging the underside of your clit, the way his fingers tease against your asshole. He hums in warning, almost done, and you knock a fist against the bed in frustration.

He pulls away suddenly and your shoulders cave, upset by his unwarned finish, and you’re ready to apologize within an inch of your life when he pipes up.

“Am I not enough for you, honey? You liked my cock, plenty. Why can’t you do it for my mouth, too?”

“Joel. Joel, you are—you’re enough. I just– right now I need more.”

“No, you don’t. And I’m not going to tell you again. Now—” he uses the hand not already playing with you to dig into the meat of your thigh, nails drawn, maybe a little upset by how many words you’ve managed despite his ministrations, “Make me happy.”

He sways low again, the return of his mouth against-underneath-inside of you making your hands curl, a warm buzz floating up through your legs and forearms to meet together in the middle. He’s fervent, determined to prove you wrong now that you’ve challenged his ability and you’re squealing, so light-headed from the effort to breathe that you’re close to stopping all together.

Joel feeds his lip between his teeth against you reflexively, like he’s trying to hold himself back for a moment, and the idea that he’s gearing up for a long night makes you heave.

He tries to hide his tell, taking the quickest pause to spit onto his fingers, prodding at your asshole to divert your attention, hardly sliding in as to not give you more than you’ve earned, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, now. Haven’t worked for much of anything yet.”

“But–”

“Show me you can be good, first. Shouldn’t be so hard for you, honey, c’mon.” He inches closer once more, breathing out against you, alternating between little puffs of cold exhales and firm pants of hot air.

You writhe, so pent up you feel restricted by your own body, like climbing out from a pool fully-clothed—heavy and sopping and always tipping back with resistance. Your face is on fire, fingers twisting to try and take the brunt of your need to move.

Joel is ecstatic—you can hear the wet slide of his grin—and you’re right at the cusp of giving in when he breaks the gap, hot mouth latching onto your clit and you’re gone. You can feel it spread the length of your core first, filling out quickly to everywhere else and you jolt, legs snapping together fast enough that your knees knock above his head.

He repositions his hands, squeezing between them to pry you open. You wedge a wrist behind you, trying to lift yourself in an effort to stop him but when you peer down, the look on his face is serene, pleading. An exercise in trust maybe—that he’s acquainted enough with your body to know your limit.

You let yourself rest again and inhale deep, letting him work you down to a stop, the feeling of overstimulation falling into a wash of fuzzy static . Only after you unfold does Joel remove himself, pressing light kisses to the peak of your hip bone on his way up—proud.

He leans over your torso, his chest parallel, the damp rub of your skin setting your heart off as you breathe in tandem. Selfishly, you scrabble a bit, wanting desperately to have more claim on his body.

“Hey, hey. Shh. No need to do all that. I’m right here for you.” Joel gathers up your palm between his fingers, sliding your limp knuckles over his cheeks, the little curve of his lip. A moment passes and you reclaim ownership of it, caressing the underside of his jaw faintly.

“Was I good?” you whisper.

“So good. See, I knew you could do it.”

He nudges at the band of rib under your breast, “Maybe even a little too good—looking very empty now, sweetheart. What do you think we oughta do about that?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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wolfinsheepsclothes · 8 months ago

Text

“I kissed you,” Remus repeated, digging his teeth into his lower lip while he listened to Sirius. The whispering was unexpected in a way, but he couldn’t blame Sirius. Not when there was so much at risk if it turned into neither of them feeling the same way about the other.

“I’ve wanted to for a while,” He answered, chewing at his lower lip. “Should’ve maybe said something sooner but I—“ Remus trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. “Too much worrying about it ruining things or… feelings not being returned.”

Remus reached forward to take hold of Sirius’ hand. “Really should’ve said something the last time we… You’d think I would have the nerve to with everything else I have going on.”

The night before came back in a rush, something that had been dancing at the edges of his mind that he had pushed back, thinking it was a dream. It was real? They had been dancing, having a wonderful time, free and full of life, enjoying it after all the ugliness of the war. A big grin on both of their faces at their drunken movements, savouring the moment. All of a sudden the look on Remus’ face had changed, he moved closer, his face coming toward him, a clash of lips. It had shocked him, but only for a moment before he was kissing his friend back, running his fingers through his hair and pulling him close.

It had ended with them coming back here, falling into his bed in a tangle of limbs, kissing and snuggling close till they had fallen asleep. He had wondered what would happen when the dam burst, when he thought he would finally go mad with it and break down and kiss Remus being unable to resist any longer. But here it was, Remus had kissed him. Did that change things, the fact that he had initiated it? He wasn’t sure. He took a deep breath before biting down on his lower lip, considering his words carefully.

“You kissed me,” he repeated. The words were so foreign but he liked them. “I…I don’t want you to take it back,” his voice was near a whisper. Even though Remus had made a move first they were both drunk. “I did kiss you back… but I could ask the same of you, if the alcohol made you do it… or if it was something you wanted to do before that like I did.” He let that hang there, feeling like the cards were now all on the table. He kissed Remus back, he admitted to having thought about doing it before, that it wasn’t just the alcohol. That it was a miracle it hadn’t happened far before now.

#threads: sirius #i've lost control of all my words [threads]

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catsharky · 8 days ago

Note

Are we still gonna get more of the Rolan comic?

I've gotten a couple of asks about this, so sorry to the other people who asked previously and didn't get a reply!

There is absolutely going to be more! The rest of the Rolan comic is completely written and partly roughed out, and I do intend to see it through to the end. Unfortunately this has been a pretty accurate depiction of how 2024 has been treating me:

It's been Flat Stanley-ing my ass.

I will get back to it, it's just been a case where something had to give and unfortunately my comics wound up being the thing I had to put on the backburner 😭

If anyone is curious, I rambled about what's been up under the cut:

The long and short of it is that early this year my partner and I very suddenly and stressfully went from being part-time to full-time parents, in a house that is not big enough to have a family of 4 living in it full time. We also gained 2 additional pets at the same time, bringing us up to a total of 4 (2 cats, 1 snake and 1 hamster).

While that would make it cramped enough, my partner and I have lost a combined total of 5 family members in the past 3 years, and ignoring the emotional toll, we wound up being responsible for the belongings of three of them. Every time we manage to get our house a little bit cleared out, another person dies and we have to find room for another house's worth of stuff!!!

So I have been hanging on to my sanity by a thread cause it's hard to concentrate on comics when I am stuck working in a room where Fortnite or Minecraft youtubers or worse are all but constantly playing in the background.

On top of all that, all of the windows in our house had to be replaced because they hadn't been updated or well maintained since the place was built and the frames were rotting and growing mold. So we got to spend a couple of months trying to tetris our house into a state where the window company could have room to work last week.

And if that wasn't all enough, my little old man of a cat (who is my baby and largely my responsibility) developed keratitis- which despite all efforts continued to worsen over the last several months-, was diagnosed with diabetes, and finally had to have his eye removed this week. I've discovered new stress responses I didn't even know I had thanks to that, and I've been sick with a hellcold during both this and the window replacement 🙃

I've also been unemployed since December, which is both a blessing and a curse because on one hand I think I probably would have had an actual mental breakdown by now if I'd had to deal with all this while working full time, but on the other hand we can't move until I have a job again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So basically this year has been very AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and I would really love it if whoever is controlling the game of the sims I'm living in would stop putting me in the torment nexus right about now, please and thank you.

Joke's on them though because I'm both a creature of spite and incapable of giving up, so in the words of Disco Elysium, 'Life gets hard but we go on' and we do!!! 😤

#anon ask #sharky speaks #sharky art #<technically. I think.

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special-agent-sass · 1 year ago

Text

Brighter Future

Warnings: Smut, Dominant Gibbs.

I wanted to try something new so I wrote this in the typical third-person POV but focusing on Gibbs’ thoughts rather than the reader’s. I don’t know how to feel about it.. read it, tell me what ya think haha. I tried my best.

Gibbs slammed the basement door behind him, his jaw clenched in frustration. That damn woman was going to be the death of him. When he'd seen Y/N leave the bar with some pretty boy, laughing and flirting, his gut had twisted into knots. He knew it was irrational - she wasn't his to claim - but that did nothing to temper the surge of jealousy burning through him.

Taking a deep breath, Gibbs tried to rein in his emotions as he started sanding the latest addition to his boat. It was a lost cause, though. No matter how hard he focused on the rhythmic strokes, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N Y/L/N. The beautiful, stubborn, reckless thorn in his side. From the moment she'd joined his team two years ago, Gibbs had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. With her leather jacket, tattooed skin, those damn tight jeans and devil-may-care attitude, she was everything he never knew he wanted.

They clashed constantly, her recklessness grating against his rigid control. But underneath the arguments simmered an attraction that left them both flustered and on-edge. He'd catch her gazing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, green eyes dark with longing. It took every ounce of restraint not to pin her against the wall and kiss that smart mouth of hers until neither of them could breathe.

Gibbs switched to a finer grit sandpaper, losing himself in the methodical motions. This was useless. She consumed his thoughts whether he liked it or not. He remembered the first time he saw her - long dark hair spilling over a muscular back, tight jeans accentuating every curve. When she'd turned and met his gaze, Gibbs felt a spark of electricity jolt through him. No one had affected him like that in a long time.

From that moment on, she was always there, challenging him, pushing his buttons. He lived for their clashes, the passion simmering between them. But he had to be careful. Dating a co-worker never ended well, and she was too young for the likes of him anyway.

So Gibbs had resigned himself to longing from afar, sure she would never share his inappropriate feelings. Seeing her with that young punk at the bar, Gibbs' restraint shattered like glass. The thought of her going home with someone else sent him into a possessive rage he didn't recognize.

Gibbs looked up when he heard his front door open. Speak of the devil. Y/N hesitated at the top of the stairs, uncertainty clouding her features. His heart stuttered as their eyes met. God she was beautiful, even with her lip caught between her teeth and uncharacteristic vulnerability lurking in her gaze.

Setting the sandpaper down, Gibbs turned to face her. "Shouldn't you be out with your boyfriend?" He winced as the words came out harsher than he intended.

Y/N didn't seem offended, though. Slowly descending the stairs, she said "He's not my boyfriend. Just an old friend from high school."

Gibbs watched her approach, the sway of her hips hypnotic. His mouth went dry when she stopped mere inches away, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't go home with him. I realized there was somewhere else I wanted to be instead."

Gibbs' pulse roared in his ears as her meaning sank in. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and caressed her cheek, thrilling when she leaned into his touch. Her skin was so soft under his calloused fingers and he ached to explore every inch of her.

"Y/N..." he started, but she placed a delicate finger over his lips.

"I'm tired of dancing around this, Jethro. I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

That was all the permission Gibbs needed. With a groan he threaded his fingers through her hair and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted against him instantly, nails scraping down his back as she kissed him back fiercely. It was better than any fantasy - the taste of her, the feel of her supple body aligning with his.

Gibbs maneuvered them until Y/N was pinned between him and the workbench. His hands drifted down to grip her ass, pulling her tight against him as he dominated the kiss, taking everything she offered. When they finally broke for air, he took in her kiss-swollen lips and darkened gaze. She was a vision.

"I need you. Now," Y/N panted, and Gibbs heartily agreed. He made quick work of her shirt, groaning at the expanse of tattooed skin revealed. Dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, he deftly unhooked her bra and palmed her breasts. Y/N moaned loudly when he bit down on the skin below her jaw, the sound shooting straight to his groin.

He deftly unbuttoned her jeans. His hand slipped inside, finding her hot and wet for him already. Y/N cried out as he stroked her. Her head fell back, exposing the graceful column of her throat. he ducked down to kiss and nip his way up to her ear.

"Tell me you're mine," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, all yours," she panted.

Gibbs withdrew his hand, ignoring her noise of protest as he stripped her jeans off. He bent her over the table.

"You've been teasing me for months in these tight jeans," Gibbs said gruffly, caressing her ass. He gave her a sharp smack and she yelped. "Now you're going to get what you deserve."

He intended to take his time worshipping every inch of her, but Y/N was having none of it. She looked over her shoulder at him with lustful eyes and begged "please, just take me!"

Well, who was he to deny such a polite request?

He freed myself from his own jeans. With one powerful thrust he was buried inside her tight heat. Y/N cried out, pushing back against him. Gibbs set a relentless pace, all the desire he’d bottled up spilling out.

"Harder!" she gasped. He obliged, gripping her hips bruisingly tight.

Gibbs could feel her getting close, inner muscles starting to flutter around him. He reached around to circle her clit and she shattered with a scream, her climax triggering his. He came hard, emptying himself deep inside her.

Later, they lay tangled together on a pile of blankets, her head pillowed on his chest. Idly trailing his fingers over her back, Gibbs pressed a kiss into her hair.

"What made you change your mind about us?" he asked.

Y/N tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "I saw the way you looked at me tonight. Like I was something precious. No one's ever looked at me like that before."

Gibbs' heart swelled and he pulled her close. "You are precious. And you're mine now."

She smiled softly. "Yours. As long as you'll have me."

"Forever then," he stated simply. Y/N's eyes shone at that and she snuggled into his embrace.

As Gibbs held the beautiful, reckless woman who had captured his heart, he sent up a silent thanks to whoever had brought her crashing into his life. With her by his side, the future seemed brighter than ever.

#gibbs x reader #gibbs x y/n #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis gibbs #gibbs smut #smut #ncis fanfiction #jethro gibbs x reader

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springcourtrose · 9 months ago

Text

Please, stop... | Part 3

Pairing: Helion x reader (x Nessian)

Warnings: smut - mentions of abusive relationship and SA - MINORS DNI

Prompt: you’re Nesta and Cassian’s mate and yet you are so different from them. From day 1 you tried to be a good mate and do as they wanted and liked but they like it rough and you just don’t. Not only is it not enjoyable for you, it is actually painful. And not just in bed. You always excused their behavior as being overprotective but recently you started calling it something else: controlling. And one night, all changed as you uttered the words you had tried so hard never to say, but always thinking if you ever did they would listen. But they didn’t. And that night, everything broke.

(A/N: English isn't my first language)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Helion had promised himself three things:

He'd make Cassian and Nesta pay for ever hurting you.

He'd tell Rhys exactly what he thought of his 'court of dreams'.

He would make you happy again.

And he would stop at nothing to make the latter happen sooner rather than later.

He hadn't left your side ever since you woke up. He had looked after you and seen you through the withering until he was satisfied you weren't going to die from it. He had wiped away all of your tears. He had held you as you cried. Had comforted you when your thoughts took you in deep and dark places.

To his relief, you didn't show anymore sign of withering after the first day. He hadn't asked but you knew he knew. He knew you hadn't destroyed the bond completely.

That one thin thread remained. Neither of you spoke of it. You didn't even want to think about it. But you couldn't bring yourself to shut your mates off completely. To say goodbye to them forever. Perhaps that made you an idiot, or weak, but you just couldn't do it. And Helion never made you feel bad about it.

You had lost track of time. Helion had made it so easy. He had food brought to his chambers and he ate every single meal with you in his bed. He had made everything available to you. You were never alone, if only for one hour every day to allow you to bathe and for him to see to his duties. But when you got out of the bathroom, he was there, waiting for you. Every time.

That was when you had first smiled at him. Your first smile since...

You had found him on his bed, waiting for you with a plate of sweets. The sight had filled you with a warm joy. It had made you feel like the luckiest female in Prythian. The smile he gave you in return had healed a small part of you. You had felt it in your chest.

You laid in his bed, feeling content and at peace. He was lying on his side next to you, one arm propped on his elbow, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. The first time he had done so, you had burst into tears after a few minutes. You had never shared such a moment with Cassian and Nesta. They had never showed you such gentleness and patience. You had apologized to Helion for it, but he only kissed the tears away and made you promise never to apologize for crying again.

The feeling of his lips on your skin had sparked something in you. Something you had never felt before. A craving. You craved his touch and presence. You had never craved for anyone in this way. Not even your mates. No. You had feared and avoided them. And deep down you knew you would never fear or avoid him.

Slowly, you brought a hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes and hummed as you touched him.

"Thank you, Helion."

"Mmh, do not thank me, my moonshine. I am a selfish male."

"Why?"

"Because I wished for this. I've been wishing for this since the first time I met you."

His confession startled you. But only for a moment.

"I wished they were more like you. When I went back to them after our days here together. I wished they would be as nice and gentle as you. But they never ever asked me about my day. You asked. You wanted to know everything. You cared."

"I care," he nodded, taking your hand in his and bringing your knuckles to his lips. "I've always cared and I always will."

Tears filled your eyes as you inhaled deeply.

"I know," you smiled sadly, a tear finding its way onto your cheek. "I felt so horrible when I went back. Because I didn't feel safe there, but I felt safe here, with you."

"My love," he smiled back, resting his forehead against yours. "I will always keep you safe."

"Show me," you said and he blinked. "Show me, Helion. Show me how gentle you are. Show me how you'll always care for me."

"Are... are you sure?"

"Yes, Helion, yes. Please. I want to be yours. Only yours."

He growled. "Mine? As you wish, my love."

He wasted no more time as he claimed your lips and it was like being kissed for the first time. His hands and fingers traveled on your body, worshipping your skin, his tongue brushed yours and you moaned as you opened your mouth to him. There was no fear when he touched you. No tear when he undressed you. Slowly, gently, whispering sweet nothings, and it was everything.

"Are you certain?" he asked again and you nodded. "Words, my love."

"Yes," you breathed and he rewarded you by pushing two fingers inside of you. The feeling amazed you. The lack of pain surprised you.

You moaned as he moved his fingers deeper, searching, not for his pleasure, but for yours. You had never known it could be like this. His lips never left your skin. He kissed your forehead, your nose, you chin, then both of your cheeks before moving down to your throat, your neck, your breasts. You called his name as you felt your climax approach.

"Please," you begged.

"Please, what, my love?"

"May I... come, please..."

You felt him freeze but only for a second. You forgot about it the second he started moving his fingers again.

"You can come whenever you're ready, my moonshine," he encouraged you, running a thumb over your clit, "my beautiful love," he whispered before pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Your orgasm came mercifully. And you actually enjoyed it, for once. He kissed you through it, didn't stop kissing you afterwards.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," you smiled shyly at him. "I'm really good."

"Good," he grinned as he leaned to capture your lips once more.

He brought his fingers to his mouth and you turned red as he hummed and he licked them clean.

"You taste absolutely divine, my love. Will you allow me to taste you some more?"

"Wh- what about you?"

"What about me?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't it... your turn?"

"My turn? No, moonshine, this is all about you," he said, leaning over to kiss your face once more. "I won't if you don't want me to, I won't be mad, I promise," he added as he felt your hesitation.

"Okay."

"Okay? Should we stop?"

"No, I mean, yes, we can keep going."

"Are you sure?"

You gave him a small smile then took his face in your hands and kissed him.

"I'm sure," you assured him.

He smirked. "Then open your legs for me, my love."

And for the first in your life, you happily obeyed that command.

Tags: @chessebookgirl @impossibelle @esposadomd @saltedcoffeescotch

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #helion x reader #helion #nessian #nesta x cassian #Cassian x nesta

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thewickedjazzy · 3 months ago

Text

⌞𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰⌝

Part I : 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙉𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙨

Pairings: Chuuya x mafia boss fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mention of death, mention of other dimensions (could trigger derealization), please let me know if I forgot any Xx.

Author's note: Hey fellas!! Hope you enjoy my story ahead. Note: It consists of 3 parts. I've been toying with the idea of this story for a while now and honestly I am very satisfied with how it turned out!!

P.s: it's written in a 3rd person perspective.

Word count: 5.7k

In the deepest recesses of the human heart, there exists a haunting paradox: the insatiable thirst for power clashes with the equally profound yearning for connection. These two opposing forces, entwined yet in constant conflict, shaped the existence of a mafia boss who ruled Yokohama's shadowed underworld. Her life was a testament to this struggle—a legacy of power forged in the crucible of blood and betrayal, passed down as both a gift and a curse. Power was her birthright, a mantle she wore with unyielding resolve, yet its weight was a burden she bore in solitude, isolated by the very force that defined her.

At her side, Chuuya Nakahara stood as her most loyal confidant, a kindred spirit shaped by his own battles and scars. In the murky depths of their world, where loyalty was a currency as rare as it was valuable, their bond was forged in the fires of mutual understanding. Yet even with Chuuya's unwavering support, she knew that true power came at a steep price—a cost paid in loneliness and the silent suffering that accompanied her every decision. The shadow of her legacy loomed large, casting its darkness over every connection she sought to make until all that remained was the cold, unyielding pursuit of control.

Chuuya understood this truth with a clarity that bordered on despair. His unwavering loyalty was not merely a matter of duty; it was rooted in a deep, unspoken love that lay buried within the shadows of his heart. This love, a secret he guarded fiercely, was both his greatest strength and his inevitable downfall—a double-edged sword that he could never wield openly.

She, the one who controlled the very fabric of the underworld with her formidable ability, the "Malevolent Marionette," held the power to command not just armies, but the delicate balance between life and death itself. With a mere thought, she could pull the strings of fate, bending the wills of others to her own, yet this power, so absolute in its reach, left her isolated in a world where love was both a weakness and a danger. Chuuya, in his silence, bore witness to her lonely reign, knowing that his love for her could never be spoken, for to do so would unravel the delicate threads that bound their lives together.

In the dimly lit office of the mafia headquarters, the mafia boss was going through some paperwork as usual, on the top floor of the headquarters, her gaze fixed on the writings and patterns of the file she was holding, broke the silence first.

"Chuuya..." she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of unvoiced thoughts, "Do you ever wonder if the price we pay for control is worth it?"

Chuuya, leaning against the edge of the desk, met her eyes with a mixture of solemnity and affection. "Every day," he replied, his voice low but steady.

"But even in this world of shadows, it's your strength that keeps us going. Without it, we'd all be lost."

A fleeting smile touched her lips, but it was a rare moment of vulnerability.

"And yet, even with all the power we wield, it feels as though we’re trapped in a cage of our own making," she murmured.

Their conversation, delicate and laden with the gravity of their shared existence, was abruptly interrupted by a piercing alarm that sliced through the air like a knife. The blaring sound was a sharp reminder of the perpetual danger they faced.

“Alert: Intruder detected,” the automated voice declared with relentless efficiency.

"Ugh, give me a break," the mafia boss muttered, rolling her eyes as the alarm blared incessantly through the headquarters.

The shrill sound grated on her nerves, but it was more of an annoyance than a cause for concern.

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as she considered the situation.

Chuuya, already halfway to the door, paused and glanced back at her.

"You really think they’ll get anywhere near us?"

She gave a small, dismissive shake of her head. "They won’t make it past the third floor, let alone reach us up here. But it’s still a nuisance."

Chuuya smirked, his confidence in her words evident.

"I'll handle it quickly, then."

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. Left alone, the boss exhaled, her eyes drifting to the window where the city sprawled beneath her like a living, breathing entity.

The layers of protection she had built around herself—both physical and emotional—were nearly impenetrable. No one had ever made it to the top floor, where she and Chuuya resided. And no one ever would.

She pushed herself up from the chair, moving to a hidden compartment in the wall.

She pressed a button, and the hidden compartment slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a sleek monitor embedded within.

As she activated the screen, a grid of camera feeds flickered to life, offering her a bird’s-eye view of the entire headquarters. She wasn’t one to micromanage her subordinates—she trusted them, especially Chuuya—but the instinct to keep an eye on things, especially when it involved him, was something she couldn’t quite shake.

Her eyes scanned the feeds, taking in the chaotic scenes unfolding below. The intruders, a small but highly trained group, had made it farther than most. The lower floors were a warzone, with her men locked in fierce combat, but it was clear that they were holding their ground. For now.

She switched to the third-floor feed, her gaze sharpening as she saw Chuuya enter the fray. He moved with lethal precision, a blur of motion as he tore through the intruders with the ease of someone born to fight not using his gravity manipulation ability just yet.

Despite her earlier confidence, a sliver of unease crept into her mind as she watched him. These intruders were no amateurs; they were too coordinated, too familiar with the layout of the headquarters. Her finger hovered over the intercom button, but she hesitated. Chuuya didn’t need her guidance—he was more than capable of handling the situation. Yet, the feeling persisted, gnawing at her as she watched him confront a particularly skilled opponent, their clash sending shockwaves through the walls.

Suddenly, something on one of the other camera feeds caught her attention. A figure, moving with uncanny stealth, had bypassed the bulk of the defenses and was making their way up the emergency stairwell—a route rarely used and known only to a select few. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the intruder was heading straight for the top floor.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, quickly switching the camera view to track the figure’s progress. Whoever this was, they were dangerous—calculated, and possibly someone with inside knowledge.

Without wasting another second, she hit the intercom button, her voice steady but urgent.

"Chuuya, we’ve got a problem. There’s someone headed for the top floor, and they’re taking the emergency stairs."

Chuuya’s voice crackled through the speaker, laced with irritation.

"You sure it’s not just another grunt?"

"No," she replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

"This one’s different. They know exactly where they’re going."

There was a brief pause on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath.

"I’m on my way. Don’t do anything reckless."

She smirked at his concern but didn’t argue. "Hurry," was all she said before ending the call.

Her smirk faded as she watched the intruder move with calculated precision through the stairwell, each step deliberate and unhurried. Whoever this was, they were no ordinary assassin. They were heading straight for her, bypassing the usual layers of defense as if they knew exactly where to find her.

Her fingers itched to grab her weapon, but something told her this encounter would require more than brute force.

She had an ability—one she rarely used, because it was as dangerous as it was powerful. But this was different. This intruder was different.

She closed the compartment and stepped away from the monitor, moving to sit on a nearby desk near the door, her senses on high alert.

Every second stretched into an eternity as she waited, listening for the faintest sound of approaching footsteps. Then, just as she had predicted, they stopped right outside her door.

The handle turned slowly, and she felt her heartbeat quicken, her muscles tensing in anticipation. The door opened with an almost deliberate slowness, and the intruder stepped inside—a tall figure cloaked in black, their face hidden beneath a dark hood. They paused, surveying the room as if searching for something, before their gaze finally settled on her and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. But instead of striking, the figure remained still, as if weighing their options.

She didn’t wait for them to speak. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me why you’re here before I kill you,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding, yet calm, with an underlying edge that promised she would follow through.

The intruder lifted their hands slightly, a gesture of surrender, though there was a calculated caution in the movement. “I’m not here to fight,” they said, their voice muffled by the hood. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

She narrowed her eyes, distrust gnawing at her. “A message?” she echoed. “From who?”

The intruder took a cautious step forward, reaching into their coat. She tensed, ready to strike, but they slowly pulled out a small, sealed envelope instead of a weapon. They held it out to her, and she got up from the desk as she eyed it warily before snatching it from their hand, tearing it open with a swift, practised motion.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting elegant but unfamiliar. Her eyes scanned the words quickly, her breath catching as she read the message. It was simple, yet devastating:

" 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦—𝘢𝘭𝘰��𝘦. 𝘙𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴—𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘴. 𝘐 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. "

At the bottom of the note was a name—one that sent a cold chill down her spine. Her stepfather. The man who had been a shadowy figure in her life, part of a past she had tried to bury. But he wasn’t buried—he was back, and he had her sister.

The intruder watched her carefully, reading the shift in her expression. “He told me to give you that,” they said, their voice low. “And to tell you that this is just the beginning. If you don’t do as he says… your sister will suffer.”

Her hands tightened around the paper, crumpling it slightly as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t let the intruder see how deeply this cut, couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

“Why should I believe you?” she asked, her tone cold. “How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

“You don’t,” the intruder replied, their voice devoid of emotion. “But you know who he is. You know what he’s capable of. And you know he’s not bluffing.”

She hated how true those words were. She looked at the intruder, her eyes narrowing in calculation. “What’s your role in this?” she demanded. “Why are you helping him?”

The intruder hesitated, then finally pulled back the hood, revealing a face lined with weariness and resolve. “I’m just a messenger. But I know what he wants. He’s not just after you—he’s after Chuuya.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Chuuya? What does he want with him?”

The intruder shook their head. “That’s all I know. My job was to deliver the message and make sure you understood the stakes. What you do next is up to you.”

She stared at the intruder for a long moment, her mind racing. This was no ordinary threat. It was personal, and it was a game she would have to play carefully. Her sister’s life was on the line, and now, Chuuya’s safety was in jeopardy as well.

Finally, she stepped back, allowing the intruder to leave. “Get out before Chuuya gets here” she ordered, her voice icy. “And tell your boss that if he harms her, I’ll burn his entire world to the ground.”

The intruder hesitated, their eyes flicking towards the door as if they were weighing their options. But the cold determination in her voice left no room for argument. With a slight nod, they pulled the hood back over their head, turning to leave the room as quietly as they had entered. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving her alone once more.

As the silence settled back into the room, she let out a slow breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. Her sister—her only remaining family—was in the hands of a man she had long thought buried in her past. A man whose very existence she had tried to forget, yet he had resurfaced like a ghost from a nightmare, bringing with him a threat that was as personal as it was terrifying.

After a few seconds the door opened once again as Chuuya stepped into the room, his presence like a force of nature that filled the space. His eyes immediately went to her, scanning her for any sign of hurt.

“What the hell just happened?” Chuuya’s tone was sharp, cutting through the tension that still hung in the air.

She turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, though the turmoil inside her was anything but. “It’s handled,” she replied, her voice calm and controlled, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her. “The intruder was just a messenger.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. He knew her too well to be fooled by her calm exterior. “And what was the message?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for the truth she was trying to hide.

For a moment, she hesitated. The urge to tell him everything—to let him in on the danger that now threatened them both—was strong. But she couldn’t. Chuuya was too important, too precious to her, to risk him being dragged into this mess. Her stepfather was a dangerous man, someone who thrived on manipulation and deceit. If Chuuya knew he was a target, he would rush headlong into the fray, putting himself at risk for her sake. She couldn’t allow that.

She forced a small smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s nothing we can’t handle,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just someone trying to stir up trouble. But I’ll take care of it.”

Chuuya’s frown deepened. “Don’t give me that crap,” he snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

She exhaled slowly, knowing she had to give him something to keep him from pressing further. “It’s about my sister,” she admitted, her voice softening. “She’s been taken, and they want me to come for her. Alone.”

The truth in her words wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole story either. Chuuya’s expression shifted from suspicion to anger, his fists clenching at his sides. “Taken? By who?” His voice was low, dangerous, the fury in his eyes barely contained.

“A man from my past,” she said vaguely, refusing to give him the details that would send him charging into danger. “Someone I thought I’d left behind. But he’s come back, and he’s using her to get to me.”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with determination. “Then we’ll find him,” he growled. “We’ll get her back, and we’ll make him pay for this."

She shook her head, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, Chuuya. This is something I have to handle alone. It’s too dangerous, and I can’t let you get involved.”

His eyes flashed with anger. “Like hell I’m staying out of this. You’re not facing this bastard by yourself.”

Her grip on his arm tightened, her voice firm. “You have to trust me, Chuuya. I need you to stay close, but out of sight. Let me deal with him. I promise, I’ll bring her back.”

He stared at her, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. He wanted to argue, to demand that she let him fight by her side, but something in her eyes—something resolute and unyielding—stopped him. With a frustrated sigh, he finally nodded, though his reluctance was clear.

“Fine,” he agreed, his voice begrudging. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight. The moment I think you’re in danger, I’m coming in, whether you like it or not.”

She allowed herself a small, genuine smile this time, grateful for his stubborn loyalty. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she replied, her voice softening.

Chuuya’s anger seemed to dissipate slightly, replaced by a deep, unspoken concern. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I can’t lose you.”

Her heart tightened at his words, and she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging between them. She wanted to reach out, to tell him how much his presence meant to her, how much she relied on him, how much she cared about him not because of his ability but rather because of who he is. But there were too many walls between them, too much left unsaid. So instead, she simply held his gaze, letting the silence speak for them both.

The distance between them felt palpable, an invisible barrier made up of all the things they hadn’t yet confessed, of all the emotions they kept locked away for the sake of their precarious world.

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before finally placing a hand on her shoulder. The touch was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid to overstep the boundaries they’d both carefully constructed. “You know,” he began, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it, “you don’t always have to carry everything on your own. I’m here, not just as your right hand, but… for whatever you need.”

His words hung in the air between them, laced with meaning that went beyond the professional bond they shared. She looked up at him, her breath catching slightly at the sincerity in his eyes. It would be so easy to lean into that touch, to allow herself the comfort of his presence, but the walls she had built around her heart held firm. She had spent so long keeping everyone at a distance, even him, that it felt impossible to let go now.

“Chuuya…” she started, her voice wavering, “you don’t understand how much this means to me. But it’s precisely because I care about you that I can’t afford to let you in too close. The world we inhabit is fraught with dangers—dangers that neither of us can escape unscathed.”

His hand moved from her shoulder to take hers gently, the gesture tender yet firm, as though he was determined to bridge the distance between them, however insurmountable it seemed. “Do you think I’m blind to that?” he replied, a trace of frustration colouring his words, though it was softened by a plea—one that echoed the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “We’ve faced every challenge together until now. I’m not asking you to tear down all your defenses—just to let me in, if only a little. We are stronger when we stand together, aren’t we?”

She turned away slightly, her gaze drifting toward the window where the city sprawled beneath them, a living testament to the power and control she wielded. But even as she looked out over the empire she had built, there was an emptiness, a hollow ache that power could not fill. She had sacrificed so much to be where she was—her freedom, her innocence, her very humanity. And yet, here was Chuuya, offering her something she had long forgotten how to grasp: connection.

"Chuuya," she said, her voice barely audible, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. "In our world, everything is a transaction. Loyalty, trust, and even love—they all come at a price. I’ve always believed that the cost was too high. That to let anyone in was to invite ruin."

He didn’t respond immediately, allowing the silence to stretch between them, heavy with the weight of their shared history. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Maybe that’s true," he admitted, "but maybe the price of keeping everyone out is even higher. We think we’re protecting ourselves by building these walls by staying distant, but all we’re doing is trapping ourselves in a cage of our own making as you always refer to it."

She smiles and nods. He was right... of course, he was right, yet she couldn't help but stay in that cage.

The night draped over Yokohama like a shroud, its darkness suffused with the ominous weight of impending tragedy. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the distant echo of sirens—harbingers of chaos that had become all too familiar. In the heart of this city, where shadows wove their own intricate dance, a final confrontation was brewing.

She had indeed managed to save her sister, wresting her from the clutches of the man who had once been a silent specter in her past. Her stepfather—whose dark presence had loomed over her life like a persistent nightmare—stood before her now, his power radiating like a malignant force that threatened to engulf everything she held dear. His ability to subsume other powers was a fearsome weapon, a black hole of dominion that threatened to consume all in its path.

The battle that ensued was a tempest of ferocity and desperation. She fought with the strength of a woman who had everything to lose, her every move fueled by a fierce, protective love for her sister. But as the confrontation dragged on, it became clear that her stepfather's power was overwhelming—an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.

In a final, desperate bid to secure her sister’s safety, she made the agonizing decision to invoke the full potential of her "Malevolent Marionette" ability. The room was filled with a sombre silence as she whispered the usual incantation, her voice trembling with the weight of her resolve.

The master puppet, an intricate symbol of her ability, materialized in the center of the room—a dark, foreboding figure that seemed to pulse with an ancient, dangerous energy.

Her connection to the puppet was immediate and intense. The energy surging through her was both exhilarating and terrifying. The puppet’s power was immense, a dark purple tide that surged through her veins, promising the ability to reshape the world itself if she so wished. But the cost was steep—five minutes of devastation, followed by her own inevitable demise if the puppet was not destroyed.

The minutes ticked by like a slow, relentless drumbeat, each second a harbinger of doom. She fought valiantly, her power a raging inferno that lashed out at her stepfather, but he remained an insurmountable force, his power too great to be overcome. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each exhalation a reminder of the ticking clock that governed her fate.

Chuuya stood at the edge of the shadows, his heart pounding with a frantic rhythm that mirrored the chaotic storm raging within him. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, his every muscle tense with a blend of fear and frustration. The stakes had been too high, and he knew that his absence, though well-intentioned, was a gamble with dire consequences. The reality of their world was unforgiving, and he could sense the weight of his decisions settling heavily upon him.

As he watched the building, a sudden flicker of purple neon light cut through the darkness, casting an eerie glow over the structure. The light pulsed rhythmically, a harbinger of something both powerful and dangerous. His blood ran cold as he realized the significance of the display. It was a sign—a signal that she had invoked the full potential of her "Malevolent Marionette" ability —the very ability they had always relied on him to control, to destroy.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and his heart raced with a desperate urgency.

The purple lights, casting long, twisted shadows, illuminated the building’s facade like a harbinger of doom. Chuuya could see from afar her silhouette, framed against the intense glow. Her movements were determined, each gesture a testament to the raw, untamed power she wielded.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted toward the building, his every step fueled by a mixture of fear and determination. The forest trees blurred past him as he raced towards the source of the light, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Each heartbeat seemed to echo with the dread of what he might find.

The building loomed ahead, its once-sturdy facade now a chaotic wreckage. Debris littered the ground, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and destruction. Chuuya burst through the entrance, his senses assaulted by the aftermath of the battle. The interior was a scene of devastation, the walls scorched and twisted from the unleashed power.He pushed forward, navigating through the wreckage with a sense of grim determination. His eyes scanned the ruinous landscape, searching for any sign of her. The purple neon light was now fading, its power waning as the last vestiges of the ritual played out. His heart sank as he approached the center of the chaos, where the battle had reached its climax.

There, amidst the debris and ruin, he found her. She stood amidst the wreckage, her form silhouetted against the dying glow of the purple light. Her stepfather lay defeated at her feet, the battle won but at an unimaginable cost. Her eyes, once filled with the fierce resolve of a warrior, now bore the hollow emptiness of someone who had sacrificed everything.

Chuuya's breath caught in his throat as he approached her, his mind struggling to process the sight before him. She had succeeded in her mission, but the power of the "Malevolent Marionette" had taken its toll. The puppet, a manifestation of her ability, had exacted a price that was painfully clear. She had unleashed a force of destruction that could only be contained by her own life force, and now, as the ritual’s effects began to consume her, it was clear that the cost was far greater than he had ever imagined.

Her gaze met his, a mixture of relief and sorrow in her eyes. "Chuuya..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling remnants of the power that had once surged through the building. There was a finality to her tone, an acceptance of the fate that had been sealed by her own choices.

His heart ached as he moved to her side, reaching out in a futile attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between them. He had wanted to protect her, to shield her from the worst of their world, but in doing so, he had failed her in the most crucial moment. The realization hit him with a crushing weight—his absence had led to a loss he could never fully comprehend.

As she fell to the ground, her strength waning, he held her in his arms, the enormity of the situation crashing down around him. The world they had fought to protect was now a stark reminder of the cost of their choices, the price of power and love interwoven in a tapestry of tragedy. The light of the neon glow faded, leaving only the echoes of their struggle and the heavy silence of a world forever changed.

In that moment, Chuuya held her close, his tears mingling with the dust and debris that surrounded them.

“Y/N, hold on… You can do this. You’ve got to hang on... I will destroy the puppet. Where is it?” His voice was ragged, strained by the relentless tide of his grief, an anguished plea that seemed to reach out into the void.

She looked at him with eyes growing dim, her strength ebbing away like a fading tide. She reaches out, placing her hand softly on his right cheek. "It’s too late now, Chuuya," she said, her voice a fragile whisper. "Please, take care of my sister and the mafia... I leave everything to you." Her words, though soft, carried the finality of a conclusion drawn long before, as the life drained from her. Her hand hit the ground lifelessly.

" I didn't even have the chance to kiss you. To tell you how much I loved you. Don't leave me alone in this cruel world! " He buries his face into the crook of her lifeless neck sobbing and holding her close.

Chuuya's heart shattered as he clung to her, his voice breaking with anguished regret. "I didn’t even get the chance to hold you in my arms, to wake up to you by my side, to tell you how deeply I loved you. Don’t leave me... please..." His sobs wracking his body, a poignant lament for a love left unspoken and a future now lost.

"You lied to me... you promised me that you'd take care of yourself... please...Y/N..." His plea hung in the air, a raw cry against the encroaching silence of her fading life.

The love they had fought to maintain, the connection they had both yearned for—it had all came to an end. As the life drained from her, he could only hold onto the bittersweet memory of what they had shared, knowing that their story had ended in a way he could never have anticipated.

Days passed, each one marked by the hollow ache of Chuuya’s grief. The world continued its indifferent march, but for him, time seemed to stand still in the wake of her loss. He took on the mantle of the mafia boss, a role he had never imagined he would assume, and every decision he made was imbued with the weight of her absence. Her sister was safe, and the organization continued to function, but the emptiness within him remained a chasm that no amount of power or responsibility could fill.

Each night, the office became a sanctuary of despair. Subordinates whispered among themselves, noting the sound of Chuuya’s sobs echoing through the walls. The man who had once been a pillar of strength and resolve was now a figure haunted by his own sorrow, his once-unshakable confidence replaced by a profound and unrelenting grief. The weight of leadership was no solace, only a reminder of the price he had paid.

Every evening, after the office was empty and the city below was cloaked in darkness, Chuuya would make his way to her grave. It was a ritual born of both reverence and desperation—a desperate need to keep her memory alive, to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. There, in the quiet of the cemetery, he would sit beside her grave, speaking to her as if she could hear him.

He would recount the events of his day, the decisions he had made, the struggles he faced as the new head of the mafia. His words were a mixture of mundane details and heartfelt confessions, a dialogue with the shadows of the past.

"Today, we had another power struggle," he would say softly, his voice trembling as he knelt by her grave. "I managed to keep things under control, but it’s never the same without you. I find myself longing for your guidance, for your presence... I’m lost without you."

With each visit, his words became a testament to the depth of his love and the void she had left. The cemetery, once a place of finality, became a space where he could grapple with his grief, where the echoes of their shared past offered a semblance of comfort in the midst of his pain.

And so, Chuuya continued his vigil, bound by the promise he had made and the love that remained unspoken but ever-present. His heart, though heavy and broken, remained steadfast in its devotion to the woman who had been his greatest challenge and his deepest love.

Then came a day like no other. The world trembled as a force beyond comprehension began to assert its presence. A powerful opponent, whose ability was as arcane as it was formidable, had managed to tear through the fabric of reality itself. This adversary wielded a piece of the reality book, a relic of unimaginable power capable of opening gateways between dimensions. As the fabric of their universe rippled and shifted, a rift emerged, a slit in the world that shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Chuuya stood on the precipice of disbelief in a scattered forest, his heart pounding as the dimensions collided. The air crackled with energy, and he could feel the weight of something monumental happening. His gaze was drawn to the rift, which grew wider, revealing glimpses of another universe beyond—a place of stark contrasts and unfamiliar landscapes.

And then, through the growing breach, he saw her.

There she was, a vision that defied all logic and reason. She stood amidst the chaotic light, her form illuminated by the strange, shimmering energy of the other universe. She looked different, her appearance altered by the peculiarities of the alternate realm, yet it was unmistakably her. Her presence was a beacon in the tumultuous void, a sight that sent a shudder through Chuuya’s very soul.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to cease its relentless march. Time itself appeared to hold its breath as he gazed at her, his emotions a tempest of disbelief, hope, and an unspoken yearning. He reached out, his fingers trembling as if he could touch the fabric of reality and pull her through.

Her eyes met his, and in that fleeting, impossible moment, there was recognition—a silent communication that transcended the barriers of space and dimension. Her expression was one of both sorrow and solace, a reflection of the love and loss that had bound them together in life and now, impossibly, in death.

The sudden, disorienting realization that had hit them both was almost too much to comprehend. Standing at the edge of the rift, they locked eyes, their shared astonishment mirroring each other’s disbelief.

"Boss...?" they both said in unison, their voices echoing in the charged air of the fractured reality. The word was spoken with a mixture of reverence and confusion, as if the title held a gravity that transcended their own worlds.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed it, fellas! Let me know if I shall continue? I'm very excited to finish writing part 2!!!

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

#chuuya x reader #chuuya angst #chuuya fluff #bsd #chuuya nakahara bungoustraydogs #bungou stray dogs #chuuya nakahara #bsd x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd angst

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wolfinsheepsclothes · 8 months ago

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Pen: have you actually been in poorer health than usual? how exhausting Remus: it depends on what you'd call poorer health? i swear my joints are out to get me at this rate.

#m: pen #i've lost control of all my words [threads]

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queerwolflupin · 2 years ago

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Remus & Open The Leaky Cauldron

A wince escaped the moment Remus settled at the bar, leaving him shifting uncomfortably until he found a position that best suited the aches along his spine. He had made it through the workday with a forced smile so another hour longer shouldn’t have felt so challenging. He likely would have been better off skipping the detour altogether but he hadn’t been able to shake the craving for fried food all day.

“Fries and whatever they’re drinking,” He murmured when the bartender approached, offering a sheepish expression at the person seated beside him. “Too long of a day for decision making past that.”

#orphic;starter #s: Leaky Cauldron #i've lost control of all of my words [threads]

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fabled-lady-twilla · 5 months ago

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Shiga in 99.9% of the scenes I've written for my ShigaDeku Soulmate AU fic, lmao!

He's like… ugh I don't wanna sit through any boring PLF meetings plotting to take control of all Japan, I just wanna grab my green-haired boyfriend/reluctant hostage and run away to my room. Heh.

Anyways! Under the keep reading link below is an excerpt from a flirty, slightly spicy scene between Izu and Shiga that happens later on in my fic. It's where they're past the chaotic, angry, violent 'enemies to lovers' stage of the story and Shiga has just discovered that he can touch/manipulate what I'm calling a 'soul-cord' in my AU, which is basically a spiritual link that connects two soulmate's souls together and helps them find each other.

The idea of a soul-cord comes from the concept of the 'red string of fate' and is basically a floating metaphysical cord/thread/string (not 100% sure what I'm calling it yet) woven from strands of each soulmate partner's soul, binding their destinies together and ensuring that always meet. By default, a soul-cord wraps around each soulmate partner's pinky finger, but this can be changed.

The thing is, with the way I integrated the soulmates trope into this AU along with Quirks, only soulmate partners with Quirks can see/interact with their soul-cords. By the time the main story line comes around, Izu has lost OFA and Shiga still has his Quirk (Decay). So, only Shiga can see/mess around with their soul-cord but both of them can feel it. Which is why Izuku is like, what the actual fuck is going on right now in the scene below lmfao. 🤣

Also, do you think the name 'soul-cord' is a good name for this? Or would 'soul-thread', 'soul-string', 'soul-braid', 'soul-weave', etc. be a more fitting name for it? I wanna know your opinion!

Pretty pretty pretty please let me know what you thought of this scene and if you'd like to see any more ShigaDeku excerpts! If you'd like to be added to the tag list for the story, please like, share, comment, or send me a PM. Thank you for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

Keep reading for 900+ words of flirty, slightly horny ShigaDeku interaction below:

“Is there a problem?” Izuku said, crossing his arms across his chest as he glared up at the other man. Tomura’s attention had been honed in on him since breakfast and Izuku had finally had enough of it. "You’ve been staring at me all morning. If you’ve got something to say to me, either say it or leave me alone."

Tomura leered down at Izuku through a half-lidded gaze, crimson eyes glinting in the soft orange lights of the hallway. Paying explicitly close attention to the way their silvery blue soul-cord looped around Izuku's pale throat over and over and over again, all nice, tight, and pretty. Right where Tomura wanted it. Right where it looked the best: wrapped around Izuku’s pale, freckled neck.

Right where it belongs, Tomura thought possessively, his cock twitching in agreement in his pants. The same it had been doing all morning long, causing him to have to constantly readjust his slacks.

The longer Tomura ogled him, the more Izuku’s frown deepened, and Tomura noticed the younger man’s glare taking on a heatedness that caused the green in his eyes to darken, contrasting beautifully against the silvery blue soul-cord wrapped around his neck.

Oh, yes. Tomura could definitely get used to this sight.

"Just admiring my handiwork," Tomura finally said, offering a wolfish grin with far too many teeth.

"Handiwork? What handiwork?" Izuku asked, brow furrowing with suspicion.

Tomura's only answer was a slight quirk of his lips.

Suddenly, Tomura thought of a wonderful idea, and his grin took on such a quality of wickedness that Izuku was immediately put on guard.

It was never a good sign when Tomura smiled like that. If that manic grin was directed at someone else, it meant someone was about to harassed, maimed, or something much worse. If it was directed at Izuku, it meant Tomura was up to something no good and Izuku, willingly or not, was about to find out exactly what that ‘something’ was.

Tomura backed away from Izuku, watching as the distance between them increased the floating length of their soul-cord. Tomura grasped the slack and gently looped it around his hand multiple times until it was almost completely pulled taut.

“What are you doing?” Izuku looked at Tomura like he’d lost his mind, what with his waving his hand around in the air like a lunatic. “Looks like you’ve finally gone completely insan—"

Without warning, Tomura roughly yanked their soul-cord towards himself, like he was yanking a dog backwards on a leash. Izuku found himself being jerked forward by an unseen force, tripping over his own two feet and nearly tumbling to the floor were it not for him crashing straight into Tomura's chest.

Izuku’s eyes widened in shock. Not only from what had just occurred but from the feeling of something warm, ticklish, and wispy stroking the length of his neck as Tomura made strange hand movements in the air.

Bewildered, Izuku ran his fingers over his Adam’s apple and around the back of his neck, where the warming sensations were the strongest. He grabbed at nothing, could feel nothing, only adding to his growing confusion at what the actual hell was going on. Did Shigaraki get a new Quirk?

Tomura hummed, seemingly delighted. He made another quick hand motion, fingers circling around nothing and making to grab at something in the air before pulling it closer.

Izuku felt it again, even stronger than before. A thick, deliciously warm pressure around his neck, not quite cutting off his air supply but toying the line of doing so. He couldn’t stop the flush from entering his cheeks at their sudden, close proximity, nor the shiver that ran down his spine at the feeling of something so snug and… protective closing in around such a vital part of his body.

Izuku bit his bottom lip, chewing at worryingly.

Tomura ate up the sight of Izuku’s nervous arousal with a quiet sort of hunger. With their soul-cord still looped around his hand, Tomura softly, ever so slightly, pulled it just a bit tighter.

Izuku gasped, pretty green eyes growing to such a comically large degree that Tomura could not help but let out a mean laugh at his expense, entertained by the younger man’s reactions.

“You!” Izuku hissed accusingly, snapping out of his stupor and narrowing his eyes into angry little slits, “What the hell did you do to me!?”

Tomura grin grew so wide and predatory it nearly split his face in half. “Maybe if you’re a good boy today and don’t get into any trouble, I’ll come by your room later tonight and tell you all about it.”

At Izuku’s utterly scandalized face, Tomura smirked. He swiftly untangled their soul-cord from his hand right as Izuku forcibly pushed against his chest, propelling himself away and out of Tomura’s grasp.

Izuku grunted from the force of his back thudding against the wall of the hallway. He splayed his hands against it and quickly but cautiously inched himself along the wall away from Tomura, mouth slightly parted as he stared at the other man with an expression that was so distrustful Tomura couldn’t help but let out a huff of amusement, his canines popping out past his cracked lips.

“D-don’t you ever do that to me again!” Izuku managed to stutter out, the words coming out way less confident and threatening than he wanted them to sound.

But god, this unhinged man-child was quite literally driving him up the wall and Izuku wanted no part of anything to do with Shigaraki Tomura.

Izuku took a couple of cautious steps backwards, regarding Tomura like he would a rabid wild animal he didn’t want to turn his back to lest it pounce on him.

Tomura just stared back, crimson eyes gazing at him with an intensity that frightened Izuku more than anything else that had just transpired between them.

Izuku noped out and made a break for it.

Swiftly pivoting on his heel and rounding the corner, Izuku fast-walked down to the end of the hallway towards his room, Tomura’s raspy laughter reverberating off the walls and following him every step of the way until he slammed the door shut.

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 6 months ago

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My memory is terrible so I wanted to do a breakdown of my stuff every once in a while. Might be monthly, might be whenever I feel like it.

QL - Currently Watching

🇯🇵25 Ji, Akasaka de [7/10] - I do love when Japan does a pov change and this was no exception. Hayama is so far gone. Like we already knew what, but he's been a goner ever since he read his name. He's being worshipped by all these people around him because apparently he's too good looking for anyone to be normal around him, and all he sees is Shirasaki. He said one sentence to him in school that he kept as a reminder. Man is obsessed. I'm so curious about next week. The lines are getting more and more blurred and eventually someone's gotta give. Also Hayama should give lessons on self-control. I have never seen anyone so completely out of his mind in love and jealous and at the same time, so put together. I'm in awe.

🇹🇭 Knock Knock, Boys! [2/12] - Strong start. It's fun, I really liked the flat sharing concept, it reminds me of my London days and kinda like Thanwa, being the mom of the house. I'm wondering if they will settle into their own in-house pairs soon or if there will be cross over, cause that would be fun. Give me mess.

🇹🇭 My Stand-In [1/12] - For a number of reasons I'm waiting to binge this one. I do love watching the gifs on my dash though, pretty is pretty.

🇹🇭 Only Boo! [8/12] - So we're done with highschool and that last episode felt a bit rushed trying to finish all those loose threads but I like that we're getting to a new chapter of their relationship. They continue to be too adorable for words. Side couple - dream kisses my beloathed. From the preview and also the number of thai bl's I've watched I'm thinking this will be a pretty straightforward 'it turns out you like him but now he moved on (not really) and you have to grovel'. I'd love to be surprised though.

🇹🇭 Wandee Goodday [4/12] - I am loving it. Pretty much everything about it. Before I say anything else. Thor is gorgeous and he should do all the shows. Forever. He and Cher are delightful and I love that they are an established couple that seem to have their own roles in the gym and their own relationship with Yak. I said this in tags before I think, but I'm finding it interesting how we collectively talk about this show ending, more often than not, with the caveat 'let's see if it holds up'. We have been burned before and not that long ago so we are all holding our breaths. Contrary to my usual state, I'm feeling cautiously optimistic about this. I think the bones are there for a good show all the way to the end. No one is perfect - except Kao, he is perfection and the ace rep I only dreamed of - and that's great. They are both smitten and complete idiots. I'm looking forward to seeing more of the backstory, and in Yak's case how much of what drives him is a consequence of loss.

🇹🇭 We Are [9/16] - Still enjoying the friendships and still bummed we have no development with Chain/Pun. We had one second of development and it was a look. So much in that look. Not really but at least it seems that Pun is aware of his feelings, so that's something. The last episode kept reminding me of Love Sick because of all the camp stuff. It's an entertaining show but the Q/Toey plot is annoying me a bit now.

QL - Finished

🇹🇭 23.5 - This show lost me about halfway through and I never really connected after that. Even if it really wasn't for me, I'm happy it exists and I hope gmmtv invests in more gl's in the future. I wanted more of the teachers but I'm not greedy and was happy to see that they are together by the end.

🇰🇷Blossom Campus - What a mess. I still cannot believe this came out of Strongberry. I posted my reactions while watching. Final thoughts here.

🇰🇷Boys Be Brave - I really liked this one. Just to get it out of the way, the side couple felt a bit unfinished and could've had a bit more screen time. All the characters had their own stuff going on and 8 episodes just isn't enough to explore that depth in a satisfactory way. With that said. I adore the mains. JinWoo built a wall, put a list on it and we got to see Kiseob slowly tearing it down in its own unhinged unique way. I did a rewatch and something I didn't notice the first time is that when Kiseob is 'caught' with Inho and is explaining what happened while JinWoo hides under the bed, he enumerates what happened just like JinWoo always does. I thought it was so endearing. I found Kiseob's presence on screen always so bright and JinWoo's actor was really compelling to watch. Overall this was a really nice surprise.

🇯🇵 Living with him - Writing this when I literally finished and it's strange. Cause they are so cute by the end. That whole festival date was so adorable, and I think they played the awkwardness of the dynamic change really well. I do think the show dragged in parts and Natsukawa became a tiny bit annoying to me at a certain point. Because he found out so early that Kazuhito liked him that I thought the indecision was too much at times. I kept comparing it in my head to I Cannot Reach You, and the way both Kakeru and Natsukawa's lack of confidence plays a part in how they deal with the friend liking them, but I think in this case the back and forth in his head was irritating to me. It was always one step forward, two steps back. When he found the magazine in that last episode I wanted to punch a wall. Like, oh crap here he goes again. It's great that the friend was passing by so he could do all the work and get these two finally together. For the most part I really enjoyed it.

🇰🇷Love Is Like a Cat - That was a show that I watched. Final thoughts

Rose Watches OJBL

The Novelist (2018) - I put off this one for so long because of reasons and I was so wrong. It's not necessarily an easy watch but it's so good. It's beautifully shot and acted. I went through a whole journey with Kijima, from 'who is this guy?' to 'I fucking hate this guy' to ''I need him to be happy, please'. I will have to rewatch it after I watch all of them because the series is full of details and I'm sure I missed a bunch. Definitely happy I started this journey if for no other reason cause I finally managed to watch this.

Takumi-kun Series 2: Rainbow Colored Glass (2009) - The sad just came out of nowhere. It's got some of the same problems as the first one, choppy editing and even though the cast is new the acting is still not that good. I was less confused throughout which is good, Takumi annoyed me a lot though and the tragic plot was messy and rushed. I'm not sure if I'll watch all of these but probably at least one more and then decide.

Other - Watched

🇨🇳Running Like a Shooting Star (2024)🇯🇵Barakamon (2023)🇯🇵Ghost Yankee (2024) 🇰🇷Wonderful World (2024)

4 Thai BL's coming in June June 7 | My Love Mix-Up (so many mixed feelings) June 9 | Love Sea June 15 | Sunset x Vibes June 26 | The Rebound

As usual my ask box is open for questions or requests. Have a wonderful day/night💜

#rosy watchlist #25 ji akasaka de #wandee goodday #knock knock boys #only boo the series #we are the series #23.5 degrees #blossom campus #boys be brave #kare no iru seikatsu #living with him #love is like a cat #the novelist #takumi-kun 2 #multi bl #Rose Watches OJBL #rose rambles

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 7 days ago

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Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 12

MASTERLIST

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Summary: Avoiding Messmer in his Keep comes with some difficulties, however, the Tarnished finds more answers that she was not ready to hear.

A/N: Ah, so Tarnished fucked up… I wonder if Messmer will ever forgive her? On with this chapter! Enjoy!

A03 link

Chapter 12: Insurrections

Your bedchambers have become familiar to you for some days now: a mess of what you once were. It is uncertain how long you've stayed in your one spot, staring idly out your window, wondering if one day you may gain the courage to apologise to Messmer.

You knew that it would never happen. His Lord had not come to see you, and you had not gone to face him. By the third day in your confinement, tiredness stings at your eyes. Your lack of awareness of time gives you no indication of what time of day it is. You stay up most of the night, starve and sometimes sleep, all the while looking like the mess you see yourself as.

Staying in your bedchambers felt as familiar as when the Impaler had imprisoned you, but this time, you knew you deserved it.

You don't wish to think of confronting Messmer, for he would not accept or listen to your endless apologies. You're worried he would burn you in the very spot if you dared even look his way. You're, however, thankful he didn't kick you out of his keep and burn his allegiance and protection away like cinders in your face.

It was perhaps wrong of you to lash out at him, for you had a guilt that you knew somewhat more than he.

Queen Marika was imprisoned in the Erdtree and you didn't have the heart to tell him.

Sitting up from your spot by the window, you brush your hands along a rigid object, looking to find a hairbrush, golden as Queen Marika's grace. It takes some effort to brush through your locks to untangle the knots and control the frizz, but you think you look presentable.

I must redeem myself in his honour. You tell yourself as you try to dress: simple trousers, boots and a shirt, one with red thread that loops through the buttons.

You think back to his challenge: to bring Redmane Freya's head as an offering. To wish to return to that time, to be the feral Tarnished he thought you were.

If there was a way... you think to yourself, and the idea that springs to mind is one that only you can conjure. To meet face-to-face with someone you should've confronted ages ago.

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

"Lady Tarnished, it has been some time since we last spoke."

Sir Ansbach looked up from his book to greet you, though you're certain he is inspecting you of your drab attire, your dour look and the sunken skin that seems to make your face look sallow and worn with age.

"Ansbach, I must tell you of something. You mustn't tell a soul." Not even Messmer. To think if he found out, what he'd think of you for seeing hallucinations of his half-brother.

"You can tell me anything, Tarnished." He says, but you're certain your next words to come from your mouth will deem you in his eyes as one marked with insanity. Maybe pledging a deal to the Frenzy Flame would've been a better idea than this. "What troubles your mind?"

"I..." you swallow a thickness in your throat, and your heart hammers, "What would you do if you were seeing the ghost of someone?"

"It depends who it was," he strokes his grey beard, "A loved one? A close friend perhaps? Who is it you see?"

"The long-dead form of Prince Godwyn."

Ansbach takes a long pause, though it seems, he's not surprised by your words. "You too, are plagued by a long-forgotten Lord?"

You try to dismiss your feelings about it all, the confusion still plagues your fragmented memories of the past. "It seems so. But I do not know what he wants of me, why he's coming to me to give me vague and cryptic words." You laugh to yourself wryly, "Forgive me, you must think I've lost my mind."

"Not at all, Tarnished." Ansbach's warmth in his voice does show some concern for you. "Dreams make most of us think of our realities differently. Some dream of greatness, others madness. It is what makes us. St. Trina traverses in our minds, giving us the path ahead."

St. Trina is not who we think she is. You scoff. She appears as a girl, and sometimes a little boy. It brings something to click in your mind. "St. Trina is seen as a little boy in dreams, a little boy who was cursed with eternal youth."

Ansbach peers at you quietly. "You think this is Miquella's doing?"

"He is oddly quiet in all of this. His followers, walk his path and we hear nothing of it. Why did Leda ask me to find Messmer? If not from her, it was from Miquella." You think. She asked that you had to deal with him, which could mean they needed something from his corpse. Could it have to do with his curse?

Ansbach sighs whilst you think, endless mutterings are ceased as you turn back to him. For the first time since meeting him, he looks... terrified. "Tarnished, I ask this of you carefully. Miquella is not what you think he is."

"I'm aware. If not for his loyal devotees and changing identities, Miquella is more cunning than we think."

"Are you aware that he had been Mohg's consort?"

Did he have a choice? You question. "Mohg desired him for greatness."

"No, he did not," Ansbach's voice is gravely low, "he did not even need Mohg in the long run. It was his body he needed."

You squint your eyes at his words, "What do you mean his body?"

Ansbach gives a weary sigh, resuming, "The Lord of Blood was merely a diversion to Miquella's schemes. It was not Mohg who needed Miquella but Miquella in search of a vessel, a consort to call his own."

"It was Mohg who stole Miquella though? He was his consort."

"That is what is known and what is falsehood, Tarnished. It is Kindly Miquella who twists and warps our reality, our bonds, our love." That's impossible. You tell yourself: another ploy for Miquella's allies, but what if they too, had been swayed by his twisted games?

"What of Mohg?" He was another of the Demigods who felled by my hands. "He has been... dealt with."

"Aye, but do you recall where his body lies?"

Your heart thunders deeply, your skin feels as if it's sticking to your clothes. "Last time I checked, still where I remember."

"His body was missing from the Mohgwyn Palace."

No, this can't be. "You're saying-"

"Miquella is using it for a greater purpose, even better than his mother's."

Your thoughts are racing but you only have one person on your mind. "So, when Leda asked that I dealt with Messmer-"

"She meant for you to bring back his flame, his kindling."

It feels as if the ground tilts you, your world seems to be spinning with questions that are screaming over the others to be answered. There is no way of knowing if they can be, but all you can think of is Messmer; who broods in his Keep unaware of the danger he's in.

"Tarnished," Ansbach grabs you by the arm to pull you back. You don't realise you've turned away from him, walking with a purpose to find the Lord of the Keep and set things right. To tell him everything. "Miquella is a monster, who must be stopped."

"I know," you whisper so low that you don't recognise your own voice, "but what I am if I cannot get Messmer to heed my warnings?"

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

The door to your bedchambers shudder as it collides with the stone-brick wall, groaning as you barge through. You're keen on finding weapons, armour, anything to help you in this fight. It was enough playing coy and hiding in the Keep, it was time you had to face Miquella and whatever vestige he had made of Mohg's body.

The wind is dead as you rush around the apartments, with no luck finding anything useful to you. You felt useless: running around without decent clothing, no food packed or no idea how you'd find what you were looking for.

You're so wrapped up in your little mind, that you don't seem to spot that the room has grown cold spots, and the outside world diminishes into darkness. Candles blow out themselves as you scramble to the wardrobe when you notice. You know something is in the room with you: the air is so silent that you cannot concentrate on your breathing.

You wring your eyes shut before a ghostly hand plays with your curls from behind you.

"Show yourself, Godwyn."

You spin around on your heel to face the monster head-on, coming face to face with the golden eyes you had grown to despise, to fear. "Now, where are thee running off to?" He toys with you as if you're his plaything, coyly smiling down on you as if nothing is the matter.

You clench your jaw as well as your fists. "I will not play your games, Godwyn," you dryly laugh, "or shall I say St. Trina? Or how about Miquella?"

The golden prince plays docile with your confrontation, a victim in your outburst. He keeps some distance between you two for now. "Always playing the knight, aren't thee?"

"I am stopping Miquella." You don't have a weapon, but you're not afraid to fight him -or whatever this thing was- dirty. "Step aside. I will not ask you again."

"He hates thee. For speaking ill of his mother." Godwyn says, his voice is honeyed and sweet but his words are sinister. You know exactly who he's talking about and it frightens you to your core how he knows. "Why would he wish to be with thee?"

"He shouldn't," you answer, though you try to hide the pain in your voice, "he does not need to forgive me at all. All I want is to set things right. Not be seen as a lowly Tarnished that no one can trust."

"But that's all thee art," Godwyn says as he circles you, "A lightless creature, devoid of love, and compassion, afraid to even seek simple friendships without knowing it will end in heartache."

You shut your eyes, but even still, you can feel his presence. "You are not here. Get out of my head." You hiss.

"Spat out over and over again to live and die." His words echo like the chiming of bells in your head.

"You are dead. You are not here to torment me."

"I died the day thee didst." You feel his hand ghost over the nape of your neck, gracing your jawline as you feel his cold breath on your skin. You grimace from the deathly touch. "T'is why thee feel such guilt. Thee wished thee hadst stayed."

You blink back the tears when you open your eyes, finally facing him. "It never would've happened. Not then, and not now." You begin to bend your knees slightly, positioning yourself as if ready to fight. "Will I have to get through you?"

It seems his mask finally slips. No longer playing the charismatic eldest son that you could remember, nor the one who could win anyone over, he stares down at you with the coldest eyes, unfeeling and detached. He is quiet for once, and what feels like forever, neither of you speak, his soulless eyes bore into your soul, with no warmth, no love.

Finally, he answers you, but it is not his voice anymore, no, it's the voice of many. "No," he sighs, before he catches you off guard, by grabbing your face, pain erupting from the contact. "Let me aid thee."

Your scream seems to be cut off, your body is pushed through complete darkness, flying like a ragdoll through matter of space with no stopping. Your head hurts from where his hand came into contact with you, similar to thousands of tiny needles piercing your skin all at once.

The spinning finally stops, you think, and when you blink, you're not in the apartments of the Shadow Keep, but rather in the middle of a field, surrounded by bodies of millions. You look down at your clothing, surprised to find yourself once again in Leyndell armour. The armour feels heavy on you as if trying to weigh you down.

You squint over the horizon of corpses to see what stares back at you: Godwyn in his full glory and what would've been him in his prime. Dressed decadently in the finery of golds and blues. He carries his infamous halberd as he stalks his way towards you. His face has morphed into something you don't recognise as being him anymore, gone is his fine flaxen hair, now a dull faded hue. His face is half covered by his hair, but you can only see one eye staring back at you: white with black sclera.

"I will not fight you, Godwyn!" You scream, but your words fall quiet with the roaring of his armour clanking as he charges, weapons clashing with a force that you're almost knocked to the ground.

Godwyn fights with the strength of his father, weaving to knock you back as you can only dodge his swings and stabs. Some get you in the joints, but you're not expecting the pain that comes from them. They burn with a far greater pain than should come from a stab or slice. You grimace, and a wave of weakness takes over you, sudden that you almost fall to the ground. You try to compose yourself, pulling back the layers of protection to stare down in horror. Your skin protrudes with black veins, spreading further across your flesh.

Death blight. You have experienced it before, but not to this strength. More stabs from him and it will be an instant end. You would rather not be stuck in an endless life-death cycle with the Golden-haired prince, not when you needed to get out of this dream-like state.

You dodge another swing, narrowly missing as he strikes a corpse instead. Think, think! This simply is all an illusion! Remain calm! You tell yourself, avoiding more hits as you try to concentrate on where you should be. My chambers, the Shadow Keep.

From behind Godwyn, like a mist in the air, it dissolves to reveal that you're surrounded by a veil of delusions. Now! You roll out the way, running as fast as you can to reach the broken part of the veil. Your body feels weakened from the death blight, but it's enough for you to reach for your escape.

You crash through darkness once again, with no Godwyn to be seen. You look around yourself for his sudden appearance, finding no sight of him. Feeling some relief, you think how will you escape this next illusion. Your breathing echoes as you're standing in a large chamber, your footsteps the sounds you hear.

You're ready to call out when something catches your peripheral: a small dim light, glowing softly. An escape! You draw in close to it, like a moth to the flame, and you follow until you come across a room you recognise. There are candles dimly glowing in the room, giving a dark blue-ish hue to the room. It's cold, colder than you think it would be. You look around yourself when it dawns on you.

This is where you first fought Messmer. Everything looks exactly how you remember it to look, and you swear you must've traversed the entire keep to reach here under some spell. You're about to call out for someone, hoping that this was all some way of testing your patience when something else catches your gaze. Marika's statue stares down at you, coddling the clothed babe of Messmer in her arms. However, it is the figure that lies just by the statue's feet.

Walking cautiously closer, you hear the softest of whimpers, sobbing. It is when this figure at closer inspection seems familiar. You see a little boy, with hair so red that it looks so similar to burning flames. Serpents curl around him as he lies beneath Queen Marika's intense stony gaze. He looks up at her with an innocent look, his eye glassy and golden as the seal that holds the twisted one inside glows. "O prithee," you hear his tiny voice, "let me see mine mother again."

"Messmer." You call out to him, running to reach him. The boy does not seem to spot you, still, he watches his mother's statue like a loyal hound, hoping for her return. "Messmer!" You don't seem to be getting any closer to him, seeingingly, the room grows larger and darker, and his small body seems to grow smaller and smaller the closer you move.

It's when you hear the many voices again, all burning in your mind with a screech that you collapse to the ground. Bastard born. Corrupted one of ill-making. You push to stand, looking around you to find no sight of anyone but young Messmer. He has still not spotted you, so intently focused on his mother that he does not hear your screams of agony and your shouts to gain his attention.

The voices grow in numbers until you think your head will explode. No, I must save him. You tell yourself, pushing forth as you take painful steps towards the red-haired child.

"It wasn't your fault she left!" You shout into the void, and it's only with that, Messmer's little head perks up, his golden eye wide in fear. Looking around him, you know you must try again. "You are not the monster you think you are. You are far greater than any of her wishes, her goals. All-- all you wanted was your family, your life, and you got sent away."

Messmer is still scanning the room, his fearful look is slowly melting with some semblance of hope. You try reaching for him, despite the screams, the agony and the death blight. "Messmer." You call to him softly. "Messmer, please." You call again, and it's with this clearer call that his eye locks with yours. They don't look at you with fear or hatred, no shock.

You wonder if this is your sin, replaying to you over and over again your mistakes. Dying to relive it all.

A tear slips down your face as you smile over to him. "Forgive me."

It is with those two words that you realise the ringing has stopped, the screaming and voices have ceased. You think you know of peace, as you blink and find yourself back where you were before. In the comfort of your chambers, pressed into a wall with the confusion of everything melting away from your mind.

You think you can finally breathe a sense of relief when you notice that there is no silence in the Keep. There is a distant sound of something, constant and growing larger in sound and numbers.

You move to the window, surprised to see nothing, but only when you hear more that joins with the sounds of what sounds like a stampede. The ringing of a bell. The shouts of soldiers from afar. The sound of burning wood.

"Messmer." Your heart leaps from your chest. You have no idea where he could be, nor do you know how long you've been stuck in that spell. You look down at your simple clothing: you cannot change in time to reach him, and you don't want to imagine what carnage awaits.

They knew to distract me. How did they know to find me here? You wish to answer, but you don't know yourself. You look back from the door to the window, and an idea comes to mind. I do hope Messmer isn't too angry about what I must do.

Bypassing the idea of using the door, you find the heaviest item you can: a candle holder, a book, the vanity if you can muster to pick it up, smashing each thing against the window, until it causes the vanity to show some signs of cracks. A small opening is all you need as you use your elbow to smash through the rest, glass sticks into your skin as you bleed, but you continue until the opening is large enough to slip a hand through.

You crack the window open, and you hurry to climb through. A gust of wind greets you and reality hits you with how high your chambers were above the Keep. The barren wasteland greets you below, and you contemplate if you have lost your mind.

No time to think. You tell yourself, as you shuffle your way along the thin edge. Jump.

With no time for cold feet, you release yourself from the wall you're holding, pushing yourself as far away from the rooftops as you begin to plummet. You know where you will end up, and where you will find yourself when you wake up.

The sky grows smaller the quicker you fall, but the noise surrounding the Keep grows, a commotion festers, a siege.

You shut your eyes as you brace for what waits, hoping you're not too late to find him.

A/N: I do like to imagine Tarnished is a "ask questions later, got to leap off this building first, see where I land" type of gal. I do love writing feral, himbo women, and I can only imagine Messmer may have a type growing when he sees her again.

#messmer x reader #messmer the impaler #elden ring messmer #messmer x tarnished #elden ring dlc #part 12 #elden ring fanfic #shadow of the erdtree #elden ring sote #messmer fic #tarnished! reader

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